In late August 2025, I was invited to Spain by my friend Craig from Canon Rumours to try to photograph the rare and endangered Iberian Lynx. When the invitation arrived, despite knowing embarrassingly little about the Iberian Lynx, I did not have to think long. A chance to photograph one of the world’s most endangered cats? I was in.

When I boarded the flight from Stockholm to Madrid, I knew two things: Summer in Spain is brutally hot and that the Iberian Lynx, one of the rarest wild cats on the planet, would prove a serious photographic challenge. As a photographer drawn to clean, monochromatic Polar palettes, the thought of sitting in dusty hides in circa 40 °C heat was not exactly thrilling. Still, the opportunity to capture this rare feline in its mysterious, sun-baked territory outweighed almost every misgiving. I took a deep breath and plunged into the heat….

The heat hit me like a sledgehammer the moment I stepped off the plane in Spain. A visceral wave of silent oppressive heat —immobile, thick and heavy. The summer heat of Spain is a different kind of quiet from the cryogenic Arctic silence I’m so used to. The hides we would use to try and photograph the Iberian Lynx are located roughly two hours’ drive from Madrid, so after picking up a rental car, we made our way through Spanish traffic in the witching hour to our remote countryside hotel. 

On our first visit to the Mediterranean scrubland, we were greeted by a dusty yellow and ochre savanna of golden grasses and parched scrubland. I knew, from the monochromatic environment, that there was fantastic potential to make a great photograph. The ever-present question was whether the Lynx would show itself? These are knife-edge moments for a wildlife photographer. Recognising the potential for a great photograph which fate then fails to deliver is far more painful than failing to ever see the opportunity in the first place.

Once on location in the first hide, I was struck by how the simple palette resonated with me: ochres, muted ambers, and sandy yellow browns. Though far from the polar monotones I love, this warmth held its own poetry. The canvas spoke of simplicity, a pared-back approach to composition focused on form, light, and the delicate tension of a wild cat’s movement in a monochromatic environment.

Over the next several days and nights, I found myself trapped in a hazy, hot loop of the good, the bad, and the ugly:
• The Good: Quiet cool mornings when a Lynx would gently pad into frame mid-stride. I’d catch that ghost-like elegance in the yellow light, the quiet puff of dust beneath its paws, eyes locked on something off-scene. Those frames, where all the elements converged—Lynx, environment, light—are, for me, the essence of pure wildlife photography. These moments don’t just create photos; they are narrative fragments of a moment impossible to stage.
• The Bad: That infernal heat. The hide, far from insulated (and without air-conditioning), became a furnace by midday. My skin glistened with a sheen of sweat; my gear felt hotter than freshly forged steel. I wondered, not for the first time, if my love for Arctic minimalism made me a masochist in deserts. I learned quickly to guard against overheating and to keep water nearby, yet the scent of dust and sun-baked earth permeated everything.
• The Ugly: The waiting (in combination with the heat) was often brutal. For every brief, but sublime encounter, there were hours of nothing. Empty frames. Moments when I thought I’d made a mistake, dragging a heat-stricken body into a setting so foreign. But then, a whispered movement, a ghost emerging from the heat haze and scrub at the edge of the long lens, and all doubts evaporated.

As the heat roiled and baked the landscape into silence. I was dozing in a stupor of dehydration and sweat when I saw a Lynx approaching the watering hole: I lifted the camera as a juvenile Lynx, golden-spotted, ghosted through the frame. Its stride kicked up a whisper of dust, matching the dry hues of the ground. In that split second, everything came alive, and I arrived at my destination.

The animal paused, ears perked, body taut, before pausing to drink. I reviewed the frame on the back of the camera, and felt the familiar – yet rare – click of alignment: subject, environment, dynamics, story. It was that single mid-stride shot that would later feature as my Photograph of the Month for September: the monochromatic palette, the poised motion, the swirl of dust embodying primal drama.   

What struck me most was how much this experience echoed my love for the polar environment, despite being so juxtaposed. In both cases, simplicity reigns. The Iberian landscape, in its parched austerity, offers the same clarity of tone I see in snow: minimal distractions, a palette narrowed, subtle tonal relationships bold yet understated. The Lynx, defined sharply against the sombre background, becomes a living shape, a typographic form in motion.

The muted yellows and browns required that I look for contrast not in colour but in texture and light. The yellow and oranges of the dust, the ridges of dried grasses, the Lynx’s fur catching the slanting sun—these become the tools to create something magical. The challenge was to stay patient and observant, to wait for that perfect convergence. Moments with the Lynx in front of the camera are fleeting and rare. A 5-hour hide session may result in just a few seconds with a Lynx as it passes by, or pauses at the watering hole to drink, or it may result in nothing more than lost sweat and patience in the oppressive heat.

This trip reaffirmed something I often say: that wildlife photography, at its core, is simplicity and emotion. It is about telling a story without clutter—just animal and environment, moment and mood. Here, the Iberian Lynx told its story in pauses, in dust kicking beneath silent paws in the harsh Spanish summer environment. It was not explosive behaviours—but rather subtle, refined, ghostly poetry. Of course, the opportunity for dramatic behaviour is always there, but this requires serendipity, and with just three full days in the hides, the odds were not stacked in our favour to witness or capture dramatic interactions. We came close, one afternoon, when seven Lynx approached the hide simultaneously from the scrub only to have one of them suddenly spook and within a flash all seven vanished into the haze and dust not to be seen again. These are the trials and tribulations of being a wildlife photographer. Sometimes the most potent and evocative shot is snatched from your grasp when you can almost taste it. Yet that’s wildlife photography. Joy and frustration, woven together. And when nature finally offers a glimpse—however fleeting—it feels earned and profound.

I’m grateful I pushed through the summer discomfort. This trip was not just about ticking a species off a list; it was about learning the language of a new landscape, discovering a different form of beauty, and testing myself outside my comfort zone. It was also about determining the best time to visit and how the experience could be improved for future visits and workshops. The primary reason I have consistently advocated for scouting trips like this is to identify potential problems or issues and resolve them before an organised trip.

Encountering and photographing the Iberian Lynx has left an imprint. It’s a reminder that wildlife photography is both about what you endure—and what you learn to see. In the dust we often call ugly, there lies possibility. In the patience we endure, there lies a reward.

To those who ask if I’d sit in a hide at 40 °C for these photos: yes—because when that Lynx steps into frame, all the heat, all the waiting, all the effort fades. What remains is the photograph, and afterwards, the memory it carries. We also have to remind ourselves that it is the journey that matters and that the destination only arrives when the hard work is accomplished.

Will I return to Spain? The answer is ‘Yes’ – but on very different terms. Or, better said, on terms I can dictate and where I can ensure the right experience for all. If you have listened to my recent podcast (number 130) on this experience, then you already know the issues I had with this particular trip. However, I have been discussing and working through these problems in detail with the owners, and we are planning to run a future trip where we (Wild Nature Photo Travel) will take over the entire hides for a period of five days in December. This time of year is renowned for having the most Lynx activity, as the young Lynx are being kicked out by their parents. Additionally, the Lynx are in their thicker winter coat and at their most photogenic. Perhaps best of all, temperatures are far more temperate. With a complete takeover of the hides on the cards for a completely private experience, we know we can offer the best possible experience. We will have more details soon (and you can reach out if you wish to pre-register). Until then, the experience and memory of Spain serves as a not-so-gentle reminder that sometimes we need to suffer for art – so that our art can suffer for us.

A few days ago, I received exactly this question via email: ‘What, in your opinion, Josh, is the best workshop for Mammals that doesn’t necessitate a boat? I get tragically sea sick when I even look at the ocean and can’t even entertain the idea of getting on any boat. I know it’s a stupid fear, but I can’t join anything that needs a boat or ship.’ Before we get to my answer, I did seek the author’s permission to write about this, which they kindly agreed to:

With apologies to the author for my brief chuckle at their thalassophobia, I did not have to stop and think about this for very long. My immediate answer is the Arctic Fox workshop we offer in Iceland in Winter. However, this requires a boat ride (albeit a very short one) and thus takes this workshop out of contention. I realised on a second reading that the question also contained the plural of the word ‘mammal’, and that changes the game further. For others, my answer remains the same, though. If you are happy to target one species specifically and put all your effort and focus (pardon the pun) on that critter, then the Arctic Fox workshop in Hornstrandir Nature Reserve is unmatched for encounters that will leave you breathless and your memory cards full.

However, if you can’t even look at the ocean without getting nauseous and want the opportunity to photograph multiple large carnivore mammals in a stunning Autumn setting, then the Wolves and Bears of Finland are equally unmatched. This is a workshop that will see you depart with memory cards full of keeper images of Wolves and Bears, an ear-to-ear grin and a vastly more profound understanding of wildlife photography. I still hold to this day that Finland (along with Mongolia) is one of the most underrated destinations on earth for wildlife. From the private hides we use, it is common to see and photograph Wild Wolves, Brown Bears and Wolverine – all close up and not at a significant distance. While many hold Yellowstone in the USA as the mecca for Wolves, I can assure you from much first-hand experience that it isn’t a patch on Finland’s offering of these incredible canines.

Northern Finland is the only location I have ever photographed Wolves from, where I came away from a single week-long trip with enough photographs for an entire book – Never Cry Wolf (and yes, I have been to Yellowstone and photographed Wolves there). This is not an isolated incident. Every autumn visit has yielded both incredible opportunities and powerful photographs. In addition to the mammals in Finland, we often photograph both White-tailed and Golden Eagles – all from the exact location. There is also a plethora of smaller forest birds, including such species as the Crested Tit and the Great Spotted Woodpecker. I have even photographed the European Pygmy owl in this region. You can check out the full portfolio for Finland HERE. And, It isn’t just the photography that makes this Finland workshop so special. It is a combination of the ease of access (there is minimal walking required as we drive to the hides – the walk is less than 100m), the homely and cozy log cabin we use as a base and the incredible surroundings of the Boreal forest. Not to mention the breathtaking landscapes around the many lakes in this location. This is a workshop that invites and offers the photographer the opportunity to deep dive into their mammal photography in a location unmatched anywhere on earth, in my experience. Capturing a stunning portfolio is only the beginning. Expect to come away with not only powerful and evocative images, but a deeper appreciation of Nature and a better understanding of what it takes to create emotive images.

It is for these many reasons that I have engaged my friend Chris from White Space Films for the second time in the same year to join us this September to make a short film about what it is like to photograph wild Wolves (along with the Brown Bears) in this part of Finland. We start shooting next month and hope to wrap our field shooting toward the end of September with a release of the film before Christmas. Our September workshop this year is long sold out – but we have now opened bookings for our August 2026 Workshop. Details are online HERE. Please get in touch with us if you would like the opportunity to photograph these apex predators in a stunning Autumn setting.

I can hear the question now – What about Winter in Finland? Yes, Winter is possible, and the snow-covered ground and frozen Taiga forest, in combination with the low angle of the sun, can serve as the perfect winter setting and backdrop. This combination alone has fueled my creative imagination and lured me back for repeat Winter visits. However, this time of the year, the bears are hibernating and the wolves are notoriously difficult to see and photograph during the short daylight hours – preferring to visit the hides at night under the cloak of darkness. Over the years, I have tried on several occasions to photograph Wolves in the depths of winter (December / January) in Finland with little to no success. I have seen their tracks and heard their howls on the wind, but that magical image of a wolf softly padding through deep, fresh snow against a frozen forest wall under golden winter light has eluded me to date. Whilst the allure of a soft white canvas, illuminated by winter’s glow, continues to draw me back, it is essential to temper expectations that a winter trip for Wolves can be an exercise in frustration. It is not uncommon to enter the hides at first light, surrounded by recent wolf tracks in deep, fresh snow, only to watch the short golden hours tick past before darkness again envelopes the Boreal forest – without so much as a Raven for company to pass the time.

Autumn, on the other hand, offers not only an explosion of fiery forest colour, but the chance to photograph these predators in the first snows of winter. On several Autumn trips, we have been blessed with snow, and all of the images in the Finland Winter Portfolio HERE of Wolves were made at this time. Autumn is brief this far north in Finland, and the seasonal line is frequently blurred between Autumn and Winter, providing opportunities to photograph in snow when the weather turns toward Winter.

If you are a frequent traveller to this Scandinavian part of the world and looking to expand your portfolio, then you may wish to roll the dice and try in Winter. We will be offering a future Winter trip to Finland to try for Wolves again, but recommend this only to those frequent travellers willing to invest the time and effort, and who understand that failure is a distinct possibility. If it is your first visit (or even second or third) to Finland for Wolves and Bears, then I strongly recommend Autumn as the perfect time to visit for all those reasons listed above. Of course, nothing is guaranteed in Wildlife photography, but you do significantly stack the deck in your favour for both sightings and photographs at this time of the year.

Regardless of when you choose to travel to Finland, the experience of photographing Wolves in the Boreal Taiga forest remains one of the most underrated and rewarding experiences a wildlife photographer can have. There is something very primal about Wolves, and the eerie, haunting echoes of their howls stay with you long after you leave their forest home. This is a workshop I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone wanting to photograph mammals (and specifically carnivores) who doesn’t want to get on a boat. And even those who will happily embark on an ocean-going vessel for their next photograph will find this an experience not to be missed.