Fifteen years ago, I hiked for two days in the Mojave Desert before I finally saw one: an Agassiz’s desert tortoise. Today, finding one would likely require even more effort.
The tortoise, also known as the Mojave desert tortoise, finally made it on California’s endangered species list two years ago — temporarily. It may soon revert back to threatened status, even though it’s still very much in danger of vanishing from the land.
This month there was yet another disastrous environmental report. Wildlife populations around the world are practically in free-fall. I could spend these next few paragraphs joining the chorus of those sounding the alarms, but I’m going to try something different. I’m going to try to offer hope.
Before science, there were imaginative stories about the formation of land and life. I find inspiration in the creativity of legends from around the world and have worked to illustrate some of my favorites. This story is part of my Legends of the Land series.
In the heat of the midday sun, the rivers of east Africa look inviting. Cool water splashes past lush shrubs. The rivers even look like they’re full of stepping stones.
Being rejected is a terrible, terrible feeling. But in art, let alone life, I’m not aware of any way to avoid it.
We’re conditioned to only share the positive. We worry that if we show any sign of weakness, it will taint our public image and close the door to future opportunities. Who wants to work with a loser?
Perhaps more than any other form of art, photography is treated as a technical pursuit. That’s not to say that other forms of art can’t be highly technical — they are! — but most people can appreciate a painting without asking about the specific brands of paint used, the wrist action used to apply it, and so on.
The same cannot be said for a photograph. There’s often an expectation that photographers publish their settings with their images. If the f-stops and ISOs don’t fit with the presentation, the expectation is that the photographer will supply them if asked. If the photographer won’t indulge, it’s assumed he or she is hiding something.
An incredibly destructive flood — the kind you might see once in 500 years — tore through Yellowstone National Park a few weeks ago, cutting off access to a wildlife hotspot popular with photographers. The park worked quickly to reopen other areas, but it’s not clear how long it will take to repair or replace roads that reach the Lamar Valley.
So what’s a wildlife photographer to do?
Wildlife photographers sometimes look for conflict to add drama to their images, but more and more it seems like they’re getting caught up in conflict themselves. Wildlife hotspots are now becoming flashpoints for heated battles between people out for a few Instagram likes and those who believe the photographers are like paparazzi who are doing the animals harm.
One such hotspot is on San Juan Island in Washington state where a few years ago I photographed a bald eagle flying with a red fox and a rabbit. The park was a well-known fox habitat before I captured those photos, and the number of photographers showing up has only grown since.
