Black-throated Blue Warbler — A Great Start to Spring Migration at Point Pelee National Park

After Julie and I made the long, uneventful drive from Montreal to Point Pelee to scout for my upcoming private days with a client, the free Sony photo walks, and my Songbirds of Pelee workshop, we were rewarded pretty quickly.

We had this Black-throated Blue Warbler all to ourselves for a good stretch. Spectacular breeding plumage, exactly where it should be during migration—low and slow, out in the open, working the branches for insects.

The park was quiet. We only saw a handful of other photographers.

This is what makes Pelee special this time of year. These birds have just crossed Lake Erie, they’re tired, they need to refuel, and for a brief window, they let you in.

No chaos, no crowd—just time to watch, anticipate, and be ready.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

Join me at Point Pelee next May for the Songbirds of Pelee workshop and experience world-class spring migration birding at its best.

Osprey Carrying Spanish Moss Nesting Material in Flight

We didn’t have “perfect” weather during my recent Ospreys Galore workshop in Florida — and I wouldn’t change a thing.

This is a male osprey (no brown necklace) bringing Spanish moss back to the nest. We saw this behaviour repeatedly during the trip. Once chicks hatch, nest maintenance becomes constant — in and out, all day long.

Spanish moss is everywhere in the cypress trees around Lake Blue Cypress, so it’s the go-to material. If you watch long enough, you start to see the pattern — leave the nest, grab moss, straight back in.

And there’s a reason for the urgency.

Before the chicks learn to back up and send everything over the edge, the nest gets messy fast. Fresh material helps keep things under control, and the adults stay on top of it.

What I like here is the background.

Most people chase a blue sky. I’ll take this “battleship grey” every time. It isolates the bird, shows the shape, and lets the detail in the wings — and that trailing moss — stand on their own without distraction.

Lake Blue Cypress holds one of the highest densities of nesting ospreys in Florida — hundreds of active pairs in a relatively tight area — which is what makes behaviour like this so repeatable if you put the time in.

No tricks. Just set your manual exposure for the light falling on the subject, pay attention, and be ready when it happens.

Osprey displaying with Catch in Golden Light (Pandion haliaetus, Balbuzard pêcheur, Águila pescadora, OSPR) from my Ospreys Galore Workshop at Lake Blue Cypress near Vero Beach, Florida, USA. Image copyright ©Christopher Dodds. Sony a1 Mark II Mirrorless camera & Sony FE 400-800mm f/6.3-8 G OSS Lens @610mm ISO 1,000, f/8 @ 1/5,000s. Manual Exposure mode. Full frame image. Join me for my Ospreys Galore workshop every April. To learn more, CLICK HERE.

Testimonial

“This was my 3rd workshop with Chris and as always Chris improvised to make it happen for us.  Anyone who photographs outdoors and especially wildlife knows that weather and lighting are key to having good results.  We can’t control the weather but we can adjust to the lighting we’re given.  What Chris did on all three of my trips is adjust to both of these for every morning and afternoon shoot.  The Osprey trip was a perfect challenge - the first two days wind and storms prevented us from being on the lake to photograph the ospreys so Chris shifted our location for both the morning and afternoon shoots to minimize the weather impact of rain and wind.  Not to say we didn’t have to wait out a deluge of rain for an hour but 20 minutes after it blew by we were back out for the last 45 minutes of perfect light. For the first two days we got to shoot a wide variety of cranes, spoonbills, egrets, storks, anhingas, limpkins, ibis, hawks, swamp hens, terns and stilts.  Both days we were treated with the brilliant roseate spoonbills flying in towards us to pick up nesting material. But then the prize for me was Friday morning on the lake at sunrise for the osprey. In a mile and a half stretch we saw over 100 nests and at least 150 osprey.   Between Chris and the boat owner they held the boat at the best angle for the osprey to be lit perfectly.  After filling 2-1/2 128GB cards it was time to leave the perfect osprey shoot. In the last 20 years of my photography this was by far the most photos I’ve taken over a three day period.  If you want to get your absolute best excellent bird photography opportunities I highly recommend the Birds of Pelee and Ospreys of Florida.  I own the 300,400 and 600mm lenses but I used the Sony 400-800mm lens for both trips and the zoom capability, excellent stabilization and weight make it the perfect lens for both these workshops.  Thanks Chris!”

- Tony Pianalto Kansas | USA

A fraction of a second and Gone — Osprey with Catch in Golden Light

This is another one of those moments that didn’t last.

At first glance, it looks like this osprey is posing with its fresh catch — wings up, fish in the talons, everything perfectly arranged. It wasn’t. It reacted just as fast as I did when the boat swung around for another pass at the silhouetted cypress trees that were distracting us all.

It landed for a split second, realized what was happening, and was gone.

The light was as good as it gets — that honey gold that makes everything glow and come alive. But none of that matters if you’re not ready. I had already set my manual exposure for the volume of light falling on the subject and wasn’t adjusting it. When something like this happens, there’s no time to think. You either have it or you don’t, so there is a huge advantage to understanding light and exposure.

That’s the whole game: You stay ready, even when nothing is happening, because when it does happen, it’s usually over in a few seconds.

I’ll be honest, I was quietly hoping a peregrine might rip through for the group. Something dramatic. But you don’t get to choose what shows up. You take what you’re given and make the most of it.

And this worked out magically!!

There’s a bit of a three-dimensional feel to this one: the wings, the light, the fish hanging just below the branch. Everything lined up just long enough.

A fraction of a second….that’s all you need - smile!

Osprey displaying with Catch in Golden Light (Pandion haliaetus, Balbuzard pêcheur, Águila pescadora, OSPR) from my Ospreys Galore Workshop at Lake Blue Cypress near Vero Beach, Florida, USA. Image copyright ©Christopher Dodds. Sony a1 Mark II Mirrorless camera & Sony FE 400-800mm f/6.3-8 G OSS Lens @800mm ISO 10,000, f/8 @ 1/5,000s. Manual Exposure mode. Full frame image. Join me for my Ospreys Galore workshop every April. To learn more, CLICK HERE.

Testimonial and images courtesy of George Schlossnagle. (Thanks, George!)

“This is my second workshop with Chris. Chris is a great instructor and a fantastic trip leader. He combines an encyclopedic knowledge of wildlife with more than 40 years of experience photographing it, which allows him to consistently put you in the right place at the right time—with the right guidance—to capture exceptional shots.

Just as importantly, Chris genuinely cares about his participants and their success; he’s always looking for ways to make your experience more productive and rewarding. Florida, in particular, is an incredibly target-rich environment. While this workshop focuses on ospreys (and I came away with many fantastic osprey images), I also left with great exposure to dozens of other species.

5/5 — would absolutely do it again.” - George Schlossnagle Maryland | USA

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

Image courtesy and copyright 2026 George Schlossnagle.

If you want to put yourself in the kind of situations where moments like this can happen, join me next April in Florida for Ospreys Galore and so much more Workshop. We work the light, stay mobile, and position ourselves where opportunity is most likely — then it comes down to being ready. Small groups (maximum 5 participants), real field time, and the kind of unpredictable moments that make wildlife photography worth it.

Five Seconds That Said It All: A Wind-Blown Red-Shouldered Hawk and a Rain-Soaked Ospreys Galore Workshop

KUDOS

“With any other trip leader, the workshop would have been a bust.  We had a record 6 inches of rain in a day and half.  But Chris pivoted quickly to help us find us other locations and subjects to shoot.  In the end, I was super pleased with my images and had a great time. Chris is the ultimate professional.  He is highly knowledgeable about both photography and bird behavior, but even more importantly, he helps to make it an inviting and fun learning environment for photographers at all levels.  A strong two thumbs up!” - Jennifer Bellon Massachusetts, USA

This red-shouldered hawk dropped in for maybe five seconds — landed, hung on for dear life as a gust tried to pry it off the perch, lost its grip, and was gone. Blink and you miss it. I got the frame I wanted and a good reminder of how unpredictable this kind of fieldwork can be.

That same workshop reinforced something else: respect the radar.

The second group got hammered — nearly six inches of rain in a day and a half. Along Florida’s east coast, that kind of rain is often regional. It can be dumping where you are and completely different an hour or two away. Experience has taught me to stay ahead of it — watch the radar closely, pick a likely clearing within a couple of hours, and move before things get worse. When it’s not safe to be on the lake with the ospreys, you adjust.

We didn’t avoid all of it — we drove through some of the heaviest rain anyone in the group had ever seen — but we stayed productive when it mattered.

Because of the weather, we had to change plans and ended up working some excellent locations we wouldn’t normally spend time in on this trip. Knowing the area made it straightforward to choose spots that worked with the light and wind, and the variety of subjects kept everyone engaged.

It also forced people to adapt.

Tracking fast birds in gusty conditions, working tight compositions in busy habitat, and being ready when something happens fast — like that hawk — are all part of it.

A few takeaways from the week:

• Watch the radar and learn how to read it — there’s almost always a break somewhere

• Have backup locations within a reasonable drive, ideally with different habitat

• Shoot for moments, not minutes — five seconds can be enough

• Stay flexible — tough conditions often lead to better images

• Safety comes first — no one goes out on the water in storms

We came away with strong images and a lot of good experiences.

That hawk summed it up. Brief, chaotic, and gone before you really process it.

If you’re thinking about joining me next April, come prepared to adapt.

That’s where the good stuff happens.

Raven Intelligence in Autumn Gold: How to Photograph Black Birds Properly

Raven Intelligence in Autumn Gold

Photographing One of the Most Remarkable Birds in the North

There are birds you photograph… and then there are birds that seem to photograph you back.

The Common Raven falls firmly into the second category.

While exploring the forests of Northern Ontario last autumn, the landscape was alive with deep golds and warm amber tones. The birches and poplars had turned the forest into a glowing canvas, and against that background a raven landed nearby — calm, watchful, and intensely aware of everything around it.

Ravens have a presence that is hard to describe until you experience it. They are among the most intelligent birds on the planet, capable of complex problem-solving, playful behaviour, and even recognizing individual human faces. When one looks directly at you, there is a moment where it genuinely feels like you are being studied.

This individual gave me exactly that feeling.

Rather than chasing flight shots or action, I decided to slow down and focus on a portrait — something that really revealed the bird’s character. With the rich autumn colours behind it, the raven’s glossy black feathers provide a striking contrast, but they also present a technical challenge for many photographers who don’t fully understand exposure theory.

Black birds are notoriously difficult to expose properly.

Getting the Exposure Right

When photographing dark plumage, the biggest mistake is relying too heavily on lifting shadows later in post-processing. If the exposure is even slightly under in camera, recovering those deep blacks can introduce noise and destroy the subtle feather detail that gives the bird its texture and depth.

This image was captured with the Sony A1 II and the Sony 400–800mm lens, a combination that provides incredible reach and resolution while maintaining exceptional feather detail.

With ravens in particular, the key is to protect detail in the blacks while still maintaining a natural look. Their feathers are not truly “black” — they contain subtle tonal variation, layered textures, and sometimes even hints of iridescence. If the exposure is too dark, all of that disappears into a flat silhouette.

How to Photograph Black Birds

Photographing black birds such as ravens, crows, grackles, or blackbirds can be surprisingly challenging. The deep tones in their feathers can easily fool a camera’s meter into underexposing the image, causing the plumage to lose detail and appear flat or muddy.

One technique I often use when photographing black birds is spot metering directly from the darkest part of the bird’s plumage. When doing this, the correct exposure typically occurs when the meter reads approximately –1⅔ stops, since black subjects reflect roughly 1⅔ stops less light than a midtone.

The easiest way to dial this in with your camera set to manual exposure mode is to adjust your exposure in a logical sequence.

First, choose your aperture based on the depth of field you want.

Next, set your shutter speed fast enough to stop any unexpected movement.

Finally, adjust the ISO.

In many cases, raising the ISO slightly to intentionally brighten the blacks during capture helps ensure the feathers are recorded with enough light to preserve their structure and texture. This allows the camera to capture far more detail while reducing the need to push shadows later in post-processing, where noise most often appears.

At the same time, it’s important to monitor your histogram and highlight alerts to ensure that brighter areas — such as the bill or reflective feather edges — are not clipping.

Getting the exposure right in the camera is always the goal.

When done correctly, black feathers reveal beautiful texture, subtle tonal variation, and even a slight sheen that gives the bird depth and life in the photograph.

The Quiet Magic of Ravens

What I love most about this image is the calm intensity of the bird. Ravens have a presence that feels almost mythical — something many northern cultures have recognized for centuries. They are playful, mischievous, brilliant problem solvers, and endlessly curious.

Standing there with this raven only a short distance away, it felt less like photographing wildlife and more like sharing a moment with another intelligence.

The bird watched me carefully for several seconds, tilting its head slightly as if trying to understand what I was doing.

Then, just as quietly as it arrived, it lifted off and disappeared back into the forest.

Moments like that are part of what makes wildlife photography so addictive.

You’re not just documenting nature.

You’re interacting with it.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, the bird lets you see a little bit of its personality.

Moments like this are exactly why I love leading photography workshops. Spending time in the field, watching wildlife behaviour unfold, and learning how to capture those moments with the right exposure and technique is something that can’t really be taught in a classroom.

Join Me In The Field

If you’d like to experience moments like this yourself, consider joining one of my upcoming wildlife photography workshops. Whether it’s photographing owls in winter, songbirds at Point Pelee, Ospreys in Florida, or puffins along the Atlantic coast, the goal is always the same — helping photographers learn to see light, understand exposure, and capture meaningful images in the natural world.

You can see the full list of upcoming workshops here:
www.naturephotographyblog.com

A Second Migration Gift — Prothonotary Warbler Reflections at Point Pelee

Spring migration at Point Pelee National Park is already legendary for small songbirds arriving low and slow after crossing Lake Erie. In my recent post about photographing an American Redstart during spring migration, I touched on the magic of warbler fallout and how understanding bird behaviour can completely transform your photography.

But there was another moment — one that pulled me into the shadows and reminded me why I chase light as much as birds.

This Prothonotary Warbler wasn’t perched out in the open, nor was it offering a classic pose against fresh spring greens. Instead, it moved quietly along the edge of a dark, still pool, gleaning insects from wet bark, its golden head briefly mirrored in the water below. The surrounding bark—layered with texture and shadow—formed a natural frame, and the stillness of the moment became its own kind of light.

Photographing it was less about reacting and more about waiting, watching, and blending. The bird wasn’t high, wasn’t bold — but it was present. And when I found the light as it dipped into the pool, the reflection emerged like a second subject: a mirror image capturing both behaviour and environment in a single frame.

Moments like this are exactly why spring migration at Pelee is so special. It’s not only the abundance of species — the Redstarts, Blackburnians, Bay-breasteds — but the quality of opportunity that comes when birds aren’t fleeing but settling. They arrive tired, intentional, and yes, sometimes reflective — literally and metaphorically.

You can read the full story of this encounter, and see how light and shadow played a role in making this image come alive, in my earlier post:

👉 Light and Shadow — Capturing a Prothonotary Warbler’s Reflection
https://www.naturephotographyblog.com/blog/light-and-shadow-capturing-a-prothonotary-warblers-reflection

Why this matters for your photography

This kind of moment isn’t random. It’s the result of:

• Being in the right place at the right time – Point Pelee during peak spring migration

• Reading bird behaviour – noticing when songbirds are low and deliberate

• Understanding light and environment – letting shadows and reflections work for you

• Mastering in-camera exposure – catching subtle tones without over or underexposing

When you align those elements, you find pictures you didn’t even know you were looking for.

Few spots left — join me at Point Pelee

If these kinds of experiences speak to you — American Redstarts moving low after crossing Lake Erie, Prothonotary reflections in shadowed pools, and the subtle art of seeing before you shoot — there are still a handful of spots left in my Songbirds of Pelee Bird Photography Workshop, May 7–11.

We’ll explore:

• Photographing warblers and other songbirds during spring migration

• Ethical fieldcraft and how to read bird behaviour

• Mastering in-camera exposure for fast-changing light

• Working thoughtfully during warbler fallout days

📸 Limited spaces remain.
👉 Learn more and book here:
https://www.chrisdoddsphoto.com/songbirds-of-pelee-photo-tour

Spring migration won’t wait — neither should your opportunity to photograph it.

Chris

Photographing an American Redstart at Point Pelee During Spring Migration

Why warbler fallout makes this Canada’s best bird photography workshop location

Every spring, Point Pelee National Park becomes one of the most important bird migration stopovers in North America—and for bird photographers, it’s nothing short of magical. During my Point Pelee Spring Migration Workshop, I had the opportunity to photograph this stunning American Redstart at close range, in beautiful light, during peak migration conditions.

American Redstarts are typically fast, restless warblers—constantly flicking, darting, and disappearing into dense foliage. But spring migration changes everything.

Why spring migration is the best time to photograph American Redstarts

By the time American Redstarts reach Point Pelee, many have just completed a demanding overnight crossing of Lake Erie. This is a major physiological effort for a bird weighing only a few grams. When weather systems align—southerly winds, overnight rain, or sudden temperature drops—birds arrive low, slow, and visibly exhausted.

For bird photographers, this creates rare opportunities. Instead of racing through the canopy, American Redstarts often perch at eye level, forage methodically, and pause just long enough for carefully composed images. These conditions are exactly why spring migration at Point Pelee is so productive for photography.

Gear and approach in the field

This image was made using the Sony a9 Mark III, paired with the Sony FE 400-800mm f/6.3-8 G OSS Lens @790mm—a really portable setup that allows me to keep a respectful distance while still filling the frame with fine detail. During migration, patience and restraint matter more than speed. When birds are tired, ethical fieldcraft means letting them settle, feed, and recover while you work quietly and deliberately.

American Redstart migration facts

American Redstarts are long-distance migrants, wintering in the Caribbean, Central America, and northern South America. Each spring, they travel thousands of kilometres to reach breeding territories across Canada and the northern United States. Point Pelee, as the southernmost point of mainland Canada, acts as a critical first landfall—making it one of the best places anywhere to observe and photograph them during spring migration.

When warbler fallout happens at Point Pelee

On the right mornings, Point Pelee delivers what birders and photographers dream about: warbler fallout. Dozens of species—American Redstarts, Blackburnians, Magnolias, Bay-breasted Warblers, and more—can be found feeding low, resting in open cover, and allowing intimate views that are rarely possible elsewhere.

When fallout occurs, the park feels alive. Every trail holds possibility. It’s not about chasing birds—it’s about slowing down, reading behavior, and letting moments unfold naturally.

Join my Point Pelee Bird Photography Workshop

If photographing American Redstarts, experiencing warbler fallout, and immersing yourself in spring migration at Point Pelee sounds appealing, I invite you to join me for my Songbirds of Pelee Bird Photography Workshop, running May 7–11.

📸 Limited spots available.
👉 Join me at Point Pelee this May and experience one of the finest bird photography workshops in North America—right in the heart of spring migration.

Why I Don’t Use Flash on Birds and Owls (and Why We Used To)

Why I Don’t Use Flash on Birds and Owls (and why we used to)

I’m occasionally asked why I don’t use flash for birds—especially owls. My answer is pretty practical: with modern cameras, I don’t need it, and it’s one more factor that can influence a bird’s behaviour.

That wasn’t always true.

A quick bit of history: film days, slow light, and the “Better Beamer”

In the film era, low light was a wall. Film was slow, usable shutter speeds were hard to come by, and you didn’t have today’s clean high-ISO files or low-light autofocus.

Flash became a solution—sometimes for exposure, and sometimes for aesthetics. A small catchlight can make a bird feel “alive” in the frame; without it, subjects photographed in flat light can look oddly lifeless.

That’s where the Fresnel flash extender came in: a simple lens that concentrates the flash beam so more of the light lands on the bird instead of being wasted across the whole scene. One of the best-known versions is the Better Beamer, which uses a Fresnel lens to narrow and concentrate the flash output.

And the Better Beamer has a name attached to it that matters to me personally.

Walt Anderson (RIP) and real innovation

My friend Walt Anderson (RIP) was the inventor/creator of the Visual Echoes Flash Extender—widely known as the Better Beamer.
He began exploring the then-new TTL flash systems in the early 1990s and founded Visual Echoes to produce and market the product.

It was a smart, practical innovation for the realities of that time. It helped many bird photographers produce better images when the tools simply weren’t what they are today.

What changed: modern cameras changed the need

Fast forward to now: modern sensors can handle ISO levels we wouldn’t have dreamed of in the film days, and autofocus can lock onto a subject in very low light. For most bird photography situations, I can make the image with ambient light and good technique—without introducing artificial light into the encounter.

So for me, flash has shifted from “useful tool” to “unnecessary tool” for bird photography.

Owls in particular

Most Owls are highly adapted to low-light environments. Their hunting and movement patterns are built around darkness and subtle contrast. Even if long-term effects of flash are debated in different contexts, the short-term reality in the field is that some birds react—blinking, flinching, shifting posture, or leaving a perch. If I can avoid introducing that variable, I will.

What the research says (a simple, measurable point)

There’s also a research-backed reason to be cautious with anything that increases disturbance.

A 2019 study in Biological Conservation looked at bird photography and quantified escape responses (flight-initiation distance). One of the headline findings: for most species, photographers triggered escape at greater distances than walkers, suggesting that photography can be a stronger disturbance stimulus than a normal passerby.

That doesn’t “prove” flash is always harmful—but it does reinforce a basic idea: our choices and behaviours around birds matter, and it’s worth minimizing anything that can add pressure.

The ethical baseline I follow

I try to keep my approach simple and consistent with widely shared best practices. NANPA’s Principles of Ethical Field Practices puts it plainly:

“If an animal shows stress, move back and use a longer lens.”

That line is easy to apply, and it works.

Where I land

I’m not interested in turning this into a debate. I’m interested in stacking the odds in favour of the bird.

So I work with available light, modern sensor performance, and field craft. And when the light isn’t there, I’d rather miss a frame than add a variable that I don’t need.

References

• NANPA — Principles of Ethical Field Practices (Revised March 2018).

• Slater et al. (2019) — “Camera shy? … avian responses to [bird photographers]” Biological Conservation(highlights include longer escape distances to photographers than walkers).

Short-eared Owl — Winter Flight with Lone Tree by Julie Morrison (Asio flammeus, Hibou des marais, Búho campestre, SEOW) January 8, 2025, during week 1/8 of the Snowy Owl Workshops in Ontario, Canada. Sony a9 Mark III mirrorless camera body & Sony SEL FE 200-600mm f/5.6-6.3 G OSS Lens @600mm. ISO 5,000, f/6.3 @ 1/5,000s Manual exposure.

That same afternoon—the very one that gave me the image at the top of this post—also produced a milestone I’m genuinely proud of: my wife, Julie Morrison, made an image that’s now being published here on the blog for the first time. If you’ve spent any time with us in the field, you already know she’s a gifted photographer with a calm, confident eye and a knack for timing. But what really makes my wife a force to be reckoned with on workshops is her owl-spotting superpower: she’ll pick up a shape, a posture, a blink of movement in the grass that most people would drive right past. I love watching her work, and I’m thrilled to share her first blog-published image—made on the same afternoon as mine.

Dear Bird Photographer: On the Images That Matter More Than Likes

Dear Bird Photographer,

While everyone is filling their feeds with carefully curated “Best of 2025” collections, I wanted to pause and share something a little quieter.

This image—a Red-tailed Hawk in flight—was made during my recent Better than Bosque workshop. No drama. No explosive sky. No once-in-a-lifetime chaos unfolding in the frame. Just a wild bird doing what it has always done, moving effortlessly through clean New Mexico air in honest, early light.

And yet, this photograph represents more than it might appear at first glance.

You know the investment that goes into images like this. The early mornings. The cold hands. The long stretches of waiting. The years spent learning light, behaviour, timing, and restraint. When it finally comes together, the result is often something beautifully simple: sharp, well composed, and true.

But here’s the strange part—we hesitate to celebrate these photographs.

Why?

Because we already know how they’ll land online. They won’t trigger an epic response. They won’t stop thumbs mid-scroll. They don’t shock, exaggerate, or rely on spectacle. And in a world overflowing with astonishingly capable cameras and millions of people making technically solid bird images every day, work like this can start to feel… ordinary.

It isn’t.

Look a little closer.

The wing position is classic red-tail—broad, powerful, unhurried. The light slips gently through the primaries, revealing just enough translucence to show that the sun angle was correct. The warm tones in the tail and upperwing are present but restrained. The head is sharp, the eye alert. There’s space to fly. Nothing is forced. Nothing clipped. Nothing is screaming for attention.

This is the kind of image that comes from understanding birds, respecting light, and trusting patience. It’s what happens when experience quietly does its work.

Social media rewards novelty and extremes. Photography—real photography—rewards consistency, restraint, and the ability to recognize a good moment even when it doesn’t shout.

So here’s my invitation to you.

Instead of asking which image performed best this year, ask yourself which photograph still carries a story only you remember. The cold morning. The quiet drive. The bird you didn’t expect. The moment that made you pause and smile behind the camera. The image that may never go viral, but still feels right every time you return to it.

If you’re inclined, take a moment to revisit that photograph. Recount the story behind it—to yourself, to a friend, or in a few quiet words shared somewhere meaningful. Those are the images that remind us why we show up in the first place.

Sometimes, a simple, honest photograph of a beautiful bird in good light is more than enough.

And sometimes, that’s precisely the point.

—Chris

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.

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.

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.

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.

Merlin in Flight: Capturing the Perfect Dorsal View in Cypress Hills Provincial Park, Alberta

Continuing the story from my previous post — Full-Frame Merlin: Birds-in-Flight Photography Adventure in Cypress Hills, Alberta — this next moment unfolded just seconds after takeoff.

After launching from its perch, the Merlin began circling my RV in a graceful clockwise loop toward another fence post further down the road. Before long, the bird’s path put me in a bit of a photographer’s dilemma: the physics simply stopped working in my favour. With my super-telephoto Sony 600mm f/4 (paired with an extender on the Sony a1 II), there was only so much twisting I could manage — especially with my seatbelt still on (I’d pulled over, engine off, for the shot).

At that point, instinct and experience took over. I pulled my face away from the viewfinder, extended the camera out the window, and continued tracking the Merlin purely by feel and intuition. Decades of practice — forty years’ worth of bird photography muscle memory — came together in that split second.

The result: a full-frame, perfectly timed dorsal view of the Merlin banking against a soft, pastel sky. A fleeting instant, beautifully frozen in motion — and a reminder that sometimes, the best shots happen when physics gives way to pure experience.

How I Captured a White-winged Crossbill Portrait: Eye-Level Bird Photography with a High-Key Background

Before photographing the White-winged Crossbill framed by soft yellow buttercups during my Deluxe Atlantic Puffin Workshops (featured in an earlier blog post), I had an unexpected and fleeting opportunity to create something even more intimate—a clean headshot of the bird perched quietly on a signpost.

White-winged Crossbills are usually restless, so when this one sat still—relaxed, elevated, and unbothered—I knew I had a rare chance. Rather than go wide, I went close, focusing on the fine feather detail, the distinctive crossed bill, and that soft, alert eye. I also made a point to get slightly below eye level—a minor adjustment that goes a long way toward creating a more intimate and engaging portrait.

The signpost itself wasn't ideal visually (dark green, with a "Do Not Disturb the Nesting Birds" message), but the overcast sky above provided the perfect high-key background. I used the soft, even overcast light to isolate the subject, allowing its subtle tones and textures to stand out without distraction.

Sometimes the best portraits don't come from hours of waiting—they appear in a blink, if you're ready and paying attention to the details.

👉 See how the rest of the encounter unfolded:

A Rare Treat: White-winged Crossbill on L’île aux Perroquets

White-winged Crossbill (Loxia leucoptera, Bec-croisé bifascié, Piquituerto aliblanco, WWCR) from my Deluxe Puffins Galore Workshop, Mingan Archipelago National Park Reserve, Quebec, Canada. Image Copyright ©Christopher Dodds. Sony a9 III Mirrorless camera & Sony FE 400-800mm f/6.3-8 G OSS Lens @500mm ISO 40,000, f/8 @ 1/5,000s. Manual exposure. Full frame image.