07/29/2026
What do you do when you're photographing a group of herons and egrets when, out of nowhere, a bird decides to bring you a fish as an offering? Well, I first zoomed out as far as I could with my telephoto lens to try and capture the moment because of habit in the moment. I was not even paying attention to why I had to zoom out, I was too overwhelmed to process so quickly.
This park was overflowing with wildlife. Everywhere I looked there was something happening, and I was completely absorbed in watching the large group of birds take advantage of every feeding opportunity they could find. The action was exciting! It was a circus with birds as acrobats over the waters! This was at the first time in months I was out photographing in the wild again like this, exploring new spaces.
What I didn't realize was that I had backed myself right up against one bird's favorite perch. See all that white on the railing? I didn't.
I had unknowingly planted my elbows on a claimed spot absolutely covered in bird droppings while my attention stayed fixed on the marsh in front of me. My family quietly snapped a photo, mostly because they knew I wouldn't believe the story later. This bird was right at my left shoulder and I didn't initially know it. In my defense, the bird approached from my deaf side, and standing on a fenced boardwalk felt far less vulnerable than wandering the grassy trails.
Apparently, while I was completely oblivious, this young cormorant had decided I was worth interacting with. It flew down and swam beside the boardwalk, dove underwater with the effortless precision cormorants are known for, surfaced with a fish, which it took right back to it's poo covered squatting zone and then flung it directly onto the railing beside my elbow.
There it was.
The fish.
The cormorant.
And an unmistakable stare that seemed to say, "Well... aren't you going to take it?"
By then it became painfully obvious that I hadn't simply chosen a good viewing spot, I had settled into its spot. Over the next hour, I found myself returning to that corner of the boardwalk. The cormorant greeted nearly every bird that landed there the same way. It wasn't aggressive or territorial. If anything, it seemed unusually interested in every newcomer. Maybe I'm guilty of assigning human emotions where they don't belong, but the tender part of my heart couldn't help wondering if it simply wanted connection.
As charming as this story feels, and as much as the romantics in us might want to believe I was gifted a fish, it became an important reminder for me as a wildlife photographer.
I am not perfect. I am constantly learning through observation. I care deeply about conservation, education, and understanding animal behavior in the places we share. But moments like this remind me that learning also means recognizing when I've become part of the story instead of simply witnessing it.
That boardwalk existed for people, but it also functioned as safe habitat. I realized I had viewed it as my refuge from the alligators below, while the birds were using it for exactly the same reason... a secure place to rest, socialize, and simply exist. We often think of staying on the boardwalk as respecting nature. Sometimes respecting nature also means remembering that the boardwalk belongs to the wildlife, too.
I'll still stand there with my camera. I'll still lose myself in the wonder of watching wild lives unfold. But next time, I'll pay a little more attention to where I choose to stand... and whose favorite spot it might already be. I want to do better.
