More Than Just a Sanderling

A few days ago I found myself lying flat on the beach at South Gare.

To anyone walking past, I probably looked completely mad. Camera balanced just above the shingle, elbows digging into the stones, waiting for a tiny little Sanderling to wander back into the frame.

The funny thing is, I didn't care.

If you'd asked me a few years ago why I spent so much time photographing wildlife, I'd probably have talked about cameras, lenses and getting sharp photographs. I'd have told you about the challenge of capturing a bird that never seems to stop moving or the excitement of finally getting the shot you'd imagined.

Now, if I'm honest, I think it's something much simpler than that.

It's how it makes me feel.

When I'm sat on a beach watching the tide creep in, following the tiny footprints of a Sanderling as it darts in and out of the surf, the noise of everyday life somehow fades into the background. The emails can wait. The editing can wait. The phone stays in my pocket. For a little while, the only thing that matters is the bird in front of me and the next wave rolling onto the shore.

We spend so much of our lives rushing from one thing to the next. Even when we're supposed to be relaxing, we're often scrolling through our phones or thinking about what needs doing tomorrow. It's become so normal that we almost forget what it feels like to simply be present.

Nature has a wonderful way of reminding us.

You start noticing things that you'd normally walk straight past. The rhythm of the sea. The sound of oystercatchers calling overhead. The way the light changes as clouds drift across the sun. A tiny bird, no bigger than your hand, completely absorbed in finding its next meal.

Without realising it, your breathing slows. Your shoulders relax. Your mind becomes quieter.

Photography, for me, has become less about creating the perfect image and more about giving myself permission to spend time in moments like these. The camera is almost secondary now. It's simply the reason I got out of the house in the first place.

Of course, coming home with a photograph I'm proud of is always a bonus, and this little Sanderling is one of those images that will always remind me of that morning. Not because it's the rarest bird I've ever photographed, or because it's technically my best photograph, but because every time I look at it, I remember exactly how peaceful that moment felt.

I think that's one of the reasons I enjoy teaching wildlife photography so much.

People often arrive at my workshops wanting to know which camera settings they should use or how to photograph birds in flight. Those things are important, and we cover them all, but by the end of the day something else has usually happened too.

People have slowed down.

They've spent hours outdoors, surrounded by fresh air, seabirds and some of the most spectacular scenery in the country. They've forgotten about work for a while, stopped checking their phones every few minutes and simply enjoyed being outside.

Watching someone leave with a smile on their face because they've captured a photograph they're proud of is always rewarding. Watching them leave feeling more relaxed than when they arrived is even better.

If that sounds like something you could do with, I'd love you to join me at my next Photography Workshop at RSPB Saltholme on Sunday 26th July.

We'll spend the day learning how to get more from your camera, but more importantly, we'll spend the day immersed in nature. Whether you've just bought your first camera or you've been photographing wildlife for years, it isn't about competing or coming home with the perfect portfolio.

It's about enjoying the process.

Because sometimes the best thing you take home isn't the photograph.

It's the feeling you had while you were taking it.