Tag: travel

Choosing a Workshop When You Dont Want to Shoot from a Boat

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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.

Arctic Fox Cubs of Hornstrandir Nature Reserve Workshop Report July 2025

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There are places in the world where time seems to be all but irrelevant—where silence has weight, and where life exists on the knife’s edge of wilderness. The Hornstrandir Nature Reserve, perched at the extreme northwestern edge of Iceland, is one such place. It’s here, amid weathered fjords and wind-bent tundra, that the elusive Arctic fox raises its young—unhunted, unharried, and at peace in one of the last true wilderness sanctuaries of the North.

From July 1st to 7th, 2025, I had the privilege of leading a small group of photographers deep into this forgotten corner of the world for a summer workshop focused on Arctic fox cubs. What unfolded over those seven days was extraordinary: four healthy, playful cubs, fresh out of their den, exploring the world for the very first time. We had timed our arrival perfectly.

Our journey began in Ísafjörður, a sleepy town surrounded by steep fjords that comes alive in the summer months. From there, we boarded a privately chartered boat, cutting across the still ocean waters to Hornstrandir—a region completely uninhabited, unreachable by road, and where nature reigns supreme.

Upon landing on the shoreline, we were met with calm winds, mild temperatures, and the telltale silence that defines this place. The weather, often a wildcard in the Icelandic summer, held beautifully in our favour—a perfect mix of overcast skies for soft light and clear days for contrast and depth.

We walked in with our gear, a short but deliberate walk through tundra meadows and coastal cliffs until we reached our remote cabin—our “home away from home” for the week. Modest, but wonderfully cozy, the cabin offered reliable power, heat, and a warm shower, giving us a comfortable base from which to photograph and recharge both batteries and bodies.

The Arctic foxes in Hornstrandir are protected under Icelandic law and unaccustomed to human threat. This gives us a unique window into their lives—a rare chance to observe them with minimal disturbance. We knew from previous years where a known female fox maintained her territory, and it was near this location that we carefully established our viewing distances, always respectful, always still. And then, like a miracle borne of silence: four cubs.

Emerging from the mossy lip of their den, blinking in the soft summer light, they appeared with hesitant steps and twitching ears. They were healthy, inquisitive, and full of energy, bounding across the lichen-covered rocks, chasing each other through patches of Arctic thyme, and occasionally collapsing in an exhausted heap under the watchful gaze of their mother.

The timing could not have been better. They had just begun venturing out from the den—still clumsy and unsure, but filled with curiosity. For a wildlife photographer, this is the golden moment: when behaviour is at its most revealing, when innocence radiates through every movement, and when images tell stories as ancient as nature itself.

What makes photographing foxes in Hornstrandir so special isn’t just the opportunity to see them—but the privilege to be so close to them. These animals, free from hunting pressure, exhibit a calm curiosity rather than fear. They observe, approach, and sometimes come so near you can hear the soft pad of their feet over the tundra.

Each day we returned to the den, observing routines and behaviours. The mother—sleek, somewhat shy, and blue-morph—would occasionally trot off on short hunting forays, returning with fish scraps or shellfish to feed her litter. The father appeared more often, showing no fear and regularly approaching for an inquisitive look at our cameras.

Photographically, we were gifted beyond measure. Overcast days gave us beautiful softbox light, perfect for portraits and detail-rich imagery. On clearer days, the drama of shadow and contrast lent itself to more stylized compositions. Whether it was cubs backlit in the golden light of an endless Arctic evening, or nestled in the moss under moody skies, every session offered something new.

The joy of these moments wasn’t just in the photography—but in the quiet communion with the land and its wild inhabitants. No roads, no cars, no noise. Just wind, sea, and the faintest rustle of foxes through grass. Arctic summer light is both gift and challenge. With nearly 24 hours of daylight, we were afforded unparalleled flexibility in our shooting schedule. We often chose to photograph in the “shoulder hours”—early mornings and late evenings when the light was most flattering and the cubs most active. Remarkably, the weather held throughout the trip. Overcast periods were long enough to allow deep exploration without ever feeling rushed. For a workshop in a location as volatile as the Hornstrandir coast, this was a blessing not to be understated.

One early morning brought backlit opportunities near to the den. The effect was sublime—foxes outlines luminous against the dark backdrop. We whispered to each other that it felt like being inside a dream, and the resulting images remain among the most evocative of the trip.

Our remote base was everything a field workshop should be: rugged, warm, and welcoming. After long hours on the tundra, we would return to hot meals, shared stories, and laughter around the table. We reviewed our images, shared techniques, discussed post-processing ideas, and most importantly, connected as a group of like-minded creatives driven by a shared love of wild places.

There is something profound about being unplugged from the world, present only in the moment and the landscape. No internet. No distractions. Just photography, nature, and the camaraderie that grows from shared experience.

While the fox cubs were our primary focus, Hornstrandir never fails to deliver more to the attentive eye. Ptarmigans, still in mottled plumage, clucked their way through the underbrush. Seabirds wheeled overhead—kittiwakes, Arctic terns, and the ever-charismatic black guillemots. Occasionally Harlequin ducks could be found and photographed at the river mouth.

One evening, as the sun dipped low across the fjord, a group of common seals surfaced near the shoreline, curious about our presence. And once, in the quiet hour just after midnight, I watched a white-tailed Eagle glide silently along the ridge—not common, but not impossible here.

Yet, no sighting ever pulled our hearts away from those cubs. Every time we returned to the den, it felt like a reunion. The trust they showed us grew stronger each day, and by the end of the week, we felt like we were witnessing the emergence of a new generation—one that had accepted our quiet presence as part of their world.

On our last morning, the light broke crystal-clear over the fjord. We made our way back to the den one final time. The cubs were more adventurous now, ranging further, playing harder, their confidence growing with every hour. We spent our final moments watching them tumble and yip, playing in the morning light. I watched through the viewfinder, but also over the top of the camera, wanting to etch this memory into my mind as much as onto my memory card.

Then, slowly, we packed our gear, said our goodbyes to the family we had quietly shared space with for a week, and began the walk back to the coast. Our private boat met us in the calm waters, and as we pulled away from Hornstrandir, the reserve faded into mist and memory.

This workshop was, without doubt, one of the most intimate, joyful, and meaningful I’ve ever had the privilege to lead. To witness and photograph Arctic fox cubs just as they emerge into the world is to be part of something deeply elemental—life at its beginning, in one of the world’s last great refuges. For all of us on the trip, the experience will echo long after the images are printed and the gear cleaned. It was more than photography. It was connection—to nature, to the wild, and to each other.

For those who feel the pull of the wild, who seek authenticity, silence, and the raw beauty of life on the edge—Hornstrandir awaits. Please get in touch with us to express your interest in a future workshop to this wonderfully wild and remote location.

Ultimate Polar Bears of the High Arctic Expedition Report June 2025

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Ultimate Polar Bear Expedition: Svalbard, June 10th to June 27th, 2025 – There are trips that linger in the soul long after you return to solid ground. And then there are expeditions that define your entire career and stay with you for the rest of your life. The 2025 Ultimate Polar Bear Expedition to Svalbard falls firmly into the latter category. Eighteen extraordinary days in the High Arctic, ten of which were spent deep in the sea ice north of 81 degrees latitude, delivered what can only be described as the most productive and fulfilling polar bear photography experience of my life. Perhaps best of all, it was shared with a wonderful group of like-minded photographers that made the camaraderie as fulfilling as the photography.

We departed Longyearbyen on June 10th aboard our trusted expedition vessel M.S Freya, with a small team of passionate photographers from around the world. The anticipation was electric as we pushed north through calm waters (we had superb weather the entire expedition), heading for the ice edge with hearts full of hope and memory cards ready for the magic of the Arctic. The pack ice would be our home and our canvas. What followed was an experience nothing short of astonishing. The map below traces our journey from Longyearbyen up into the pack ice and back.

Svalbard Ultimate Polar Bear Expedition Notes

  • 10/6 – Departure Longyearbyen aboard M.S Freya
  • 11/6 – S,eergenburg with a pod of Beluga Whales and Mofen Island with a big colony of Walrus
  • 12/6 – Nordenskioldbukta with a lot of ringed seals on the ice
  • 12/6 – Albertinibukta – 7 Polar Bears! 2 Polar Bear females with 2 cubs each and one adult bear
  • 13/6 – 2 x Polar Bear! Plus zodiac excursion to Kapp Bruun with Arctic Fox pups, Walrus and King Eiders
  • 14/6 – Close to Storoya cruising in the pack ice. Found one bear but lost it in the ice. Found another bear on a recent kill (bearded seal) zodiac cruise during the night plus ivory gulls
  • 15/6 – Andreeneset Kvitoya Drive by and a Polar Bear on the pack ice that fell asleep nearby
  • 16/6 – Travelling further north with Walrus mom and calf
  • 17/6 – All day in the pack ice with Ivory gulls, one Bowhead whale and a Polar Bear in the evening
  • 18/6 – Early wake-up call with Polar Bear on a kill and cruise all day in the pack ice. Evening Polar Bear with sunset sky
  • 19/6 Full day in the pack ice. Polar Bear on the ice and many bear tracks
  • 20/6 – Full day in the pack ice and Midsummer BBQ
  • 21/6 – Full day in the pack ice. Polar Bear on a kill (great spot Marco!) Polar Plunge for those who were feeling brave!
  • 22/6 – Morning and afternoon Polar Bears on kills
  • 23/6 – Morning at Albertinibukta with Bowhead whales and Minke Whales later in the day
  • 24/6 – Polar Bear on ice floes (Great spot Peter!) Brasvellbreen glacier cruise from the ship
  • 25/6 – Early morning zodiac cruise at Alkefjellet (two Arctic Foxes)
  • 26/6 – Sailing to Longyearbyen
  • 27/6 Disembarkation

A Bear a Day: Eleven Photo Bears and Eighteen in Total – The defining goal of this expedition was simple but profound: to photograph wild polar bears in their natural habitat. Achieving that goal is never guaranteed in the Arctic; the sea ice moves, conditions shift, and wildlife follow their own rhythms. Yet somehow, over the course of this journey, we encountered a total of eighteen individual polar bears – a bear a day! Eleven of those encounters resulted in what I classify as true photographic opportunities—bears at close range, in beautiful light, behaving naturally. And not just bears at a distance, but bears that approached us, curiously and calmly, in serene Arctic light.

The pack ice north of 81 degrees offered us these moments in abundance. We would often park the vessel, engines off, drifting silently with the ice. We let the Arctic come to us. And it did. Again and again. Some bears were lone males, strolling confidently across the floes. Others were mothers with cubs, cautious and observant. All were healthy, well-fed, and moving with the slow, deliberate and majestic elegance that only polar bears seem to possess. In these moments, standing on the deck of the ship with a camera in hand, there is a stillness and majesty to Nature and the high Arctic that is impossible to capture with mere words.

One particular morning stands etched in memory: a young male emerged from the fog, padding across the ice under soft, diffused light. He approached to within a few meters, sniffing curiously before settling down and resting in front of us. We spent a wonderful amount of time with him in absolute silence. Just the breath of the bear, the creak of the ice, and the soft click of mirrorless shutters. As Nature photographers, these are the moments we dream of.

Spending ten full days in the northern pack ice was, in itself, a once-in-a-lifetime privilege. This region, far beyond the 12 nautical mile limit of Svalbard’s archipelago, remains wild and unregulated—raw Arctic wilderness where the laws of nature, not tourism and bureaucracy, still rule. It’s in these outer reaches, around 81.42 degrees north and 30.56 degrees east—just 20 nautical miles shy of Russian waters—that we found the essence of the polar bear’s world. There was even an opportunity to scout for Polar Bears from the hot tub on the back of the ship!

This was the furthest east I have ever ventured with a group of photographers on a Svalbard expedition. The sea was mirror-calm, allowing us to navigate deep into the ice fields. Ice floes drifted slowly under endless daylight, broken only by the occasional pressure ridge or melt pool glowing turquoise under the midnight sun. Every hour held photographic potential: glowing pastels at 3 a.m., long shadows and golden rim light at midnight, overcast diffusions that made every texture sing.

We never rushed. With 18 days at our disposal, we could take the time to wait, to observe, to drift. Patience rewarded us over and over again. It’s this kind of time-rich, immersive experience that elevates a polar expedition from a trip to a truly transformative journey. The 360º degree video below courtesy Yves Adams – thank you.

While polar bears were our primary focus, the Arctic did not limit its generosity to a single species. Walrus were abundant, often hauled out on ice, bobbing in the water beside the ship, or interacting in social clusters on floes. We enjoyed close-up photography of these massive, tusked mammals in perfect, still conditions—reflections in melt pools, nose-to-nose confrontations, even young calves beside their mothers.

Arctic foxes, typically elusive in summer, surprised us with six separate encounters. On a bird cliff slope, a curious fox went about its morning routine. On another day, we watched two fox cubs playing high on the side of a remote bird cliff. Each fox offered not only photographic opportunities but a deeper insight into this clever and resilient predator’s summer behaviours.

And then there were the birds—a vital part of the Arctic tapestry. Ivory gulls circled gracefully above the ice. Glaucous gulls called overhead. Black-legged Kittiwakes wheeled and dived near ice edges, and both black and Brünnich’s guillemots dotted rocky cliffs and ice margins. Each added a layer of life and energy to the frozen world. For the first time in my life, I was privileged to witness four Bowhead whales surfacing in the calm, pre-dawn hours. Massive, ancient, and rarely seen, they moved with quiet dignity through the glass-like sea. The ship held its breath. We stood together and watched history swim past. For me, this was not a photographic opportunity (whales from ships are rarely photogenic), but a moment to put the camera down and simply enjoy the wild Arctic.

Although the pack ice held most of our attention, our route also allowed us to visit some of Svalbard’s most remote and dramatic locations. At Kvitøya, a ghostly white island shrouded in fog, we paid homage to the history of Arctic exploration and experienced one of the most surreal landscapes on Earth. Storøya gave us panoramic views and solitude, a place where the ice meets sky in perfect harmony. And of course, the massive face of the Brasvellbreen glacier front always inspires awe. This photograph from a previous expedition when it was still permitted to fly drones in this region.

Alkefjellet, with its sheer cliffs and swirling bird colonies, offered a different kind of drama. Thousands of guillemots filled the sky, their cries echoing from rock walls. It was a thunderous reminder of the abundance and chaos of life that clings to even the smallest ledge in the Arctic. Yet, throughout all of this, the focus remained always on the bears. Every decision, every mile travelled, was in pursuit of the next potential encounter. It is essential to recognise the stringent regulations that govern interactions with polar bears in Svalbard. Within the 12-nautical-mile territorial limit of the archipelago, all landings and bear observations are subject to Norwegian law. These laws exist to protect both wildlife and humans.

However, during this expedition, we spent the majority of our time well outside this zone. In the northern pack ice, far beyond the reach of these regulations, we were able to photograph bears in a manner that was both free and ethical, always with the utmost respect for the animals and their environment. We never chased. We let them come to us. It’s a crucial distinction—one that makes all the difference in the world.

To the best of my knowledge, this was the first dedicated polar bear photography expedition to Svalbard, featuring a comprehensive 18-day itinerary. That extra time proved invaluable. It allowed us to explore farther, respond flexibly to changing conditions, and, most importantly, spend ten full, uninterrupted days in the heart of the pack ice. There were no forced diversions, no unnecessary landings. Just ice, bears, and the profound silence of the Arctic. The photographs included in this report represent only a small fraction of those taken during the expedition. It will likely be many months or even years before I have the opportunity to fully mine all the gems from this trip.

Such a long-duration expedition also fostered something else: camaraderie. Onboard the ship, a deep bond formed between the photographers. We shared meals, techniques, stories, and laughter. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder on deck, eyes locked on the horizon. That sense of shared purpose—of mutual respect for the craft and for the wilderness—was as vital to the experience as the bears themselves.

As I write this, safely back in the world of green trees and mobile reception, I find myself still adrift in that world of ice and light. The images are extraordinary, but it’s the feeling that stays with me: the calm, the connection, the privilege. The high Arctic is an incredibly special place and it is always a privilege to travel there to experience a true polar wilderness.

Our next polar bear expedition to Svalbard is scheduled for April 2026. We will journey in early spring, when the landscape is still cloaked in winter white and the low sun paints everything in gold. That trip will offer new challenges and new rewards—frozen fjords, early cubs, and pristine snowscapes.

I am also currently developing plans for a second, extended 18-day expedition for late autumn 2027. This will be a unique opportunity to experience Svalbard as the light fades into polar night, and the bears move toward the edges of the returning ice. In the meantime, we have just a few places left on our April Winter light expedition next year, 2026.

For now, I carry this summer’s expedition with deep gratitude. To those who joined me—thank you for your trust, your passion, and your companionship. And to the Arctic: thank you for reminding us that magic still exists, far to the north (away from the politics of the world), where the ice never sleeps – Stay Wild.

Puffins and Razorbills of Grimsey Island Workshop Reports May June 2025

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Puffins, Solitude, and the Soul of the Arctic – There are few places left in the world where you can photograph wildlife in complete solitude—where the only sound is the rush of wind across dramatic basalt cliffs, the echoing cackle of seabirds, and the soft high-speed click of your mirrorless cameras electronic shutter. Grimsey Island, perched on the Arctic Circle just off the north coast of Iceland, is one of those places. It is wild, raw, and unforgiving—but in its ruggedness lies extraordinary beauty and a rare opportunity for intimate encounters with wildlife. Grimsey is the hidden gem of Iceland, packing a photographic punch well above its size and weight.

This May and June, I had the great privilege of leading two back-to-back photography expeditions to Grimsey Island focused primarily on the charismatic Atlantic Puffin, but with ample opportunities to photograph a host of other seabirds and Arctic landscapes. The trips—May 27th to June 2nd and June 3rd to June 8th—delivered not only exceptional bird photography but also some of the most dramatic weather and moody light I’ve encountered in recent years.

Grimsey isn’t easy to reach, and that’s a good thing. Its remoteness keeps it pristine and blissfully free from crowds. To get there, we journeyed north to the Icelandic town of Dalvík, where we boarded the ferry for the three-hour crossing. The first group arrived smoothly, with calm seas and mild winds—a gentle welcome to the north. But the second trip was greeted by nature’s fury: high winds exceeding 30 metres per second and ocean swells over five meters delayed our departure by a full day. While the delay wasn’t ideal, it provided an impromptu opportunity to explore some Lightroom processing and discuss the optimal camera settings for the upcoming photography.  The one-day delay also served as a reminder that in the Arctic, nature always has the final say.

Once we landed on Grimsey, however, everything fell into place. Our home for the week was a humble guesthouse near the island’s southern cliffs—a perfect base from which to venture out for both early morning and late evening sessions. Grimsey is a relatively small island with only a few basic roads. Nevertheless, a car (4WD) is of significant benefit for moving around quickly and accessing the more remote and higher sea cliffs. At both of these workshops, we took a 4WD with us on the car ferry so we could maximise our photography on the island. Other groups don’t necessarily offer car transport on the island, but this can be a significant error of judgment in inclement weather. Over the course of our trip, we watched several groups uncomfortably trudging uphill through the rain with their camera gear, headed for the high cliffs. Meanwhile, we travelled comfortably to the top by 4WD with all our gear, arriving dry and ready to photograph.

The stars of the show were, of course, the Atlantic Puffins. These endearing seabirds return to Grimsey in the thousands each spring to nest high on the cliffs that ring the island’s perimeter. Unlike other sites in Iceland where the birds are often skittish or the cliffs too distant for intimate photography, Grimsey offers something truly special: proximity. Not only does it provide an incredible opportunity to get close to these fantastic birds, but it also offers the chance to photograph these birds in a stunning Arctic setting.

Each day, we were able to approach puffins within mere meters, lying flat on the soft grass as they hung out on the high cliffs or returned to their burrows. With patience and respect for their space, they allowed us into their world. We photographed them in dramatic light, and during moody, misty afternoons that added emotional depth to the frames.

What makes Grimsey exceptional is not just the access, but the solitude. Unlike well-trodden sites on the mainland, we had entire stretches of cliff to ourselves. No tourists and no other visitors. No other groups. Just us, the birds, and the Arctic wind. It’s a kind of photographic meditation—one that allows you to connect deeply with the landscape and your subject.

While puffins were the headline act, they were far from the only performers. Grimsey is a seabird sanctuary, alive with an astonishing diversity of species. Razorbills nested alongside puffins, their bold monochrome plumage striking against the green moss and black cliffs. Black-legged Kittiwakes shrieked and soared on coastal updrafts, offering opportunities for stunning in-flight images as they banked and hovered in the wind. Mixed amongst them were northern Fulmars and common murres.

We watched and photographed Common Murres and Guillemots packed shoulder-to-shoulder on the narrow cliff ledges, each pair tending to a single egg balanced precariously on bare rock. Northern Fulmars glided effortlessly past our lenses on fixed wings, while Arctic Terns dive-bombed intruders with typical ferocity.

We were fortunate to encounter several rarer species as well, including Black Guillemots, the delicate Red-necked Phalarope in its breeding plumage, and even the elusive Little Auk. Each day brought new sightings—Snipe performing aerial displays, Golden Plovers calling from lichen-covered rocks and buttercup-covered fields, Snow Buntings flitting along the coastal paths.

Throughout the two trips, we documented and photographed an impressive list of 30 species. I did not personally photograph every single species, but very much enjoyed keeping a list of those species we encountered.

  • Atlantic Puffin
  • Razorbill
  • Black-legged Kittiwake
  • Common Murre
  • Brünnich’s Guillemot
  • Black Guillemot
  • Northern Fulmar
  • Arctic Tern
  • Red-necked Phalarope
  • Snipe
  • Golden Plover
  • Snow Bunting
  • Redwing Thrush
  • Raven
  • Common Eider
  • Long-tailed Duck
  • Black-headed Gull
  • Gannet
  • Black-tailed Godwit
  • Common Ringed Plover
  • Ruddy Turnstone
  • Eurasian Oystercatcher
  • Sanderling
  • Common Redshank
  • Arctic Skua
  • Dunlin
  • Mallard
  • White Wagtail
  • Meadow Pipit
  • Canada Goose

Each species presented its own photographic challenges and rewards, from fast flight patterns to elusive behaviour. But the overarching theme was access—Grimsey offers unparalleled proximity to birds in their natural environment, free from the pressure and disruption of human traffic.

The Arctic teaches patience and rewards those who are flexible. Throughout our time on Grimsey, we encountered an extraordinary range of weather conditions: wind, sun, sea fog, and sudden downpours. But far from being an obstacle, the changing weather only enhanced our photography. I have long mandated that dramatic weather makes dramatic photographs, and Grimsey delivered in spades for both our workshops.

One particularly memorable morning, fog and mist rolled in off the ocean, blanketing the cliffs in a pale, blue-grey hue. Visibility dropped, but the mood became magical. Puffins stood like statues in the mist, their colourful beaks luminous against the muted backdrop. That afternoon, the fog burned off to reveal crisp skies and overcast light, and we returned to the same spot to photograph puffins against the ocean.

Another evening brought towering clouds that swept across the island like theatre curtains, letting shafts of light fall onto the sea. With long lenses and careful compositions, we captured seabirds soaring through these natural spotlights—a breathtaking juxtaposition of nature’s grandeur and raw simplicity.

Grimsey isn’t just about birds. The island itself is staggeringly beautiful. A windswept plateau broken by basalt cliffs and rolling meadows, it feels like a place lost in time. We explored beyond the nesting colonies to photograph the broader landscape: coastal rock formations, dramatic sky-scapes, and wild, empty vistas that echo the purity of the far north.

At times, the play between scale and subject became a powerful compositional element. A lone puffin perched on the edge of a massive sea stack. A pair of Black-legged kittiwakes on their nest. A group of murres slicing through shafts of light over a cobalt sea. Grimsey gives photographers room to breathe—to pull back and frame the subject in its environment with honesty and reverence.

Perhaps what made both trips so special was not just the wildlife or the location, but the people. Our small, tight-knit groups quickly bonded over shared meals, gear chats, photo reviews, and the inevitable jokes that come after long days in the field. We worked as a team—scouting, spotting, sharing tips and excitement. When one of us found a nesting site or a particularly photogenic perch, the news spread quickly and everyone benefited. There was no competition, just a shared passion and respect for nature and photography. Evenings were spent reviewing images, charging batteries, and discussing light, behaviour, and composition. More than a few nights ended well after midnight, reluctant to put our cameras down even as fatigue set in.

Personally, I shot over 22,000 images during the two workshops on Grimsey Island (not hard when your R1 camera goes at 40 FPS with birds in flight!). After an initial first pass, I was able to delete around 13,000 images, leaving approximately 9,000 keepers (sharp photographs with interesting compositions that are worth a second look). That is an extraordinary number of photographs to sort, edit, process, and catalogue, and the photographs in this report represent just a very small fraction of those I chose to keep and have processed to date. It will likely be many years before I finish mining photographs from these two workshops. This makes Grimsey Island one of the most productive locations in the Arctic to photograph Arctic birds.

Grimsey Island is not a destination to add to your bucket list. It’s something more profound: a place to slow down, to reconnect with the rhythm of nature, and to immerse yourself in the art of observation. It’s a place where puffins aren’t props for selfies but sentinels of a wild world that still exists if you’re willing to seek it. Both of these trips reminded me why I fell in love with wildlife photography in the first place. It’s not about the number of images or the reach of your lens—it’s about presence. About being there. About watching a puffin return to its burrow against the wind, or witnessing the sudden flash of an Arctic Skua as it harasses a tern mid-flight.

If you’re looking for an experience that combines intimate wildlife encounters, cinematic landscapes, and genuine solitude, Grimsey offers something truly rare. I’ll be back—and I hope to see you there, lying flat on a clifftop, your lens trained on a puffin with the wind in your face and the Arctic sun at your back. Details for our June 2026 trip are now online, and places are limited. Please contact me for details – Until next time, stay wild.

Zululand South Africa Wildlife Masterclass Workshop Report 2025

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In April 2025, I had the privilege of leading an extraordinary group of photographers on my Zimanga Africa Ground-Level Wildlife Masterclass — a full reserve takeover that provided unparalleled access to one of the most diverse and wildlife-rich regions in South Africa. I’ve long said that Zimanga is one of the most progressive photographic destinations on the continent, and this year’s workshop only reaffirmed that sentiment. With no outside tourists, no sharing with others, unrestricted access to world-class photographic hides, a dedicated team of trackers and guides, and a truly immersive experience in African wildlife photography, 2025’s edition was nothing short of a creative and wildlife-rich success.

There is something profoundly moving about photographing elephants at night. The darkness, punctuated only by subtle, carefully positioned lights, transforms a majestic subject into something even more powerful and ethereal. One of the absolute highlights of this year’s trip — and a resounding favourite among the group — was the overnight experience in the elephant bunker hide. Designed specifically for photographers, this low-angle, comfortable hide allowed us to witness enormous elephant bulls as they came to drink, bathe, and interact under the cover of darkness. Being this close to a fully grown massive Tusker is an awe-inspiring experience not to be missed.

The conditions this year were sublime. With mild evenings and clear skies, although it took some persistence, the waterhole was a consistent magnet for elephants. On one particularly unforgettable night, three bulls approached simultaneously, their massive forms silhouetted against the soft glow of artificial light, mist swirling from their trunks as they drank and sprayed water into the cool night air. The photographic results were staggering — dramatic lighting, perfect reflections, and razor-sharp detail made for world-class imagery. Every single participant came away with portfolio-worthy shots that captured the spirit and strength of these incredible creatures in a truly unique way.

While hides and low-level photo vehicles offer powerful opportunities, few moments compare to the sheer intimacy of walking with a wild predator. Zimanga is one of the only places in Africa where you can photograph free-ranging cheetahs on foot — and this year’s experience elevated that to another level. With the guidance of Zimanga’s experienced trackers and guides, our group approached a pair of cheetah brothers on foot in the open savanna. This pulse-quickening encounter brought a profound sense of connection to the natural world.

Photographically, walking with cheetahs is a dream. We could shoot from low angles, position ourselves with the light, and create immersive, personal, and alive images. The early morning light was golden and soft, with gentle dew clinging to the grass. The cheetahs moved with grace and elegance, pausing occasionally to look directly into our lenses, allowing everyone to create images filled with mood and eye contact. It was, without question, a highlight of the trip and an experience no one will soon forget.

In addition to the hides and on-foot cheetah experience, the photo game drives this year were exceptional. One of the distinct advantages of a full reserve takeover is the exclusivity — we were not restricted by schedules or other tourists. Each photographer had their own row of seats in custom-built vehicles explicitly designed for low-angle wildlife photography. This made a massive difference, allowing everyone the freedom to move, shift, and compose without obstruction. You haven’t photographed in Africa on safari until you have experienced one of these low-angle vehicles.

Weather conditions were ideal — cool mornings with mist clinging to the valley floors, building into warm, dry days with rich, directional light. This meant optimal shooting conditions nearly every session. We photographed everything from rhinos dust bathing at sunrise to giraffes silhouetted at sunset, to close encounters with lions resting in the shade of acacia trees. The ability to work low to the ground from the vehicle provided a completely different perspective, yielding more dramatic and intimate imagery than traditional safari setups allow.

Zimanga isn’t just about the big mammals. The bird photography opportunities this year were phenomenal. The lagoon hide, in particular, was a bird photographer’s paradise. The clean, uncluttered backgrounds and shallow water provided the perfect stage for capturing elegant images of African spoonbills, pied and malachite kingfishers, hamerkops, storks and more.

Our group spent several serene sessions in this hide, working with long lenses to freeze the dramatic dives of kingfishers and the deliberate wading of spoonbills as they hunted. The morning light filtered in just right, casting subtle highlights and rich colours that made for exquisite avian portraits and action shots. The hide design, with glass-fronted opening, allowed for complete immersion without disturbing the wildlife — a critical feature for this kind of delicate work.

The scavenger hide delivered intense action and raw storytelling. Designed with photographers in mind, this hide is positioned over a natural carcass area frequented by vultures, jackals, and other opportunists. Over multiple sessions, we witnessed dramatic interactions as white-backed vultures jostled for position, jackals darted in for scraps, and marabou storks loomed over the chaos like prehistoric sentinels. On one particular morning we also had a visit from a majestic tawny eagle.

For those looking to create compelling behavioural imagery, these scenes were gold. Wings spread wide, dust flying, claws extended — every moment was charged with intensity. The hide’s positioning allowed us to shoot at eye-level, capturing the energy and aggression of these feasts in full cinematic detail. It was a reminder that even the less ‘glamorous’ wildlife encounters can result in some of the most potent images.

A trip of this calibre wouldn’t be complete without comfort and care. The accommodation at Zimanga is nothing short of luxurious — private, spacious rooms with views over the reserve, luxurious bedding, and all the modern amenities you could wish for. After long days in the field, returning to gourmet meals, fine South African wines, and a roaring fire created the perfect atmosphere for review, reflection, and camaraderie.

This level of comfort matters not only for rest and recovery but also for allowing participants to focus entirely on their photography. The Zimanga team handled every logistical detail flawlessly, from meal timing to equipment storage to hide scheduling. The exclusivity of having the entire reserve to ourselves meant no waiting, no distractions, and complete immersion—something that simply can’t be overstated.

Reflecting on the 2025 Masterclass, I’m already filled with anticipation for our return in 2027. Zimanga remains one of the only game reserves in Africa built from the ground up with photographers in mind, and our complete takeover ensures a bespoke experience designed to maximize photographic potential. This isn’t a workshop where you are forced to share a location with general tourists. This is a deep and private immersion that provides the opportunity to create an emotive portfolio of African images.

In 2027, we will once again take over the entire reserve. That means no sharing with tourists, no rigid safari schedules, and complete access to all hides and photo vehicles. Why is this so important? Simply put, by taking over the entire camp, we can offer multiple overnight and day hide sessions to everyone. This provides many opportunities that would otherwise be missed.

The itinerary will include overnight elephant hide sessions, walking with cheetahs, private photo vehicle access, avian hide time, and exclusive opportunities in the scavenger hide — all under ideal seasonal conditions. We’ll be visiting at the optimal time of year, when weather patterns bring soft light, mild temperatures, and increased wildlife activity. This time of the year, the rains have finished, and this also provides additional opportunities at the watering holes.

If you’re looking to elevate your portfolio, challenge your creativity, and experience Africa in a way few others ever do, Zimanga 2027 is the opportunity. With limited spaces available and the 2025 edition having sold out well in advance, I highly encourage interested photographers to reach out early. Please contact us to secure your place. Full details are available on our website at www.jholko.com/workshops This trip is not just a workshop — it is an immersion into the best Africa has to offer, with a focus on excellence, comfort, and the creation of truly world-class wildlife imagery. See you in 2027.