Few professions in the world inspire as many romantic misconceptions as nature photography. Outsiders imagine a photographer gliding effortlessly through the forest, a light bag slung over their shoulder, as the setting sun casts a perfect glow over wildflowers where butterflies eagerly pose for the camera. The reality, however, is quite different.
Let’s say a nature photographer decides to capture the perfect moment. Perhaps a springtail dancing on a dewdrop. First, they’ve already been assembling this image in their head for days, much like a maniacal chess player setting up a final checkmate. Falling asleep is impossible because their mind is racing with visions of red-eyed pixels, debating whether an ISO setting of 800 will produce too much noise, and wondering if that DIY light guide made from a toilet paper roll will be enough.
Then comes the fieldwork. A nature photographer never simply sits down at a nearby bench with a coffee. No, they must cross at least three mountain ridges and a swamp—carrying a ten-kilo backpack packed with a camera, lenses, tripod, and enough gear to open a small photography store. The bag is always precisely heavy enough to bring tears to their eyes but also filled with items so indispensable that leaving even one piece behind is unthinkable.
If it’s summer, the temperature is guaranteed to be 40°C (104°F); if it’s winter, it’s -10°C (14°F). The weather is always extreme, and the idea of a comfortable middle ground is nonexistent. If it’s hot, they’ll turn into a soaked sponge within 15 minutes. If it’s cold, their nose will start freezing within three.
After finally arriving at the chosen location—which by then feels like the worst possible spot in the world—the next challenge is finding a model. The difference between a nature photographer and a fashion photographer is that the latter can ask the model to adjust their pose. The former, however, can only beg the ant not to turn its back to the camera and, if possible, to avoid diving into the mud. Naturally, the ant ignores all requests and disappears into the horizon.
For the next three hours, the nature photographer looks like a crime scene investigator searching for evidence with a magnifying glass. Kneeling, lying on their stomach, crawling like a secret agent in a bad spy movie—desperately trying to align the light, background, and subject into perfect harmony. Meanwhile, they take thousands of shots. The result? A single usable image. The rest end up in the trash because something moved, something was misexposed, or a stray insect wing photobombed the composition.
And then comes the cruelest moment of all: editing. Hours are spent sifting through the countless images, deleting the bad ones, fine-tuning the best ones. And finally, when the masterpiece is complete, the first reaction is:
– Wow, what a beautiful photo! You must have a really good camera!
And at that moment, the nature photographer just stares silently into the distance, burying deep within their soul the memories of frostbite, heatstroke, and lugging