Snowy Owl - A Silent Start to the New Year

There’s a certain kind of quiet that only exists before sunrise on a winter morning. Not the absence of sound, but a deep, enveloping stillness—the kind that makes you slow your breathing without even realizing it.

This image was made before the sun rose on the very first morning of the new year. The world was locked in a hard freeze, every stem and twig coated in hoar frost and fresh snow, the air so cold it felt brittle. No wind. No voices. Just that hushed, almost sacred calm that settles in when nature is completely at rest.

The Snowy Owl sat patiently, perfectly at home in this frozen landscape, its white plumage echoing the frost-covered branches around it. Then, quietly, the first hint of warm light began to build behind the clouds—subtle and fleeting, but enough to soften the scene and add a gentle glow to an otherwise icy morning. That contrast between biting cold and emerging warmth is something I never get tired of witnessing.

Photographing in conditions like this is always a balance between respect for the subject and respect for the moment. The light was barely there, long before sunrise, which meant leaning hard on modern tools while staying invisible and quiet. This frame was made with a Sony a1 Mark II, a Sony 600mm f/4 lens, and a 2X teleconverter, at f/8, 1/5,000s, ISO 20,000. Some moments are worth every challenge, every frozen fingertip, and every early morning—this one was so cold my eyelids briefly stuck together when I blinked.

As the new year begins, experiences like this feel especially meaningful. Extraordinary wildlife encounters don’t announce themselves; they reveal themselves slowly, to those willing to stand in the cold, in silence, and pay attention. They remind me why I keep returning to wild places—year after year, before dawn—chasing those brief intersections of light, life, and stillness.

Wishing you a Happy New Year—one filled with warm light, extraordinary wildlife encounters, and the quiet joy that comes from simply being there to witness them.

A Western Meadowlark in flight New Year's Eve: Hope, Renewal, and Gratitude in Nature Photography

There’s something about New Year’s Eve that naturally slows me down. Before the noise, the countdown, and the fresh page of a new calendar, it feels like a moment meant for reflection—looking back with gratitude and forward with quiet hope.

As this year draws to a close, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. Thank you to everyone who joined me on workshops, attended presentations, supported my work online, or took a moment to like, share, comment, or send a note. Photography may start as a solitary act, but it becomes far richer when shared, and I’m deeply grateful for the community that surrounds this work.

I chose this image of a Western Meadowlark in flight from my recent Better than Bosque Workshop for New Year’s Eve for a reason. Suspended in warm Southwestern light, it feels like a pause between chapters—neither here nor there, simply moving forward. In ancient and Indigenous cultures, the meadowlark was seen as a symbol of hope, renewal, and good fortune, its song believed to welcome light after darkness and signal better days ahead. That feels especially fitting tonight.

For me, this bird also represents what keeps me coming back to nature with a camera. These moments can’t be rushed or controlled. They ask for patience, presence, and trust—qualities worth carrying with us into the year ahead. As the meadowlark lifts on open wings, it feels like a gentle reminder to release what no longer serves us and step forward with curiosity and optimism.

As we say goodbye to this year, I hope you find a moment of calm, a reason to feel grateful, and something to look forward to. Thank you for being part of this journey and for sharing in the quiet magic that nature offers when we take the time to notice.

Here’s to closing this year with gratitude and welcoming the next with good health, golden light, open hearts, peace, and love.

Chris

A Coyote’s Call: A Perfect Ending to the 2025 Better Than Bosque Workshop

There are moments in the field that feel less like photography and more like being quietly invited into another world. This was one of them.

It happened near the very end of our final session of the 2025 Better Than Bosque Workshop, earlier this December. The light was already sliding toward evening, that soft, honey-warm glow that Bosque does so well when the day begins to exhale. We were just starting to think about wrapping things up when this female coyote stepped into view.

She stood tall in the grass, bathed in that last, low sunlight, lifted her head—and called.

Not a quick yip or passing note, but a long, soulful call that carried across the landscape. It stopped all of us in our tracks. Cameras came up, then slowly lowered again. This wasn’t just about the image anymore.

Coyotes are deeply family-oriented animals. They live in tight-knit family groups—often a bonded pair with offspring from one or more years—and cooperation is at the heart of their survival. Both parents help raise and protect the pups, hunt together, and maintain their territory. That bond was on full display here.

She didn’t sound casual. She sounded anxious.

Her calls had urgency, as if she were checking in, making sure her mate knew where home was, where the family waited. We watched and listened in silence, fully aware we were witnessing something intimate and real. There was a collective sense among the group that this was special—one of those rare moments you don’t plan for, can’t script, and never forget.

Then the light finally faded. We stayed a little longer, just soaking it in.

About twenty minutes later—after sunset, when cameras were mostly away—we saw movement again. Her mate appeared in the distance, slowly making his way back toward her… with a noticeable limp. Suddenly, everything made sense. Her concern. The calling. The waiting.

No drama. No spectacle. Just a family reconnecting at the end of the day.

It was a magical way to close out this year’s workshop—quiet, emotional, and deeply grounding. Moments like this are why I keep coming back, year after year. And sharing it with such an incredible group of people—patient, respectful, fully present—was truly the icing on the cake.

Some images stay with you because they’re beautiful. Others stay with you because of what they mean.

This one will stay with me for a long time.

Hooded Merganser with Crawfish at Sunrise – Golden Light Duck Photography at My Better Than Bosque Workshop

There’s something about first light that never gets old. During my Better than Bosque Workshop in early December, we rolled up to one of my favourite little duck ponds—calm, quiet, and absolutely glowing. When the sun finally crests the horizon here, it doesn’t just light up the water; it turns it into molten gold as the golden light reflects off the tall grass on the pond’s edge. On a still morning like this one, the reflections go buttery smooth, and it honestly feels like the ducks are swimming through liquid metal. Magical doesn’t even begin to cover it.

We all got low—really low—because that’s where the magic happens. When your lens is right at the waterline, the perspective shifts, the foreground melts away, and the world becomes a simple band of colour and light. Before long, this handsome male Hooded Merganser slid into frame like a little torpedo wearing a tuxedo. That brilliant white fan on his head lit up beautifully against the warm background, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any better… he popped up with breakfast.

Some call it a crawfish, others say crayfish, and if you’re from certain parts of North America, you might insist it’s a crawdad. Whatever name you prefer, this tiny crustacean became the star of the show for a few thrilling seconds as the merganser maneuvered it, tossed it, and did everything short of smiling for the camera. Tiny droplets of water hung in the air like little diamonds while the bird worked to get that spiky snack down the hatch. Watching behaviour like that, in perfect light, on mirror-calm water, with everyone in our group sharing in the excitement—that’s the kind of moment I live for.

Workshops are about learning, yes, but they’re also about joy, discovery, and being present when nature gifts you something special—this morning delivered all of that and more. Golden light, still water, great friends behind cameras, and a merganser doing exactly what mergansers do best… it doesn’t get much better than photographing ducks on liquid gold.

American Goldfinch: A Little Thistle-Bird and a Christmas Wish

Happy Holidays!

Every image has a heartbeat, and this one has been pulsing quietly in my archives for almost 25 years. This American Goldfinch, photographed in a dreamy sea of pink thistles, feels like pure joy. She’s busy gathering thistle fluff—the stuff that feeds, shelters, and sustains life—while looking completely at home among the spikes and softness.

In French, the Goldfinch is called “chardonneret” from chardon—thistle—because these birds genuinely love thistle seeds. Even the scientific name, Carduelis, traces back to the Latin carduus, meaning thistle. This little bird has been linked to this prickly plant in language, art, and storytelling for centuries—proof that nature remembers what matters, even when we forget.

And somehow, that feels wonderfully appropriate for Christmas.

This season is about warmth in cold places, kindness in the rush of the year, and gratitude for small but meaningful gifts. The Goldfinch thrives on something most would ignore—those stubborn thistles—and turns them into life and beauty. There’s a hopeful message there: that resilience, grace, and gratitude can grow from unexpected places.

This photograph reminds me how lucky I am to spend my life in nature, to witness moments like this, and to share them with all of you. And to everyone who has supported me—especially those who join my workshops, travel with me, trust me to guide them in the field, and share in the adventure—thank you. Your enthusiasm, friendship, curiosity, and passion make this journey incredibly rewarding.

Wherever you are in the world, whatever season you’re celebrating, and however you mark this time of year—Christmas, Holidays, Hanukkah, Solstice, or simply the closing of another year—I wish you peace, health, and joy. May your days ahead be filled with wonder, kindness, and time in nature. Thank you for being part of this journey and for sharing in the beauty and magic of the natural world with me.

Quiet Gold – American Wigeon in Morning Light

Molten Morning American Wigeon

Beneath a sky of molten gold, he glides, the white-capped drake drifting through silence. I wait—Sony in hand, heart racing— the world narrowing to one perfect frame.

The air is still, the marsh is hushed, no shutter's click to break the spell. The a9 III, a silent witness, holds the emerald glow and the fire of the sun.

For a breath, the wild pauses just for me, the lensman, the birdman, chasing wonder. Then—in the quiet—the moment lives forever, feathers, light, and grandeur captured in time.

© 2025 Christopher Dodds

If the Wood Duck from my last post was all drama, saturated colour, and pure visual fireworks, this handsome American Wigeon was the quieter kind of magic—the kind that sneaks up on you and suddenly has you grinning behind the camera.

There’s something about these moments that I never get tired of. Calm water. Warm light. A cooperative bird just going about its business while I lie there at water level, hoping it’ll give me one more second… then one more after that. This drake Wigeon glided through what looked like liquid gold, every feather perfectly lit and etched in detail, the reflection soft and painterly below him. No chaos. No rush. Just calm, wild beauty right in front of me.

Images like this are why I keep doing what I do. They’re not loud or showy; they’re quiet, elegant, and deeply satisfying. After the bold, theatrical Wood Duck, this Wigeon felt like the perfect follow-up—subtle, refined, and every bit as rewarding.

Wood Duck: When the Fog Lifts and Magic Arrives

Molten Morning Wood Duck

Beneath a sky of molten gold he glides,
a living painting drifting through silence.
I wait—Sony in hand, heart racing—
the world narrowing to one perfect frame.
For a breath, the wild pauses just for me,
the lensman, the birdman, chasing wonder.
Then click—and the moment lives forever,
feathers, light, and gratitude captured in time.

© Christopher Dodds Dec. 2025

There’s a special kind of quiet that settles over the duck pond before sunrise—the kind you feel more than hear. The world is still blue and cold, breath hanging in the air, fingertips reminding you that nature photography isn’t always as glamorous as the finished image suggests. But honestly, I love this part. It’s where the day begins, where anticipation builds, where hope hangs thick in the air. You never truly know what the morning will deliver out here, and that uncertainty is half the magic.

As the first hint of colour creeps across the horizon, the pond slowly wakes up. A thin veil of fog drifts lazily across the surface, lifting and swirling like it has a mind of its own. Shapes begin to form through it—ghostly silhouettes at first—until ducks come to life. Wings stretch, ripples travel across the golden stillness, and the soft sounds of the marsh remind you that the wild world is already moving, even if the sun hasn’t quite arrived.

Then the light finally hits—and not just any light. This is the kind photographers dream about. Soft, golden, warm… it paints everything with a glow that feels almost unreal. The fog lights up, the water turns to liquid gold, and right in the middle of it all, a Wood Duck glides into the frame like he owns the morning. Every feather, every colour, every perfect detail comes alive. And yes—moments like this are exactly why we get up early, embrace the cold, and wait with ridiculous amounts of patience.

Sony in hand, heart racing, everything narrows to one perfect moment. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, nature pauses… just long enough to let you create something unforgettable.

Birds in flight: Mountain Chickadee

Sandia Crest near Albuquerque, New Mexico is the highest point in the Sandia Mountains at 10,678 ft (3,255 m) and, most of the time, it’s windy, cold, and pretty stingy when it comes to rewarding photographers for their suffering—so I rarely take my workshop groups up there. But after wrapping up the workshop, Julie and I had a few extra days around Albuquerque and figured… why not?

To my surprise, I’ve never seen Sandia Crest behave so kindly. Warm, sunny, barely a breeze—it almost felt wrong. A rare, quiet kind of beauty up there.

We did see a few small flocks of Black Rosy-Finches, which is always great, but there really weren’t many strong photo opportunities. Instead of chasing the impossible, I shifted gears and went small-scale, spending time trying to catch a Mountain Chickadee in flight. They’re tiny, fast, unpredictable, and ridiculously fun to try to photograph—exactly the sort of challenge that keeps me smiling behind the camera even when the action is slow.

One of the neat things about Mountain Chickadees is just how tough and clever they are. These little birds live year-round in high elevations and harsh winters, and they survive by caching thousands of seeds and insects in tiny hiding spots—then remembering where they put them. Their remarkable spatial memory is one of the best in the bird world, and that distinctive white eyebrow makes them instantly recognizable, even when they’re zipping around at full speed.

The frame preceding this one was actually even better… but a building crept into the background and spoiled it. Not every outing delivers portfolio images, and that’s OK. Sometimes it’s just about being on the mountain, enjoying the moment, and appreciating whatever nature decides to offer.

Bald Eagle in Flight at Bosque del Apache – One of the Highlights of My Better Than Bosque Photo Workshop

What a way to wrap up a workshop. This Bald Eagle was absolutely the star of our final day at Bosque del Apache NWR in New Mexico during my recent Better Than Bosque Workshop. After that classic Bosque moment—the thunderous blast-off of Snow Geese that fills your chest as much as your viewfinder—we made our way over to the spot where Joe, Nabs, and Sumi had seen an eagle the day before. That’s one of the beautiful parts of workshops like this: a little teamwork, a few good hunches, and a willingness to slow down and simply watch.

So we settled in, let the desert sunrise warm our backs, and waited. The ponds quieted. The excitement softened into anticipation. Then, just when it felt like maybe this bird would fly the wrong way, the eagle lifted from its perch and banked into the light—broad wings catching the sun, powerful, confident, and completely at home. It gave us a full, elegant show, gliding across the scene with the softly blurred Chupadera Mountains providing the perfect clean backdrop. Those subtle pastel tones behind that wild, elemental power… it just doesn’t get much better.

Moments like this are why I love Bosque and why I love sharing it with passionate photographers. You can’t script this stuff. You show up, respect the place, put in the time, and now and then, nature rewards you with something unforgettable. This eagle certainly did.

Female (Hen) Hooded Merganser in Flight

Some birds make you work a little harder than others, and the female Hooded Merganser is definitely one of them. She may not have the flashy crest and bold pattern of the drake, but what she lacks in showiness, she absolutely makes up for in attitude, speed, and unpredictability. And honestly… that’s exactly why I love photographing them.

This image was made during my Better Than Bosque Workshop at the beginning of December, and the morning could not have started any better. The light was gorgeous—rich, warm, and soft—the kind of light that makes you smile before you even press the shutter. The pond was calm, everything was peaceful… and then, as mergansers like to do, she decided she’d had enough of being calm and peaceful. No warning. No gentle build-up. Just: Boom—she’s airborne!

Trying to stay with a Hooded Merganser in flight is always a bit of an adventure. They don’t fly like mallards, and they don’t give you that big lazy arc of a goose. They’re small, fast, twitchy, and seem to enjoy changing direction just as you think you’ve got things lined up. It feels like you’re constantly a half-second behind, willing everything to stay together long enough for autofocus to hang on while you pan and pray the bird doesn’t suddenly dive out of the frame.

This was photographed with the Sony A9 Mark III, 600mm f/4 with the 2X (so 1,200mm), at 1/5,000s, f/8, ISO 2000. That fast shutter was key—there’s a lot of energy in those wings—and the light did the rest. When you get a morning like this, you just try not to mess it up.

What I love most about this frame isn’t just the detail—it’s the feeling. The tension in the wings. The slightly frantic, slightly determined posture. The warm glow wrapping her in that early morning color. It’s a split second of controlled chaos, and that’s exactly what photographing mergansers feels like in real life.

These are the kinds of moments that keep me excited about being out there. You never know when the shot is going to happen. You just try to be ready, pay attention, and enjoy the wild ride when it does.

Wood Duck Portrait in Golden Light — Better Than Bosque Workshop Success

This image of a drake (male) Wood Duck was created on the final morning of my recent Better Than Bosque Workshop, December 9, and it was a fitting way to close out an incredible few days in the field. We had two truly magical mornings at the duck ponds, each greeted with calm water, cooperative birds, and that warm, glowing first light photographers dream about. On this last morning, everything came together once again—still reflections, rich autumn colour in the background, and a confident drake swimming directly into the light. Moments like this are never guaranteed, which makes them all the more special when they happen. Sharing these quiet, golden mornings with a group of passionate, like-minded photographers—and watching everyone come away with strong images and big smiles—is exactly what the Better Than Bosque experience is all about.

Thank you!

Thank you to the wonderful group who made the Better Than Bosque 2025 Workshop such a huge success. Spending time in the field with a group of like-minded, nature-loving photographers truly elevated the entire experience. The camaraderie, shared enthusiasm, and respect for the wildlife and landscapes around us created an atmosphere that was both inspiring and rewarding. Together, we witnessed unforgettable moments, enjoyed incredible light, and came away with not only fantastic images but also great memories from time well spent outdoors.

Thank you to the entire 2025 Better than Bosque Workshop group: Back row, L to R: Joe (Repeat client/friend: Owls, Eagles & Ospreys), John (Repeat client/friend: Puffins), Chris, Jamie (Repeat client/friend: Owls), Jeanine (Repeat client/friend: Bears & Pelee). Front row L to R: Nabs, Sumi, Me (Christopher Dodds), Julie & Joe.

TESTIMONIAL

Participating in Chris Dodds’ Best of Bosque photo tour was an outstanding experience. Chris combines technical expertise, fieldcraft, and a genuine passion for teaching in a way that provides tremendous value. His insights into bird behavior and optimal shooting techniques significantly improved my approach to wildlife photography.

The workshop was well-organized, thoughtfully paced, and designed to maximize photographic opportunities. I left with a portfolio of images I am truly proud of and a much deeper understanding of the craft. Highly recommended for anyone looking to take their wildlife photography to the next level.

Chris Fryou Louisiana, USA

See a couple of Chris’ images below: Drake Mallard in flight and Snow Geese Silhouette images copyright and courtesy Chris Fryou.

Thanks, Chris. It was hard to pick two favourites from the dozen you sent.

Say’s Phoebe in Flight in Golden Light: A Golden New Mexico Welcome

After the long RV drive from Montreal down to New Mexico, Julie and I were more than ready to finally get out, breathe, and enjoy some real light again. We arrived a few days early ahead of my sold-out Better Than Bosque Workshop, using the extra time to scout all the best locations before greeting the participants when the workshop kicks off on December 5. And New Mexico wasted no time reminding us why this place is so special.

This beautiful Say’s Phoebe floated in and gave us the perfect welcome on November 29, 2025. The bird hovered right in front of us in that incredible New Mexico evening glow—soft golden light, a light breeze, and a clean background that looked like it was designed for this shot. After days on the road, it felt like the universe was tossing us a little reward.

Say’s Phoebes are one of those birds that don’t scream for attention, but once you spend a moment with them, you appreciate their quiet elegance. Soft warm tones, calm personality, and that classic flycatcher hunting style—launching out, grabbing insects mid-air, and drifting back like it’s nothing. They’re right at home in open country, ranchlands, and desert edges, which makes New Mexico prime territory for them.

This simple, beautiful encounter was exactly what I needed after all the miles. Sometimes you step out of the RV, and the shot just finds you.

Say’s Phoebe in Flight in Golden Light (Sayornis saya, Moucherolle à ventre roux, Mosquero llanero, SAPH) Photographed on November 29, 2025, while scouting for my Better than Bosque workshop. Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA. Image Copyright ©Christopher Dodds. Sony a9 Mark III Mirrorless camera & Sony FE 600mm f/4 G Master OSS Lens with Sony FE 2X Teleconverter @1,200mm ISO 3,200, f/8 @ 1/6,400s. Full frame image. Manual exposure.

Snowy Owl Activity Rises Across North America: A Promising Winter Ahead for Owl Photography Workshops

Here’s another recent frame of the male Snowy Owl I found earlier this month in the fresh snow — snow that’s now mostly gone. When I saw him, he was half-tucked into the snow, looking as relaxed as a bird can be in a November wind. What really caught my attention, though, was what had his attention: a Rough-legged Hawk perched on a lone tree nearly a kilometre away.

Watching the Dialogue Between Two Arctic Hunters

I love interactions like this — subtle, quiet, nothing dramatic, but full of meaning if you watch closely. Snowy Owls and Rough-legged Hawks share the same winter spaces and, at times, the same menu. Both are Arctic hunters that drift south when food gets tight up north. They aren’t competing in any dramatic way; they’re simply reading each other the way predators do. A shift in posture, a slight tightening of feathers, a long stare — it’s a silent language that’s been passed down through generations.

At one point, the hawk shuffled its wings, and the owl narrowed his eyes just a touch. That was the whole interaction, but it said plenty. These tiny moments are why I love photographing in winter — the landscape is quieter, and the stories stand out.

The Owl That Forgot I Existed

And the best part? He wasn’t paying any attention to me at all. That’s always my favourite thing — when the bird forgets I’m there and I get to watch real behaviour, not reactions to my presence.

A fun bit of trivia while we’re here: Rough-legged Hawks are one of the only hawk species with feathers right down to their toes — just like Snowy Owls.

Strong Early-Winter Snowy Owl Numbers

New Snowy Owl sightings continue to indicate a strong winter ahead. In Chicago, there were two confirmed at Montrose Point Bird Sanctuary.

And what’s more, the wider pattern this winter is looking really good: Snowy Owls aren’t just turning up in Chicago. There are at least four around MSP Airport in Minnesota, and dozens across Wisconsin — with the DNR reporting 84 so far. Up into Alberta, birders are seeing Snowies spread throughout more open country than usual. When Snowies show up early and in numbers like this across their winter range, it’s a strong signal that this could be a very good season.

Looking Ahead

With a bit of luck, this male will stick around. He’s already given me more than a few memorable moments, and winter hasn’t even settled in properly yet.

If you want a chance at encounters like this, I still have a few openings left in my Winter Owl Workshops this January and February. No guarantees, of course — nature decides what we see — but the way things are unfolding, it could be a very special year.

Wildlife Photography in Katmai: How Subtle Backlight Transformed a Brown Bear Cub Portrait

One thing Katmai never fails to teach—no matter how many years I spend guiding workshops —is the value of patience and respect. We don't chase photographs there; we wait for them. We stay seated, calm, and predictable so the bears can go about their lives without a second thought about us. And it's often in that stillness that the most intimate moments appear.

This young brown bear cub had been exploring and moving away from its mother, carrying that wonderful mix of caution and curiosity you only see in bears discovering the world for the first time. The light that afternoon wasn't dramatic or golden—it was clean, soft, and just bright enough to create a gentle backlit edge on the cub's wet fur. Subtle light like this is often my favourite to work with. It doesn't shout drama; it whispers intimacy.

Because we remain seated when bears come close, I couldn't reposition or search for a "better angle." Instead, I embraced the one I had. That limitation—ironically—can be a gift. When you can't move, you start paying closer attention to small shifts: the direction of the bear's gaze, the texture in the coat, the separation between subject and background. You begin crafting the image with what the bear offers you, not what you wish you had.

Technically, I stayed in manual mode, as I always do. It gives me complete control over how the mid-tones fall and how much detail I keep in those fur highlights. With a lightly backlit subject, I exposed carefully to retain the texture of the wet fur. The light wasn't dramatic, but it had shape—and that's what makes an intimate portrait possible.

What I hope participants take home from My Ultimate Brown Bears of Katmai Workshop is this: intimacy comes from respect, patience, and working with the conditions you're given. You don't always get spectacular light or dramatic behaviour. But when you stay present, grounded, and ready, even a quiet moment with a curious cub can become a portrait that stays with you long after you leave Alaska's rugged coast.

If you’re looking to strengthen your wildlife photography, refine your use of natural light, and work closely with bears in a respectful and ethical setting, consider joining my next Ultimate Brown Bears of Katmai workshop. Only two spaces remain, and they won’t last long.

OFF TOPIC: STREET PHOTOGRAPHY Distant Gaze

Every now and then, street photography hands you a moment you never actually set out to capture—it just unfolds in front of you. This frame was one of those chance encounters, grabbed from the hip while wandering through Old Montreal on October 31.

The rain had slicked the cobblestones, and that soft, gray, late-October light gave everything a quiet, muted mood. Amid the cars rolling by and the faint streaks of falling rain, she was perfectly still—half tucked into the shadows, eyes somewhere far beyond the street. It wasn’t about the direction of her gaze, but the feeling of absence behind it, as if she was standing in two places at once.

Shot in the wide, cinematic X-pan aspect ratio, the scene stretches out just enough to let you breathe in the atmosphere. The extended frame gives the moment space—space to wonder, space to imagine, space to linger in whatever story might be unfolding just outside the edges.

It’s one of those images that offers more questions than answers, a reminder of how powerful the quiet, ambiguous corners of everyday life can be. Sometimes the most compelling photos are the ones that simply let us look, pause, and drift for a moment.

First Snowy Owl of the Season: A Winter Encounter to Remember

Still out exploring, riding the post-bunting excitement from my last post (Ghosts of the Snow: The Return of the Snow Buntings), a pale shape in a snowy field made me slow down. At first, I thought I was imagining it — my eyes strained by the glare — but then it moved. Sitting out in the open was a nearly pure-white male Snowy Owl, sitting on the fresh blanket of snow.

I eased the car forward and let it act as my hide. With my Sony a1 Mark II and the 600mm f/4 with 1.4X in hand, I slowly raised the camera out the window. The owl didn’t seem bothered at all — he sat tall, calm, and beautifully relaxed, watching the landscape as if he owned it.

For the next 40 minutes, he barely shifted. Snow drifted around him, the light softened, and the afternoon slowly faded toward evening. To see Snow Buntings and a Snowy Owl on the same day — and during the first real snow of the season — felt like an incredible gift.

One interesting thing about Snowy Owls: they don’t migrate south because of the cold. They are well-suited for Arctic winters. Instead, they move south when their summer food source — mainly lemmings — becomes scarce. A drop in prey can send these big white owls wandering far beyond their usual range, sometimes thousands of kilometres.

As dusk settled in, I backed away and left him exactly where I found him. No guarantees he’ll stay — these birds follow their own rules, and the males often get chased off by the larger females — but fingers crossed he hangs around for the winter.

If you’d like the chance to experience moments like this, I still have a few spaces left in my Winter Owl Workshops this January and February. No guarantees, of course, but with the way this season has begun, it could be a truly special year.

“I recently participated in my second trip with Christopher Dodds to find and photograph the beautiful snowy owls. It was an amazing experience. Not only was Christopher able to find these owls due to his extensive experience and knowledge of the owl’s behavior but I expanded my skills in capturing stunning birds in flight photography. Not only did we see and photograph snowy owls but also short-eared owls, harriers, a screech owl and some absolutely stunning early morning photos of a barred owl hunting along the snow-covered ground. Christophers’ knowledge of how to photograph these magnificent birds honed over decades of wildlife photography was well worth the cost for my second trip. Chris was able to assist me in the optimal settings for my Canon gear. Very worthwhile!”

— Wayne Ferch | Oregon |USA

Ghosts of the Snow: The Return of the Snow Buntings

Winter has arrived in Québec much earlier than in recent years, and with it came one of my favourite sights of the season — the first flocks of Snow Buntings swirling through a surprise snowstorm. Julie and I were out exploring the countryside when we spotted them: hundreds of small white birds flashing in unison above the fields, rising and settling like drifting snowflakes come to life.

There’s something almost supernatural about these birds. The imagery of white birds on snow or frost‐covered ground gives them a kind of ghost-bird quality in folklore — fleeting, ethereal, and perfectly at home in the storm. Because the Snow Bunting appears often only in cold, snowy fields or shortly after storms, it has long been seen as a harbinger of winter and cold weather, a living symbol of the frozen north returning for another season.

And this winter seems determined to make an entrance. Alongside the buntings, reports are already coming in of Snowy Owls in Québec and pushing far south — some as distant as Nebraska and Illinois. Other recent reports indicate a large number of snowy owls in Kansas, suggesting a winter irruption is occurring across North America; this could be an incredible year for owl sightings across eastern Canada and the northern United States.

For me, photographing a Snow Bunting in flight amid falling snow feels like capturing the essence of winter itself — fragile, fierce, and fleeting all at once.

If you’d like to experience this magic for yourself, I still have a few remaining spots open for my Winter Owls Workshops this January and February. Join me in the field and witness these arctic wanderers up close — from the ghostly buntings to the majestic Snowy Owls that follow them south.

👉 Reserve your spot now — and let’s chase winter’s light together. CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP!

“ I couldn’t have asked for a better experience while participating in one of Chris Dodds’ Snowy Owl workshop in February 2025. Chris is a photographer’s photographer! His meticulous field preparation and expert understanding of owl behavior and natural habitats are unmatched. While in the field, Chris is always on hand, offering tailored advice on camera settings, lens choices, and technical matters —no matter what gear you’re using. His approachable nature and years of guiding photographers to hidden, exceptional wildlife hotspots make his workshops stand out, ensuring an unforgettable experience that goes above and beyond what most photographers have encountered.”

— Wink Gaines | North Carolina | USA | www.winkgainesphoto.com

Portrait on the Edge: Photographing a Horned Puffin in Alaska’s Mist

There’s something about sitting on the edge of a cliff in Alaska that rearranges your sense of scale. The ocean below breathes in slow, deep rhythms as waves roll in. Fog drifts in and out, and the world feels pared down to sound, salt, and stillness. It can be incredibly quiet — almost entirely free of artificial sound.

That’s where I was — legs hanging over the edge, camera in hand — when a Horned Puffin landed on a ledge just a few meters away. No fanfare, no warning. One moment it wasn’t there, the next it was, standing calm and alert, perfectly at home in the damp, gray air.

I froze, not out of fear of spooking it, but out of awe and respect. Puffins always look a little improbable — that bold colourful bill and those crisp black-and-white feathers, like something painted too brightly for the subdued northern palette. Yet here, in the mist, it fit. The colours softened, the edges blurred, and it became part of the landscape rather than decoration upon it.

What struck me most was the light — that soft, ethereal kind of light that only shows up on overcast days—the type of light that I love. It’s a gift, really—no harsh shadows, no blown highlights. The mist acted like the world’s biggest diffuser, wrapping the scene in a kind of even softness. Every fine line of the puffin’s plumage was visible, every subtle shift of tone across its feathers. The black wasn’t just black; it had depth, warmth, and texture.

The bird didn’t seem bothered by me at all. I moved slowly, barely breathing, taking a few careful frames. It preened a little, looked toward the open water, then settled again, entirely at ease. That kind of trust — or maybe just mutual stillness — is something I never take for granted. You can’t make it happen; you have to be quiet and still long enough for wildness to stop seeing you as a threat.

When the puffin finally lifted off, disappearing into the fog like a thought half-remembered, I realized I hadn’t checked my camera once. The images would be there, sure, but the moment itself — the sound of waves below, the smell of sea and moss, that shared calm — that’s what stays with me.

It’s funny how sometimes the most satisfying photographs are the ones that almost don’t feel like photographs at all. They feel like thank-you notes to the world for letting you in for a minute — and for reminding you how small and lucky you are.

Sunset Shilouette @65X24 Jackfish Lake, Dinowic, Ontario, Canada

Off Topic – Jackfish Lake, Ontario
As the sun dipped below the horizon at Jackfish Lake, near Dinowic, Ontario, the world turned to quiet silhouettes and warm orange light. Julie and I had pulled over on a whim during the last leg of our cross-country RV trip, drawn by the glow on the water. Standing there, watching the colours fade, we were reminded how much beauty hides in the spaces between destinations. It’s so easy to chase the miles and miss the moments—but evenings like this make slowing down feel like the real journey.

Brown Bear Fishing: Face to Face in the Wild

Face to Face with a Brown Bear — An Unforgettable Moment in the Wild

There are moments in wildlife photography that remind you exactly why you do this — why you wake before dawn, brave the elements, and wait for hours in silence.

I was out in the field with my workshop group, cameras ready, the cool morning mist hanging low over the landscape. Suddenly, out of the stillness, this magnificent brown bear came charging — not at us, but directly toward us, powerful and focused, every muscle in motion.

For a brief second, time seemed to slow. The bear’s eyes locked ahead, paws thundering across the water, droplets flying in every direction. The adrenaline surged through all of us — an exhilarating and humbling reminder that we were witnessing raw nature in its purest form.

In reality, the bear wasn’t charging at us at all — it was chasing a salmon cutting through the shallows just in front of us. What looked like a dramatic head-on rush was actually a perfectly timed hunting move, a burst of precision and power honed by instinct. Watching that unfold at such close range was both breathtaking and unforgettable.

Our position was safe, our guide experienced, and the bear continued on its way after its brief pursuit — a reminder that we were merely visitors in its world.

Moments like these stay with you forever. They teach respect — not just for the animals, but for the wild spaces they inhabit and the delicate balance that allows encounters like this to happen safely and ethically.

This image captures just a fraction of what it felt like to be there — the power, energy, and sheer presence of one of nature’s most incredible creatures. It reminds me that in wildlife photography, the best moments aren’t just about the shot — they’re about connection, respect, and the shared experience of being truly alive in the wild.

Join Me in the Field

If experiences like this ignite your sense of adventure, consider joining one of my upcoming brown bear photography workshops. Together, we’ll spend time in the heart of bear country — capturing unforgettable moments, learning about behaviour, technique, and ethical field practices, and building a portfolio of powerful images.

There are only two spots left for both my June and September 2026 Ultimate Brown Bears of Alaska Adventure workshops — so if you’ve ever dreamed of photographing brown bears up close (safely and respectfully), now’s the time to make it happen.

📸 Learn more and reserve your spot here: https://www.chrisdoddsphoto.com/bear-boat-coastal-brown-bears-of-alaska

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More Kudos

“Thank you for another amazing workshop (Ultimate Brown Bears of Alaska)! Although this was my fifth trip with you, it was the ultimate workshop for me, as I had dreamt about it for years. This adventure was truly above and beyond my wildest dreams! Every aspect of this trip was perfect, and made it a life-changing experience for me. Thank you for the incredible organization and guidance (before and during the trip). Like always, I felt confident that you would make sure we were safe, happy and learning tons! There is no doubt that the level of planning and dedication toward ensuring the best trips for your clients is bar none. I came back with my head full of great memories and a hard drive overflowing with beautiful pictures of those gorgeous Brown Bears.”

- Louise Bertrand Québec │ Canada

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ProFusion Expo 2025 — What an Incredible Experience! 🇨🇦📸

ProFusion Expo in Toronto was an absolute blast! All of my presentations were standing-room-only — thank you to everyone who came out, asked questions, and shared so much great energy. It’s always inspiring to connect with such a passionate community of photographers, filmmakers, and creators.

This year marked my 11th consecutive year presenting and 9th year representing Sony, and it was amazing to see how the event continues to grow and evolve. The conversations, creativity, and sense of community are what make ProFusion so special.

A huge thanks to the entire @ProFusionExpo @Vistek @SonyCanada teams for another fantastic show, and to my friends Rafa Reyes, Matthew Oakes, and Matt Gabrie for capturing and sharing some great moments of me in action — you guys rock! 🙌

Until next time, Toronto — keep creating, keep inspiring, and see you again in 2026!

A Bumper Crop of Cubs Coming Soon: Alaska’s Brown Bears and the Incredible Salmon Run

A dripping wet Coastal Brown Bear watches a salmon that escaped her lunge! This year’s September Ultimate Brown Bears of Alaska Workshop was absolutely unforgettable. We witnessed one of the strongest salmon runs in decades, and it showed — the rivers were boiling with fish, and the bears were feasting like royalty.

Everywhere we turned, the bears were massive, healthy, and focused on fattening up for winter. With so much food available, the mothers will head into their dens well-prepared — and that means we can likely expect a bumper crop of cubs emerging next June!

Coastal Brown Bears (Ursus arctos gyas) depend heavily on salmon to build the fat reserves that carry them through hibernation. When salmon runs are strong, females have more energy to conceive and raise multiple cubs — and their chances of survival skyrocket. Cubs are actually born in the den in midwinter, usually around January or February, and don’t make their first public appearance until late spring.

It’s a powerful reminder that healthy salmon runs ripple through the entire ecosystem. Those nutrients brought upstream by spawning salmon feed everything from bears to eagles — even the forests themselves. This year’s abundance of fish doesn’t just feed today’s bears; it helps shape the next generation of Alaska’s magnificent brown bears.

If you’ve ever dreamed of photographing mothers and cubs in the wild, now’s your chance! My Ultimate Brown Bears of Alaska: Mothers and Cubs Edition runs June 12–19, 2026, and there are only two spots left. Join me for an unforgettable week of wildlife, wilderness, and world-class bear photography in the heart of Alaska.

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OFF TOPIC…

Oil Slick. Kodiak Harbour, Kodiak, Alaska.

Sometimes the best images are the ones you stumble upon while simply paying attention. This oil slick was photographed during a slow walk around Kodiak Harbour in Kodiak, Alaska, before my Ultimate Bears of Alaska Workshop — a day spent chatting with local fishermen, meeting their dogs and crews, and taking in the quiet beauty of working boats and weathered docks, while seeking images of the fishermen whose weathered faces so often tell the tale of a life well lived and a living hard-earned. It’s a reminder that taking the time to look closely usually reveals moments of colour, texture, and reflection hiding in plain sight — even on an overcast, grey day.

Join Me in Toronto at ProFusion Expo 2025! 🇨🇦📸

Join Me in Toronto at ProFusion Expo, November 5 & 6, 2025! 🇨🇦📸
I’m honoured to be presenting again, marking my 11th consecutive year presenting at the show and my 9th year representing Sony!

ProFusion Expo is Canada’s largest photo and video event, and after a decade of success, it’s the must-attend gathering for photographers, videographers and content creators at every level. Whether you’re a seasoned pro, a passionate enthusiast, or an emerging creator — this is your chance to learn, connect and be inspired.

🎤 Event Dates & Hours:
📅 Wednesday, November 5, 2025 — 12:00 in the Sony Booth & 15:30 on the Main Stage.
📅 Thursday, November 6, 2025 — 11:30 on the Main Stage & 13:00 in the Sony Booth.

Don’t miss my free seminar, where I’ll share insights from my imaging journey and you’ll have the opportunity to ask questions and say hello in person.

👉 Register now for free and be sure to stop by & say hello! — I’d love to see you there!

Algonquin Moose Photography & Conservation: Why Moose Are Harder to Find — and How to Capture Them Responsibly

This is another Bull Moose captured during one of my recent visits to Algonquin Park. I find myself both drawn to and uncertain about this image in equal measure. I love the way the moose emerges from the thick foliage, with its eye subtly illuminated between the shadow cast by its antlers in harsh light—a quiet moment of contrast and texture. I’d love to hear what you think.

Moose (Alces alces, orignal, élan) Ontario, Canada. Image Copyright ©Christopher Dodds. Sony A1 Mark II Mirrorless camera & Sony FE 400-800mm f/6.3-8 G OSS Lens @800mm ISO 1,000, f/8 @ 1/5,000s. Manual exposure. Full frame image.

“Hi Chris - Love your photos and a question- why are there such fewer moose in Algonquin now as compared with years ago do you think?” - Ashley Hockenberry

Where Have All the Moose Gone?

Understanding Algonquin’s Changing Moose Population

In my last post, I shared a favourite moose encounter from Algonquin’s misty wetlands. Many readers asked the same question:

“Why are there so many fewer moose in Algonquin now than there used to be?”

It’s something I’ve noticed too on those quiet dawn drives when the roadsides seem empty. The truth is, there’s no single reason. The decline of Algonquin’s moose population — and across much of Ontario — is the result of several overlapping pressures: climate, parasites, habitat change, and human activity.

1. Climate Change and Parasites

Warmer winters and shorter snow seasons have allowed winter ticks (Dermacentor albipictus) to thrive. A single moose can carry tens of thousands of ticks, leading to blood loss, hair loss, and sometimes death — especially for calves.

Hotter summers add stress too: moose overheat easily, rest more, and feed less, entering winter with lower fat reserves and reduced survival odds.

2. Brainworm from Expanding Deer Populations

As white-tailed deer move north, they bring brainworm (Parelaphostrongylus tenuis), a parasite harmless to deer but fatal to moose. The growing overlap between deer and moose ranges in Algonquin has increased the risk of infection, further straining the herd.

3. Habitat Changes

Moose depend on young, regenerating forests full of birch, aspen, and willow shoots. Early logging and natural fires once created this type of habitat.

Today, Algonquin’s forests are maturing under selective management — beneficial for many species, but offering less prime browse for moose. Beyond the park, large-scale clearcutting and fragmented landscapes have also reduced food availability and safe travel corridors.

4. Past Overharvesting

Earlier wildlife policies once allowed calf hunting and issued higher tag numbers. These practices contributed to declines across several regions. Ontario has since tightened hunting regulations, but recovery is slow, and occasional poaching near the park boundaries continues to raise concern.

5. Predation and Population Health

Wolves and bears remain vital parts of Algonquin’s ecosystem. While predation is natural, moose weakened by ticks, heat stress, or poor nutrition become easier prey, especially calves. These interactions can magnify the effects of other stressors.

6. Human Disturbance: The Problem with Calling-In Moose

A newer issue is the use of moose calls by photographers hoping for a closer shot. While often well-intentioned, this can harm the animals. Responding to calls forces moose — especially bulls during the rut — to waste precious energy and move away from feeding or resting areas. It can also lead them toward roads or confuse them during the breeding season.

“A bull chasing a phantom call isn’t resting or tending to actual cows,” notes one park warden.

Frequent exposure to artificial calls can habituate moose to people, increasing the risk of vehicle collisions. Algonquin staff strongly encourage passive, respectful viewing instead.

📸 Ethical Moose Photography: 3 Quick Tips

1. Keep Your Distance – Use a long lens; let the moose control the space.

2. No Calls or Bait – Avoid techniques that alter natural behaviour.

3. Be Patient – Early mornings and quiet observation often lead to the best shots.

“Patience always pays off — the wild moments come to those who wait.”

Working Toward Balance

The picture isn’t all bleak. Researchers, Indigenous knowledge holders, and park staff are studying these challenges together. A more holistic management approach — one that considers climate, disease, habitat, and cultural perspectives — offers hope for a sustainable moose population in Algonquin and beyond.

A Personal Reflection

Even with fewer sightings, every moose encounter in Algonquin still feels like a gift. They’re out there — deep in the spruce, wading through dawn mist, quietly living the rhythms of a changing forest.

“The forest is never static — it’s a living system, always in motion. Moose reminds us of that.”

If you’ve noticed changes in moose activity or have stories from your own Algonquin visits, I’d love to hear them in the comments below.