Tim Hearn Gallery

INSECTS IN FLIGHT

2011-09-16T22:19:00.000+01:00

Way back on one of my early '70s birthdays, I was given a book called 'Borne on the Wind' by a photographer named Stephen Dalton. He was one of the pioneers in photographing insects in flight. But his images, while stunning, seldom looked natural, many being taken in a studio.

I loved the book, and the way that the camera revealed views of insect behaviour that were impossible to see with the naked eye.

This summer, I spent a lot of time photographing butterflies, and while the results were respectable, they didn't really excite me. There was nothing there that I hadn't seen a thousand times before. Which got me thinking about Dalton's images, and wondering whether todays digital cameras could capture something similarly unusual.

On the plus side, technology was in a different league and using cards rather than film, I had a limitless number of frames with which to make an attempt.

On the downside, I wanted to work fluidly under natural conditions, which meant no strobes, wind tunnels or controlling of natural behaviour.

Oh, and to minimize the sitting around waiting and maximise the opportunities for shooting, I decided no tripod either.

So I was going to be shooting macro, handheld images of movement too fast for the eye to see and too unpredictable to anticipate, using only natural light.

I have to admit, I thought it was unlikely to work.

But the thought wouldn't go away, and eventually, I worked out a technique to do it. I call it the 'bloodyminded persistence and luck' method.

And these are some of the results to date.

Brimstone butterfly

Spotted Longhorn beetle (Rutpela maculata) vs. Silver washed fritillary

Brimstone vs. Large skipper

MY ADOBE SHAME

2011-09-15T22:46:00.003+01:00

Broadly speaking, I loath shots that are digitally altered. I like my natural history as nature intended, not with twee faux-atmospheric sepia tones, or bits cloned out and comp'd in. You can call it enhancement as much as you like but that don't make it so. It's kind of a moral guideline for me. Sad, but true.

In a cruel and ironic twist of fate, though, years spent working in advertising have had the unfortunate effect of making me go all gooey at the knees when I see a really striking graphic image. And sometimes, late on a Friday night when long suffering Dilly is out with the girls, I give in to my urges, open up photoshop and fiddle with my Jpegs. There. I've said it. I've outed myself.

Nothing heavy, you understand- I just like to experiment occasionally. And only when the image isn't degraded by it. A heavy vignette here, grayscale there. A tweak of the contrast slider. An irregular crop. It's still the exactly the same scene that I shot. It's just...well, enhanced, dammit.

But if I ever post a sepia shot, even late on a Friday night, you have my permission to shoot me. And not with a camera.

It may be Art. But I'm not convinced it's Fine.

Marbled White butterfly

Beetle on Daisy

Tropical swallowtail (captive)

African Monarch against sand dune

Beautiful Demoiselle

Small Tortoiseshell

A BUTTERFLY SUMMER

2011-06-28T15:47:00.001+01:00

Fortress Balham has been quiet for the last month, as long-suffering-Dilly has been jetting around the peripheries of Africa in her guise as consultant-of-choice to safari types and I divide my time between the wonderful world of retail advertising and the considerably more wonderful world of photographing the British butterflies.

So far this year, I've nailed several new species (to me) including Duke of Burgundy, English Swallowtail, Adonis Blue, Black Hairstreak and the ultra-rare Large Blue. So it's been a good summer up to now.

Photographs and stories will appear in the near future, but at present I'm looking forward to the return of the Dillster, who has been for a fortnight's sojourn with the lemurs in Madagascar. I've asked her to look out for, and photograph, my all time favourite insect- the giraffe necked weevil (!) and now I'm on tenterhooks to see whether she's pulled it off. I'm guessing not, but the long suffering one seldom fails to surprise me.

Mind you, I may have to think of a new name, as Mauritius and Madagascar don't really lend themselves to the suffering tag. Still, fortress Balham will soon be back to its old self, with the sound of dishes being washed and hoovers being, er.. hooved, echoing round the lush valleys and open prairies.

She'll be surprised by the amount that our vegetable patch has grown, too, in her absence. I'm particularly looking forward to showing her my courgette.

Oh, please.....

URBAN FOXES

2011-05-19T14:41:00.000+01:00

To the rear of fortress Balham lies a railway, on top of a bank. Not the kind that has money in (or doesn't, in my case). This bank has foxes in it, making their den amongst the Japanese Knotweed. At night they sound like people getting murdered in some heinous fashion. Or maybe there are people getting murdered in some heinous fashion, and foxes just happen to live there. I'm not entirely sure, but I'd like to think it's the foxes making all the racket.

Lots of people hate foxes, long suffering Dilly included. But then she's of the huntin' shootin' fishin' persuasion, and they have some funny ideas. Personally, I like them (the foxes, not the hunting brigade). I like the fact that there is wildlife in the middle of London. I like the fact that I can see a rather beautiful large mammal going about its business from the kitchen window. I like the fact that sometimes they sunbathe on my sun lounger. And I like the fact that the cubs sometimes come right up to the back door and try to look inside.

In fact, the only thing I don't like about them is having to get up at the crack of sparrow's on bin day to put the rubbish out. Because if I do it the night before, the little b*ggers rip open the bin bags and spread the contents all over the street.

We talk a lot about human activity affecting the behaviour of animals. But what about the other way round, eh? To me, the biggest problem with urban foxes is that they make me get up early on Wednesdays.

And that seems like a small price to pay.

FIGHTING COOTS

2011-04-07T19:40:00.000+01:00

Come spring, nature explodes joyously into a celebration of new life and the end of harsh winter months.

Except coots. They explode into life and attempt to peck the crap out of each other. These feisty little birds are some of the most aggressively territorial on the waters of Britain. They're supremely intolerant. Ducks, geese, swans and especially other coots- they don't care. They'll get stuck in with beak and claw and take no prisoners, bless 'em. It's really quite sweet to watch.

EYJAFJALLAJOKULL- FIRST SHOT OF THE ICELAND ERUPTION?

2011-04-05T20:41:00.000+01:00

This is, to the best of my knowledge, the first photograph taken of the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajokull when it erupted last year. It was taken about 10 minutes after the volcano first erupted, and the power of the released energy reflected in the clouds above the crater is clear.

I had been photographing the Aurora at the hotel Ranga for most of the evening, and the cold had finally forced me to retreat to the warmth of my room. As I turned to go indoors, I became aware of a red glow on the horizon. The eruption had been in the offing for some time- I had been watching the seismographs for the area with interest- but I hadn't expected it to blow on my last evening in Iceland. 'In the offing' geologically speaking can mean many, many years.

I went to the hotel reception, and told them what I was seeing, and they got very excited and phoned the news through to the authorities. Within minutes, we heard police sirens (I'm guessing that they knew about the situation already, probably warned by the villagers) and the road towards the volcano was swiftly closed down. Soon afterwards, we heard the reports coming through on the national radio.

Though it's not technically a great photograph, it does capture the feeling of the moment, and it's certainly the earliest shot that I've seen published of the eruption.

I can't help looking at it with a sense of relief, as long suffering Dilly and I had been walking on the adjacent glacier that very afternoon, joking about what would happen if the volcano blew while we were practically stomping around on top of it!

As we all know, the volcano went on to create havoc with air traffic in the northern hemisphere for weeks afterwards. But having finished our all too brief stay in Iceland, long suffering Dilly and I escaped the following morning on the last plane before the airport was shut down.

Just lucky, I suppose. But spookily, our walk up the glacier had been to drop a rose for Dilly's late and much missed mother, Wendy, and Dilly had asked her for a sign that all was well. That night, the volcano erupted for the first time in 2 centuries.

I'll let you make up your own mind about that one. But if that was Wendy being reassuring, I'd hate to see her pissed off.

BLUEBELL WOOD

2011-04-04T18:58:00.000+01:00

Spring has almost sprung, and the sap is rising in Fortress Balham. Long suffering Dilly has slipped into spring-cleaning mode, frantically painting the turrets and wallpapering the ramparts, whilst making sporadic raids on e-bay to order brightly coloured hawaiian shirts.

And I have seen several bumblebees. But no butterflies, yet.

This started me thinking about what actually does signify the start of spring for me. I'd always assumed it was the vivid yellow flash of the brimstone butterfly (For the trivia geeks out there, this species is arguably where the butter-fly gets its name. Geddit?) But the brimstone butterfly can be seen as early as February, crawling out of hibernation during the first sunny spell of the year. And February is most definitely winter. So it isn't that, on reflection.

The Crocus could be a contender, but then again, I tend to think of that as a cultivated plant. So I don't think it can really count.

No, when I really think about it, the real signifier that spring is in the air is the explosion onto the scene of the great British bluebell (as opposed to the Spanish one that is hybridising its way into taking over, sadly).

In the next few weeks some lucky woods will turn blue and purple as these charismatic flowers open up and carpet the ground.

And I shall make it my business to get out there and admire them. Because when the bluebells open, the natural history types put down their reference books and their wildlife holiday brochures, pull on their wellies and come out of hibernation. And that, I now realise, is the true sign of spring.

TRAVEL ZAMBIA MAGAZINE

2011-03-31T08:52:00.000+01:00

Since deciding by hook or by crook to take Long suffering Dilly to Antarctica, I have been back working with my old friends at Saatchi and Saatchi in order to make the dream a reality, so I haven't been posting much. Well, at all, really. Sorry. But with spring in the air, I feel the posting sap rising, and fully intend to post some spring-based images very soon.

In the meantime, there is some exciting news. Long suffering Dilly and I have had our first joint article published! Yay!

It's in Travel Zambia magazine, and it recounts our trip to Old Mondoro in the Lower Zambezi national park last year. You can find it online at the link below, should you so desire.

http://www.ta-emags.com/V1/Zambia/TZX3/

That's all for now, I think. But more will follow, now I've got my posting mojo back. Woo-hoo!

SOUTH GEORGIA (ON MY MIND)

2011-02-10T21:20:00.000Z

So long-suffering-Dilly and I were discussing booking a holiday trip. And of course, the question is where should we go?

Well, obviously we have to be sensible. We're slap in the middle of a mammoth recession, and our esteemed government is making sweeping cuts that make the Texas chain saw massacre look like an episode of Friends.

If we tighten our belts any more, our top and bottom halves will simply separate at the waist and fall to the floor, flopping around and making a mess on the carpets at fortress Balham.

So naturally, Dilly was looking at the UK. Beautiful, but affordable.

Me, I was nose deep in a brochure on Antarctica. Because that's the kind of fiscally responsible, plan-for-tomorrow guy I am.

Yes, we'd have to re-mortgage the house. Yes, I'd have to become a career criminal (or investment banker, as they're sometimes known). Yes, long-suffering-Dilly might have to put on full make up and hang around on Tooting common by night (although I haven't actually broached that subject to her yet). But I'm sure she'd agree that it would totally be worth it.

Because there's something about the bottom of the world that gets under your skin and won't let go. Maybe it's the eerie silence, maybe it's the abundant and amazing wildlife that has no fear of humans because it has nothing to fear from them. But whatever it is, it's a powerful force. A force of nature, actually.

I reckon that's why the seal above looks so happy. Because he's living on what I consider to be the most idyllic spot on earth- South Georgia. And I'm determined that long-suffering-Dilly should be compensated for her long-sufferingness by seeing it just once.

That's what's going to happen. And to hell with the bank.

HUMMINGBIRD AFTER A STORM

2011-01-28T13:50:00.000Z

As regular readers will know, Hummingbirds are one of my favourite birds to shoot, largely because they're a big challenge with a proportionally great reward. Their iridescence means that when watched with the human eye, you gain an overall impression of bright colours flashing in the sunlight, but all too often the photographs aren't as beautiful as those that your brain 'fills in' for you. Also the majority of hummers are small and fast flying, so pre-focussing and patience are a requisite.

But the rewards come with shots like this one of a copper-rumped hummingbird. I seldom use flash, but in this case it was just after a thunderous downpour and the sky was threateningly overcast. Added to that, the bird was drying its feathers on a twig right inside a thick bush, surrounded by other, bigger thick bushes. It was bushtastic. And very dark indeed; so out came the flash.

And boy, was I glad to have it. The flash has defined the textures on the bird with an almost illustrative quality, and the multiple colours revealed in the final shot were spectacular. I would never have been able to fully appreciate them with the naked eye.

The shot was taken at the Asa Wright Centre in Trinidad. It's a mecca for birders, and particularly good for Hummingbirds. Thoroughly recommended, especially for the chefs home made (and lethally spicy) pepper sauce, made from scotch bonnet peppers grown on the premises.

And if you ask really nicely, she'll give you some to take home in a jam jar.

Mmmmmmm......spicy jam jar of delight.

GRIZZLIES FISHING

2011-01-25T08:09:00.000Z

More bears today, this time of the brown variety, taken on beautiful Vancouver Island in Canada. I stayed at Knight Inlet Lodge, an amazing floating lodge deep in the heart of bear country, and highly recommended. It is pricey, though, so be warned!

Each year, the salmon return to spawn in the same place that they were born the previous year. The river is thick with them, to the point where in places it's impossible to see the river bed.

The salmon face an arduous upstream battle to find their spot and finally arrive, exhausted and dying, to find dozens of smug grizzlies lying in wait. Which is the last thing a horny salmon needs, really. The bears are there to fatten up on fish before they hibernate, and the salmon are so plentiful that I saw bears simply eating the nutritious orange roe, and leaving the rest of the fish virtually untouched.

Bears can actually hold their breath for a surprisingly long time, and some stick their heads underwater to get up close and pick the really juicy salmon. Then they emerge triumphantly with much over-dramatic snorting and shaking of the head, to rid their fur of the excess water (below).

Others prefer the less athletic option, and simply position themselves at a waterfall, sit on a rock and wait for their meal to literally jump into their mouth.

It makes using a knife and fork feel like a bit of an effort, really.

MORE POLAR BEARS

2011-01-24T10:26:00.005Z

These shots were taken in Svalbard, the other top polar bear viewing hotspot (other than Churchill, Canada, that is). Polar bears are intensely curious, and will often come close to check out a ship travelling through the ice.

This bear approached the ship from a distance, getting closer and closer, to the delight of the tourists on board. Frequently pausing to examine things of interest, such as his reflection, the bear eventually got to within 5 metres or so of the ship, and then patrolled up and down the length of it, sniffing frequently- the smells from the galley clearly intriguing him (and me, too. The food on board expedition ships is usually extremely good).

Finally, realising that the galley was inaccessible, he retreated a little, and settled down to enjoy a roll in the snow and indulge in a little tourist watching.

Polar bears are always a joy to see, and this one was particularly endearing. It's a tragedy that such charismatic and majestic animals are becoming increasingly threatened by the results of human activities and the recession of the pack ice that they require to hunt on.

BALD EAGLE

2011-01-17T13:32:00.001Z

Yellowstone national park is an incredible place to visit at any time of year, but I prefer it in winter, when there are fewer people around. Granted, you won't see any bears, but there is plenty of other wildlife there.

I visited to get a glimpse of the wolves in the Lamarr valley- and a glimpse was unfortunately all I got, and that from a long, long distance. Not worth photographing, anyway. But just seeing these incredible animals was a huge privilege. I intend to go back to Yellowstone to try again at some point in the future. Wolves are a big favourite of mine.

Meanwhile, there was a lot to see there anyway, including bighorn sheep, numerous elk, some big moose, owls and this beautiful bald eagle. The sky was a picture-perfect cloudless blue for a single morning, and the eagle looked fantastic against it and those strikingly graphic branches.

In the week that I was there over new year, I don't think we saw another human visitor. It felt as though we had this massive park entirely to ourselves. Even Old Faithful was deserted. Marvelous stuff.

MILLIONS AND MILLIONS OF MONARCHS

2011-01-12T14:07:00.014Z

In the winter of 1974, in the high mountains west of Mexico City, Ken and Cathy Brugge found a few dead monarch butterflies lying tattered by the side of the road. It was exactly what they had been searching for, and sure enough, with a little exploration of the forests in the vicinity they uncovered the answer to one of entomology's great unanswered questions- where did all the eastern monarchs go in winter? The monarch is a common butterfly in North America, but come winter they simply vanished with no apparent trace. No eggs, larvae or pupae were ever found during those months.

It was known that thousands of adults gathered in the Monterey pines on the west coast. But they were the ones from the west of the rocky mountains. What happened to the vast majority of the monarchs- the ones from east of the mountains- was unknown. It was assumed that they migrated south to sunnier climes. But where, exactly?

Monarch country....

The answer, evidently, was that they went to these forests. Every monarch in the eastern part of North America. That's millions upon millions of butterflies converging on a series of small woodland glades where geographical and climatic factors rendered the temperature, humidity and protection perfect for overwintering.

The monarch is one of the most recognisable butterflies in the world. It's America's national insect. And it's a superhero amongst butterflies. It can live for over 9 months including hibernation, and a single individual is capable of travelling thousands of miles. The occasional Monarch even shows up in Britain, having been blown across the Atlantic ocean. Monarchs die harder than Bruce Willis.

Monarch larva (full grown)

During summer, they spread out from the Mexican mountain forests across the whole of North America, taking several generations to do so. The large larvae feed exclusively on Milkweed (asclepias sp.) and absorb the poison from the foodplant- hence their warning colouration. Birds do not mess with the monarch.

Then, just as they've covered the continent, they all turn around and several generations later, arrive back in Mexico ready for hibernation.

Which is where I found them in February 2001. As I huffed and puffed my way up the mountain, the sun was out and by mid morning it was perfect weather for an overwintering butterfly to wake up, give its wings a stretch and head out on a brief sortie to find food and water. In a few weeks, it would be time for them to move on, but for now they were just preparing for their epic and neverending journey.

As I got nearer to the colony, I started to see them. First in the sky, and then on closer examination, drinking from the tiny streams that criss-crossed their way down the mountainside.

A sky full of monarchs

Drinking at a stream

There had been a frost the night before and, as I turned a corner on the narrow trail, I had my first taste of the true extent of the monarch migration.

Logging had encroached into the surrounding forest, and one theory goes that the damage done by the loss of the trees protection had started to affect the overwintering butterflies, so that a few on the outskirts of the colony had started to feel the cold. The trail ahead of me was liberally carpeted with dead and dying butterflies, suffering from exposure.

There were so many that I wondered how the colony could possibly survive the loss of such numbers without being severely depleted. But then, a little further on, the incredible truth started to dawn...

Dead monarch carpet

It's the sound that first lets you know that you're in the kingdom of the monarch. It's a sound so unfamiliar to our ears that it took me a while to understand what it was. It's kind of like the sea breaking on the shore, but it's constant- it doesn't swell and then recede like that sound. It's a whisper, but it's loud enough to overshadow everything.

It's the sound of a million million wings rubbing together all at once. And when you realise what it is, you stop dead in your tracks. I have never heard anything like it, and don't really expect to again.

Now and then, you'll hear a sharp crack, as a branch gives way under the weight of butterflies that it carries. Think about that. A pine tree branch, snapped by weight of butterflies! Surely it would take a stupendous number of insects to pull off a feat like that?

And that's when you start to notice the trees. I mean, really notice them. Notice the bunches of grapes hanging from them. And then, a flash of orange tells you that they aren't grapes at all. In some cases, they aren't really trees at all. They're more like butterfly sculptures of trees. And you're standing right in the middle of one of the biggest migrations on the planet

Bunches of grapes...

Not just trees...

Butterfly sculptures

Everywhere you look, there are butterflies. You think you're seeing a tree, you're actually seeing butterflies. That's not a bush- it's a group of 10,000 butterflies. They're everywhere. And as the sun warms their wings, they rustle them gently and open and close them so that it looks like a thousand tiny pops of orange, exploding all over your vision.

Not a bush...

The sun moves higher, they start to disperse and fly afield in search of nourishment, and the clearings are filled with swirling orange confetti. It's a butterfly snowstorm.

After a couple of hours with the monarchs, I made my way down the mountain. I was still not adjusted to the altitude, so I hitched a ride on a mule. I was pleased about that, but I can't say that the mule was too keen. I think the camera gear may have been to blame. Heavy things, Nikons. Certainly, it couldn't have been anything to do with my weight. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I travelled with Tim Melling and Naturetrek, and it was one of the greatest experiences of my, and I suspect anybody's, life. It took two days for my grin to subside. If I could design a perfect trip, it would be to the sea of Cortez to photograph whales, and then on to mainland Mexico to visit the monarchs. Two weeks of pure natural history wonderment. Brilliant.

ABSTRACT DOLPHIN

2011-01-10T14:59:00.001Z

This was one of my first photographs, and remains one of my favourites. While not technically great due to the burnout from the sun reflecting off the splashes, it's one of the few shots that I don't get tired of. The different colours and subtleties of the deeper water, and the dynamics of the splashing, fin motion and the focussed blow hole make it pleasingly abstract and painterly. It's also an unusual angle of the subject.

It's a common dolphin, photographed in the sea of Cortez, Mexico, on a trip to capture shots of blue whales. We found blue whales aplenty, but few that were posing for photos. That's the thing with whales- they're huge and amazing and beautiful and....underwater. The majority of whale sightings begin and end with a glimpse of dorsal fin silhouetted in a vast expanse of sea, or if you're lucky, a fluke. Which isn't as exciting in a photo as it is in real life, more's the pity.

Still, on the way back to La Paz, aboard legendary whale-watching ship the 'Don Jose' a few dolphins escorted us, happily bow-riding ahead of the ship in the calm waters.

It didn't take much encouragement for me to shin along the stem of the bow, clinging on like a portly sloth until I was directly over the dolphin. Then I just held the camera with one hand, the bow stem with the other, and let rip.

Only one of the pictures was useable- the others were all cropped off or badly exposed by the reflected light. Or they had no dolphin in at all.

But this one shot somehow made it all worthwhile.

THE CASE OF THE SUPERNATURAL TIGER

2011-01-04T11:15:00.003Z

"The thing about tigers" said the guide, leaning forward conspiratorially "is that they have great powers. If they do not wish to be photographed, they will not allow it."

I nodded understandingly, whilst enjoying a vaguely colonially-tinged internal smirk. What were they going to do- refuse to sign a model release form? Put blankets over their heads?

How little these rangers knew of the wonders of modern photographic equipment, still clinging to their quaint camp fire stories and legends. 'Paf!' I thought, again internally. (Paf! is an expression that should only ever be used internally). 'Wait 'til the tigers get a load of me....'

I'd been in Ranthambore national park, India, for 4 days, and had as yet failed to see a single pug mark, let alone a tiger. But I'd put this down to bad luck and the ravages wrought by poachers, rather than camera-shy big cats.

And then, as our jeep of 3 happy travellers, driver and ranger bounced along the dusty road, all that changed as an enormous male tiger came slouching out of the bushes straight towards the vehicle. Head down, perfect light, great background. This was it.

With visions of the Wildlife photographer of the year award playing through my mind, I composed the shot, waiting as the tiger got nearer. It still hadn't appeared to have noticed us, as it padded along closer and closer. And finally, the shot was just about perfect. All that was needed was for the tiger to look at the camera. Which it obligingly did.

Now, I don't know if you've ever been unfortunate enough to be tasered. I have, and it's not an experience that I'd be keen to repeat. But I'll tell you what, looking directly into the electric blue eyes of a wild tiger just feet away from your unprotected jeep has a similar effect. I'm seldom nervous on safari, even around big cats. But a lazy lion or irritable leopard doesn't even begin to compare with the gaze of a tiger.

A physical jolt went down my spine as we locked eyes. They are utterly hypnotic, and you can almost read the animal's mind. Which in this case was 'if I could be bothered, I could turn you into finger nibbles. And right now, I'm giving it serious consideration'.

I swallowed, and prepared to press the shutter...

At which point, the photographer behind me swore, and I heard the unmistakable (and to a photographer, nightmarish) sound of photographic film ripping on its guide sprockets. His film had jammed. Almost at the same time, the guy with the point and shoot compact in the front seat dropped it. Not only dropped it, but bent the little telescopic lens.

2 cameras were down. It was up to me to get the shot. And I was up to the task. I quickly reassessed the shot. If anything, it was better. And for the second time, I squeezed the trigger and....

.....nothing. All systems down. I squeezed again, with the same result. I continued, harder, as if I could somehow bully the camera into co-operating. And then I saw the flashing light on the top of the Nikon F5.

Dead battery.

Now, that battery had been charged the previous night. I'd sat there and watched it.

10 minutes before the tiger arrived, it had been reading fully charged.

But Nikons seem to have an erratic flaw that causes this effect, particularly if you use them with a teleconverter. My D3 and D2X have done it since. Turning it quickly off and then on seems to solve the problem. It's irritating, but not a disaster. But this was the first time it had ever happened to me, and by the time I'd discovered how to fix it, the tiger and with it, the shot of a lifetime had sauntered past and was disappearing into deep cover, probably flicking me the stripey finger as it did so...

I was eventually to get other tiger shots on that trip, but none as amazing as that particular shot would have been.

The guide looked round with a cheery smile at 3 devastated and mechanically unsound photographers, all in a state of shock at this unheard-of simultaneous triple breakdown.

"Ahhh, naughty tiger" he said, beaming happily. "He doesn't want to be filmed today".

And you know what?

I believe him.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (2009)

2010-12-31T12:31:00.003Z

After a brief Christmas break, it's time to post again. The trouble is, of course, that as usual, I have achieved nothing over the holiday except to increase my mass. All my good intentions of daily dawn outings with a camera went straight out of the window as I immersed myself in the thunder down under, watching our brave boys (the ones with bats, pads and cricket whites - not the ones with desert camo's, guns and too few helicopters) triumph mightily against an Australian team that never really showed up. Glad tidings of comfort and deep joy, as my cricketing text partner, Trevor, festively put it.

It was a nice thing, as the aussies have life far too good, in my humble opinion. And here's why.

1) Australia is big. As opposed to England, which is small, and apparently only surpassed in population density by South Korea and Bangladesh. Oz is a land of apparently limitless space on which to practice important, life affirming stuff like hook shots and cover drives.

2) Lots of interesting wildlife, much of it enticingly dangerous. They have the lethal brown snake. We have the slow worm. They have the deadly salt water croc. We have the stickleback. Australian cricket fans can birdwatch as they watch cricket, because they have delightful cockatoos. We have grimey pigeons.

3) They have the weather. We have the rain. (Which admittedly we have used to our advantage in the occasional test match).

4) They have Bondi beach, with its skimpily clad, super-healthy aussie blondes. We have Brighton pier and its murmuration of starlings. The shot was taken almost exactly a year ago, at the tail end of 2009. And at the moment it's the best I can come up with for this New Year.

I blame the cricket. But it doesn't matter, because thanks to the likes of Straussy, Cooky, Trotty, Swanney and, er, Andersony, we've still got the ashes. And so, my aussie chums, you can stick your fascinating natural history and perfect lifestyle- along with your kookaburra balls- where the sun don't shine. Gloat over.

Until after the 5th test match, obviously.

A CHEETAH FOR CHRISTMAS

2010-12-21T17:35:00.000Z

I haven't had a chance to post much recently, as I've been filming. Not wildlife, but TV commercials.

Since I turned professional (photographically speaking) last April, I've managed to fund several trips to Africa and elsewhere, but eventually the money always runs out....and that's when I return to what I used to do in another lifetime- writing advertisements and then making them happen.

I've really enjoyed my brief return to the world of commercials, and I'd like to thank my chums at Saatchi & Saatchi London for thinking of me when they needed to hire a copywriter in double quick time.

The work should fund my return to Madagascar next year. The last time I was there was with a film camera, and I have to say was something of a disaster. This time, though, it will be different.

In the meantime, here's a random shot of a cheetah that I spent time with in Namibia at the cheetah conservation project- a most worthwhile organisation and one that deserves our support. I've spoken about it in previous posts, so I won't do so again, but if you have a spare minute, look them up on the interweb.

And if you're really keen, you can hunt down the upcoming issue of 'Travel Zambia' magazine, which has a substantial piece of writing by the long-suffering-Dilly, illustrated with some of my photographs, and, I believe, a smaller piece by myself giving the low down on crocodile photography.

So on that note, I wish you all a happy holidays, and I shall return in January with more free time and a whole lot of new photographs to share. I'm thinking that it's time we put a few tigers on here - whadda you reckon?!

Now it's back to the edit suite for me. A copywriters work is never done. Until Christmas Eve, anyway.

Thanks for reading....

WALRUS

2010-12-07T10:45:00.000Z

Every photographer has a species that stubbornly eludes them, and for me it was walrus. They aren't especially uncommon, but for some reason they just gave me problems.

On my first trip to the arctic, I managed to get within shooting distance, only to have my camera malfunction in the cold.

On the second trip, the only walrus I saw nervously abandoned their ice floe while I was still too far away to get a good composition.

The third time, the engines on the boat vibrated my tripod just enough for every shot to be useless.

This shot was taken on the fourth trip. So all in all, it took me over ten years to get a half decent shot of these rather iconic animals. I floated in on a zodiac, engines off, rowing when necessary to gain distance without disturbing them.

I got to within 10 metres when they started to shuffle nervously. So I backed off slightly and shot from about 40 feet. I shot quite a lot- after a decade of walruslessness, photographically speaking, I wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

In the decade sans walrus, I read quite a lot about them- they were something of a cause celebre for me. And what I discovered is that the walrus is a most interesting animal. And the thing that really stands out about it, is its penis.

Oh yes, my friends...

Walrus have a baculum, which is a penile bone. Lots of animals have them, including primates. Except for man. Typical.

But pinnipeds have them, and of all the pinnipeds, the walrus has a particularly good one.

For a start, it can be over two feet long. (As opposed to, say, a marmoset, which can only manage a slightly embarrassing 2mm)

A penile bone leaves its owner less vulnerable to impotence caused by variations in blood pressure. A hydraulic system like the one used by us blokes can let its owner down on occasion. (Although it's not important, it doesn't matter, and besides, it happens to every man at some point).

The largest baculum ever, belonged to an extinct species of walrus and was an impressive 1.4 metres long. Good bone, fella!

Known in Native Alaskan cultures as an Oosik, walrus baculum are often polished and used as tools.

Which particular tools would benefit from being constructed from walrus whanger, I've never been too clear about.

But I'm going to take a wild guess that it's a prick axe.

GULF FRITILLARY

2010-11-29T19:50:00.003Z

I'm not in a good mood. It's freezing cold, and I've had to cope with a pointless strike on the London Underground today. Which meant that everybody else in London was in a bad mood, too. We all spiralled down together into an ever-deepening pit of moodiness.

The tube union leader is a gentleman (and I use the term loosely) named Bob Crow. Normally I'd make some light hearted quip at this point about a 'murder' of crows being an appropriate collective noun, but I'm in too bad a mood to even attempt ironic and tasteless humour.

So, to cheer myself up, here's one of my favourite butterflies- the Gulf Fritillary. It's pretty, isn't it? I can feel my mood lightening already.

Actually, no I can't. But it is pretty.

Hmmph.

IMPALA AT DAWN

2010-11-24T12:17:00.001Z

It's easy to take the humble impala for granted. The first day that you visit southern Africa, you ooh and ahh over them. The second day, you're kind of 'uh-huh, there's another herd of impala'. Third day, it's 'out of the way, impala scum, you're blocking the route to the elephant.'

Shame on us all. Impala are beautiful little animals, and it shouldn't matter that they're as numerous as Starbucks in a city centre.

They're called the McDonalds of the plains in reference to the black arches on their rumps, and the fact that they provide a constant source of fast food for just about every large carnivore in their distribution range. In fact, they're the key to survival for all those sexy, photogenic predators that we all long to see so much.

And there are few things as heartwarming as looking into the huge, limpid eyes of an impala. They're the very epitome of the gentle antelope.

They are one of the most acrobatic denizens of the plains, able to make huge leaps of up to 30 feet when escaping yet another hungry cat. But they bear all the danger and stress with a kind of docile stoicism.

So if you're lucky enough to go on safari, don't take the impala for granted. Take the time to appreciate its beauty and grace. Stick around to observe its behaviour and habits. You'll find it's well worth it.

And importantly, there's always the chance that you might see it getting snacked on by something really cool.

WHAT ATTENBOROUGH WON'T SHOW YOU

2010-11-20T13:45:00.002Z

It's true. Today, I can exclusively reveal that the penguins that Sir David shows us in the antarctic are hand picked penguin models, straight out of penguin casting. Each penguin is carefully groomed and made up, has its feathers cut and blow-dried, and is placed in the ideal position in the colony, ready for the blue-shirted, silver-tongued, whispering wonder to do his breathless voiceover in a picture perfect setting.

That's why the BBC penguins all look identical. You won't see any chav, ugly penguins- they aren't allowed near the set.

Like this poor Adelie, with a face that only a penguin mother could love. Never mind Attenborough, this specimen, who wished to be identified as 'Psycho' (not his real name), wouldn't even make the grade in a Nigel Marven production.

And I, for one, think it's sad. Perhaps it's time for the lads from BBC Bristol to embrace the ugly penguins, in all their bug eyed glory.

Otherwise penguins like poor Psycho here are going to find themselves with a complex.

And that would be taking the pingu.

BIG SHOUT GOING OUT TO THE DUNG BEETLE...

2010-11-18T10:08:00.001Z

Let's hear it for the dung beetle. One of the smaller, yet most important, animals in the world.

The ancient Egyptians knew this- that's why they didn't call them dung beetles, but sacred scarabs. Much better.

Without dung beetles, the world would be a very different place. In fact, it would, in a very real sense, be a load of crap.

Dung beetles, like vultures, are nature's clean up crew. They feed on the excrement of herbivores and break it down, improving nutrient recycling and protecting livestock and wild animals from aggressive pests such as flies which would normally find a habitat on a plethora of poo.

Without dung beetles, the world would be a much smellier place.

They roll their ball of dung away from its origin (because when you've got hold of a really good poo pellet, you just KNOW some other ba*tard's going to try and steal it...) and then bury it, laying their eggs inside so that the larvae have a tasty treat to consume upon hatching..

And they're strong. One species, Onthophagus taurus is particularly so. I'm reliably informed by Wiki that in human terms it can push and pull the equivalent of six fully loaded double decker buses.

That's a good weight of faeces, even by a curry addict's standards. Certainly enough for a batch of larvae.

Most dung beetles don't eat or drink anything else at all during their lifetime- sadly for them, the dung contains all the nutrients and water that they need.

So let's pause for a moment to thank the dung beetle, and also to offer it our sincere condolences. Because to a dung beetle, the phrase 'eat shit and die' isn't a good-humoured insult - it's all there is to life.

And you thought you had problems.

ORYX

2010-11-16T11:05:00.000Z

For me, the Oryx (Gemsbok) is the animal that defines Namibia. To cope with the incredible heat, the Oryx has developed a cunning cooling system. There's very little water to drink, so sweating is a bad thing. To reduce the need to sweat, Oryx pant heavily, which causes air to flow over the carotid rete - a network of blood vessels around the nose. The nose is also coloured white to reflect the heat. The blood running through the carotid rete is cooled by the air and from there the cooler blood is directed to the brain, keeping it at a reasonable temperature. Simultaneously, the body temperature is allowed to rise. So the Oryx doesn't need to perspire and so lose valuable water. Clever, eh?

SOSSUSVLEI, NAMIBIA

2010-11-12T12:45:00.000Z

Scenery in Namibia is big. I mean, really big. And orange. These are the biggest sand dunes in the world, at Sossusvlei in the Namib Naukluft national park. There isn't a vast amount of wildlife around here, but the scenery more than makes up for it. It's difficult to get a sense of perspective, but to give an idea, the trees at the base of this dune are full-on trees, not little shrubs.

All the dunes have numbers rather than names. You drive down the road, and there are little signs like mailboxes telling you which dune you're passing. Number 26 is particularly photogenic, but suffers from over-touristing. When I got there, about a gazillion fitness freaks were busy proving their climbing abilities to themselves and leaving unsightly footsteps up the knife edge ('blade') of the dune.

So I simply drove on a bit until I came to number 33 (I think) which was picture perfect. Why, I have no idea. Maybe 33 isn't as macho a number as 26. Maybe 26 was a better climb. Not having the mental fortitude to clamber up bloody great piles of sand in the heat of the desert, (a shorter way of saying this would be 'lazy') I can have no answers....

Here's another dune, this time with Oryx at the base. These attractive antelopes are about two thirds the size of a horse, but next to the dune they appear utterly insignificant. It's difficult not to simply stand there and stare at these dunes with your jaw hanging down. Surely, they must qualify as being one of the natural wonders of the world.

UNEXPECTED ZEBRAS

2010-11-11T12:13:00.000Z

The pounding hooves of this herd of zebras could be heard from a long distance as we enjoyed the sunset in Namibia.

As they raced past us, we looked for predators. None were visible but the zebra were in a tearing hurry, anyway. What were they running from? I've no idea. Where were they headed? I haven't a clue.

It was a magnificent sight as they thundered past at full throttle. The vibration from the ground travelled up my body, and the clouds of dust played havoc with my nice clean lens fronts. But it was one of those unexpected moments that will stay with me forever.

You get a lot of them in Africa.

MAMMOTH SPRINGS

2010-11-09T12:04:00.000Z

Yellowstone Park, USA. Some of the most gorgeous scenery I've ever seen. And some of the weirdest, as befits a national park sitting smack on top of a supervolcano. A supervolcano, for the benefit of the Brits, is one that's very big and not, as the name implies, one that's really rather smashing.

Volcanoes are measured by the amount of stuff they blast out (ejecta). And like the Richter scale, this is measured on a single-figure scale, known as the VEI (volcanic explosivity index).

Yellowstone's last eruption, 640,000 years ago, had a VEI of 8, which means it spewed about 1000 cubic kilometers of ejecta. By comparison, Krakatoa in 1883 was VEI 6, or about 25 cubic kilometers. A supervolcano eruption is a world changing event, which could trigger a mini ice age and possible species extinction. The species in question being, well, us. Or at the very least the good folks of the United States.

Since that would leave us without cheeseburgers and Bruce Springsteen, this puts a Yellowstone eruption firmly inside my definition of a cataclysmic event. And the worrying thing is that in volcanic terms, it's overdue. It could happen at literally any moment within the next 150,000 years or so. Scary stuff, eh?

So, Mammoth Springs is one of the many places in Yellowstone where the earth leaks hot minerals and suchlike. These cool and crystalise, forming extraordinary shapes and patterns. The colours are due to the minerals and the algae and bacteria that live happily in the rich deposits.

I was there in midwinter, and the steam and sulphur dioxide rising off the cooling mineral salts produced an eerie steam and a heinous smell. At least, I think it was the mineral salts.

Yellowstone is great, but Mammoth Springs is like visiting another planet. It has to be seen to be believed.

Oh, and eat cheeseburgers while you can. Lots of them. Because you never know what the next 150,000 years might bring.

THE PUFFINS OF SKOMER

2010-11-08T11:35:00.001Z

Long-suffering-Dilly has returned from Malawi, to find fortress Balham still standing, me still surviving, and fresh milk in the fridge. She has brought with her a tan, a selection of stones (this is normal for her - like a Bowerbird, she leaves shiny pebbles dotted about the house) and, most importantly, duty free cigarettes.

To celebrate her return and the consequent upturn in my quality of diet, (because, although I would never admit it to her, you actually can have too much take-away curry) here are some of the puffins that she so eloquently described on her blog not long ago.

Puffins are jaunty little birds, slightly awkward in manner. They look like rotund clockwork toys when they fly, and, like albatrosses, have never really mastered the art of taking off and landing. To launch, they just hurl themselves off the nearest cliff and flap enthusiastically, and to land... well, it's really just a case of nose dive and hope for the best.

Their magnificent beak colouration only happens during the breeding season. The beak is made of horny plates, and for most of the year is dull. But the puffins are out at sea then, anyway. They only come back to breed and entertain tourists.

There are three different puffin species. The ones pictured are Atlantic puffins. Then there are Horned puffins (the horn is a fetching mark above the eye that makes them look as if they are wearing false eyelashes) and Tufted puffins (mostly black, with a serious set of golden eyebrows not unlike the macaroni penguin).

If you'd like to know more about the great puffin adventure that Long-suffering-Dilly and I undertook in Wales on the Isle of Skomer, see Dilly's word-for-word blog under 'My favourite bird is a puffin'. There's a link at the top of the page.

GREAT WHITE SHARK (PART 1)

2010-11-04T17:39:00.001Z

You'd be hard pushed to name an animal that scares people as much as the Great White shark. Ever since Stephen Spielberg filmed Jaws, this massive apex predator has been the ocean's number one villain.

But does it live up to its fearsome reputation? Well, yes and no. Yes, in that it's a big, menacing shark. When you're in a cage and an 18-foot Great White cruises past, it looks the size of a bus. But they aren't as big as they used to be. So many are killed now, that few live to attain their full size.

What I wasn't prepared for is how charismatic the Great White is. For a start, it's beautiful. The colour varies from individual to individual, but mostly it's a stunning dark grey-green, flecked with gold. The eye isn't black, as I'd always assumed. It's a gorgeous dark blue.

And far from being an indiscriminate killing machine, it's actually appealingly cautious. The sharks tend to circle the dive boats for a while, checking everything out before closing in on the bait. Great Whites can see above the water as well as below it, so they often make a pass with one eye out of the water when there's a boat around. They're the only shark to do this. They're smart.

And being smart, they have definite personalities and moods. Some are grouchy, some playful and some curious. Some differ on a daily basis. But all are fascinating. I have never been cage diving with Great Whites and been ready to return to shore.

Sharks don't eat people. Unlike seals - which, admittedly, they occasionally mistake us for- we don't have enough fat on our bodies to make it worthwhile. But sharks do have a great curiosity about anything that enters their domain, and that's where trouble can start.

Great whites adopt an investigative method called bump and bite. Basically, they'll give something a bash with their nose, and then a quick bite to see if it's tasty. A human being isn't tasty.

Unfortunately the shark doesn't know that, until after it's chewed off a mouthful. You can see the problem.

The point is, that nine times out of ten, a shark attack isn't an attack at all. It's a feeding mistake. Like eating a pot-noodle. Looks like food, tastes like pot-noodle. You wouldn't do it again. Not sober, anyway.

And the statistics would seem to support this. There are typically only about 80 shark attacks reported per year, worldwide. Fatalities are rare. Only about 450 reported in the last 400 years. Although the key word there is reported. That means that the figures are undoubtedly higher.

But statistically, you're still more likely to be killed by riding a bicycle.

Contrast that to the estimated 70 million sharks killed each year by humans. Going by that statistic the sharks shouldn't get out of bed in the morning. They'd probably be fatally injured.

And that's why it's important that we do our bit to stop the hunting and slaughter of the world's sharks.

Because, dammit, these beautiful creatures deserve their chance to be killed by riding a bicycle.

HUMMINGBIRDS

2010-11-03T11:39:00.006Z

In Britain during the 70s, if you were a coffee drinker, you were either a Nescafe person or a Maxwell House one. That was pretty much your whole choice, pre-Starbucks and Costa Coffee. They were basically the same stuff, they looked the same, they tasted the same.

But sipping on a Nescafe said you were a bit cooler, a touch more edgy, probably due to the presence of Gareth Hunt in the commercials (I know, I know...but we didn't know any better back then). Maxwell house was a rather more staid brand. It just didn't have the glamour of Gareth's famous red cup.

I feel the same way about hummingbirds and sunbirds. They occupy the same zoological niche, hummingbirds in the Americas and sunbirds in Africa. They both fly around at great speed like little sparkly jewels. But hummingbirds are, to my mind, innately cooler than sunbirds. It's the way they've been PR'd over the years.

They are the only bird that can fly backwards. They have the smallest bird species (the bee hummingbird). They can fly at up to 35 mph. And many of them are really colourful. What's not to like?

Hummingbirds (or 'hummers' to the street ornithologist) feed on nectar and small crustaceans which they ingest by means of a long, grooved tongue (above). They eat small meals, but a lot of them, in order to replace the energy expended by flapping their wings at up to ninety times per second. A hummer can ingest over twelve times its body weight in nectar every day.

But the most appealing thing about them isn't these Discovery channel factoids. The best thing about hummingbirds is that they're mad. No self respecting bird would look like a Tufted Coquette (below). It's insanely bling. It's like something that's been decorated by a three year old, with all the spikes and the crest and the spots glued on all over it...

And it isn't just the look of them. The temperament of the hummingbird is unstable to say the least. Hummers seem to have no fear. Nobody told them that they were tiny. Hence, they will attack any intruder into their territory with a kind of Banzai good humour. And often see it off, in the same way that a human will try to escape from an irritating insect. Eventually, the little thing buzzing round your head becomes too much, and you move away. I have stood at hummingbird feeders and have a hummer lower itself into position a foot away from the end of my nose, like an attack helicopter considering its options. If a hummingbird could talk instead of just hum, it would, I've always felt, do the scene from Taxi Driver ("You looking at me...huh"?).

So I always get a bit of a thrill when I'm going to a hummingbird area. These tiny birds have more personality than almost any other species. And, like butterflies, they lift your spirits and cheer you up as soon as you see them, in a way that sunbirds just...don't.

Sorry, sunbirds. But I'm a Nescafe person.

NOT A GOOD LOOK

2010-10-29T12:45:00.002+01:00

We think of Antarctica as being the last pristine wilderness, and to a large extent it is. But signs of human damage are becoming more commonplace. The Albatrosses are dying in numbers as a result of illegal long line fishing, and washed up garbage is becoming more evident. It's a depressing sight to see.

This fur seal was modelling a piece of discarded rope like a tie, and we had to catch the critter and remove the rope before it became a real problem for him. This was surprisingly difficult, as seals are slippery, manoeverable, and have sharp teeth.

He didn't really want to cooperate, but it had to be done for his own good. Apart from anything else, a light blue tie was never going to work with those muted earth tones.

HOLD THE FORT (FOR WHAT ITS WORTH)

2010-10-28T08:56:00.004+01:00

Well, long-suffering-Dilly departed this morning for a 10 day work jaunt to Malawi, checking out luxury lodges and sipping large, icy, freshly-squeezed drinks in beautiful locations. It's a tough life being a travel consultant. (Actually, it is. I know this because I occasionally remember to ask long-suffering-Dilly how her day was).

This leaves me alone in charge of fortress Balham. Which is not a luxury lodge, has a little dubiously-aged milk that hasn't been put back in the fridge, and being located in Balham, is decidedly not beautiful.

So to make myself feel less hard done-by, I was going through some penguin photographs and found these rather lost looking Adelies, taken on the antarctic peninsular.

The one on the right is a male, and the one on the left is a female. I know this, because only a male would stand on the highest point of somewhere and scout the horizon as if he expects to suddenly know his precise location.

And only a female would stand like that and know that he's wasting his time.

Now, I'm off for a coffee. Without milk.

HOLLYWOOD IN SOUTH LUANGWA

2010-10-26T09:28:00.000+01:00

Members of the Hollywood pride in South Luangwa. It's a medium/large pride, that was exhibiting some strange behaviour when I was out there. The pride had embarked on what can only be described as a killing spree.

First, we watched them take on a wounded buffalo for a couple of hours one evening. The badly wounded buffalo managed to get into the river and hold them at bay. And then the lions simply walked away, as if they couldn't be bothered to finish what they'd started.

The following morning, we found them on another buffalo kill, and then during the next few hours they took down another two buffalo and a warthog. The warthog and second buffalo were killed but hardly eaten at all.

The pride had a number of cubs with them, and it seemed likely to me that school was in session and the cubs were being taught how to kill. Our guide, however, thought that it was simple bloodlust - lions get pretty charged up when they hunt and feed. There's a degree of mob mentality and adrenaline overload and during this period, they may have just been in the mood to kill anything that passed by.

The shots were taken at sunset, while the lions rested up before the coming night. Lions are normally pretty dull subjects while they're resting, but the light and scenery was so good, and the pride so charismatic, that I couldn't resist rattling off a few shots.

PENGUIN TRIPLE WHAMMY

2010-10-25T12:21:00.000+01:00

Some penguins for a chilly Monday morning in London.

Shot in Antarctica, the porpoising penguins almost drove me crazy trying to predict their movements and capture them in focus. Finally, I got a few shots that were sharp. What with all the action and trying to wield the long-ish lens, it was only when I reviewed the shots that I realised that there were three different types of penguin here.

Leading the pack is a chinstrap penguin, with its distinctive helmet and chinguard markings.

Next up is the gentoo penguin with the bright red beak and feet and white bonnet across the top of the head.

Close behind are the macaroni penguins. The name is due to the yellow eyebrow feathers (my term, not a technical one!) which were considered to make it look like a 'dandy' (someone who dressed raffishly). When the name was chosen, there was a popular nursery rhyme called 'yankee-doodle dandy' -

'Yankee-doodle went to town

Riding on a pony.

He stuck a feather in his cap

And called it macaroni'.

So now it all makes perfect sense.... and I think we should be happy that it isn't called the yankee-doodle penguin.

Penguins travel in groups a lot, to avoid being singled out by predators like leopard seals, but until I took this shot I wasn't aware that the different species travelled together as well.

You live and learn...

THE BIGGEST, FATTEST GRIZZLY BEAR EVER

2010-10-22T20:29:00.006+01:00

On Vancouver Island, I came face to face with this monster grizzly who apparently was too busy fishing for salmon to take any notice of my tuneful singing or ranger approved bear-repellent shouts of 'Hey Bear!'. This is not what they told me would happen. Yikes!

WILDPHOTOS 2010

2010-10-22T20:20:00.000+01:00

I've just spent the first of two days at Wildphotos 2010, the UK symposium for wildlife photographers. And what a day. Some of the best photographers in the world (and me) gathered in one room at the Royal Geographical society, swapping laconic anecdotes and exotic itineraries, pronouncing scientific names correctly, comparing scars....well, OK, it wasn't quite like that. But it was pretty darned inspirational.

AND I got to hear one of my favourite photographers speak. David Doubilet is one of the great underwater snappers. Part man, part fish. His influence ranks right up there with Jacques Cousteau. And like Cousteau, he has a magnificent nose, presumably the product of some kind of sub-aqua photographer's evolution, developed to cut smoothly through the water like a shark's fin. But unlike the wooly-hatted master of the Calypso, Doubilet doesn't have ze 'umerous acc-sonte, so he's easier to listen to.

Dave (I think, since we've been in the same room together, he wouldn't mind me calling him Dave) held us mere mortals spellbound for an hour and a half with some of the most beautiful photographs that I've ever seen. By the second shot, I was drooling so much that Dave could have dived in the puddle around my chair. If you haven't come across his work yet, get yourself into the nearest Waterstones and search out a copy of 'Water, Life, Time' or go his website www.daviddoubilet.com.

Oh, and tell him Tim sent you. He'll know just who you mean.

HIPPOPHOTOMUSTS

2010-10-20T10:47:00.000+01:00

The hippo photos that everyone wants are the fight and the yawn. Hippos spend most of the day sunbathing in the fierce African sun (against which they secrete their own hippo suntan lotion, incidentally). To get the shots, you'll want to be watching them at dawn or dusk. Which is when the light is at its best, anyway.

Hippos fight mostly over territory. Full-on battles are relatively uncommon - hippos live at close quarters to each other, often in numbers, and since each hippo has a pair of twelve inch long lower incisors at its disposal, regular serious aggression would be counterproductive. But skirmishes are quite common. They happen fast and with little warning, though, and most will be over before you've reacted. Look for big male beachmasters squaring up to each other as a prelude.

At dawn, the hippos return to the safety of the water after a night spent grazing, and gather in their pods. Re-entry into the water tends to be along favoured routes, and as such, males may have to pass in close proximity to beachmasters who are already in position. This 'running of the gauntlet' can allow the photographer to anticipate the skirmishes, so keep your lens trained on the beachmaster as other hippos enter the water.

Which brings us to the yawn. Hippos yawn as a threat display, so watch the males in particular when other animals from outside the pod approach too close.

The other reason- I've heard - is that it actually is a yawn, for the same reason that we do it. In that they've lain around all day, and as evening approaches and the time comes to leave the water, the hippo needs to reoxygenate its muscles in order to drag its vast carcass onto land and walk around. It makes sense; certainly, the time to observe yawning (non-threat variety) is close to sunset.

GIANT EAGLE OWL

2010-10-18T09:51:00.002+01:00

Owls aren't easy subjects - firstly they tend to spook easily and secondly, to get interesting behavioural shots you generally have to shoot at night, which is unpredictable in terms of controlling the light. While I appreciate the many virtues of flash, taking natural looking shots of wildlife in the dark isn't really one of them.

So I was chuffed to capture this evocative shot of the largest owl in the world - the giant eagle owl. It was shot without flash in the early evening. The light source was actually a land cruiser spotlight with a red lens - red light disturbs animals less than white light, so many safari vehicles use it on night drives. When the time came to process the RAW shot, I simply altered the red cast to a more moonlighty blue.

There are very few images which I would alter in this way- I sit firmly in the camp that says photographs should be left 'as shot', and I would never manipulate a wildlife shot to change the core image. But in this case, the pose of the owl and the detail of the branch were so aesthetically pleasing that I felt justified in modifying the colour to enhance the mood of the shot.

The owl seemed quite intrigued by our belching, rattling land cruiser, and let us get to within a couple of metres before spreading its immense wings and taking flight with a whoosh of air and a sudden absence of owl.

Maybe I deserve a slap on the wrist. And I won't be able to enter this image for any competitions. But I really like the result.

SOUTHERN CARMINE BEE EATERS

2010-10-16T12:10:00.000+01:00

The name of Shenton Safaris is held in high esteem by wildlife photographers, and with good reason. Derek Shenton, ably supported by wife Jules, has constructed a series of hides from which to view the spectacular wildlife around Kaingo Camp in Zambia's South Luangwa National Park. One hide for elephant crossing the river, one for hippo (described by the BBC Planet Earth cameraman as the best hide he's ever sat in for a week!) and one for the annual Carmine bee eater nesting season. And Derek has done a magnificent job.

Each year, large numbers of Carmines fly in to reclaim the nest holes drilled into the mud, sand and rock on the banks of the Luangwa river. They perch in their thousands on the twigs and walls of the river bank...just about 10 feet from the front of Derek's water-based hide. Not half bad.

They're nervy, aggressive little birds, constantly squabbling over territory and taking flight at the slightest loud noise or threatening shadow. So a hide is a must if you're going to get near them.

This aggressive trait is fantastic for photography, though, as it means that there is a constant barrage of pinwheeling bundles of vivid red and blue feathers and stabbing beaks, all flying inches from the camera lens.

The difficulty is trying to anticipate or keep up with their lightning fast movements. As you'd expect, a bird that specialises in grabbing bees and insects directly from the air is both swift and maneuverable.

THE AMAZING AERIAL ELEPHANTS OF LOWER ZAMBEZI

2010-10-15T13:34:00.008+01:00

One of the Lower Zambezi park's specialities is the elephants. They grow big here, and with a single glance, you know that there are a lot of them.

Imagine looking down at the ground immediately after a prolonged hailstorm. Now imagine that the hailstones are actually six inch balls of elephant poo. It's not rocket science.

In October the dry season is coming to an end, and in some places the Zambezi river is shallow enough for the elephants to wade across and feed on the lush islands which have so far survived the season ungrazed. Though elephants swim well, the currents and perils of the river in the wet season make crossing difficult for adults and dangerous for the calves.

Elephants love water, so the daily crossings are an elephant joyfest with lots of splashing and mischief among the groups. Elephants are more exuberant when there's water around. Playing allows them to let off steam. So the hormone-flooded, teenage-angsty, mock-chargey young males can learn that there's more fun to be had in life than just intimidating innocent wildlife photographers and crapping anywhere you like.

Another behaviour that I had hoped to see was an elephant standing on its hind legs. Etienne had photographed one a few weeks previously, so there was a possibility.

Not many elephants have learned to stand on two legs. It doesn't come naturally - it's a deliberate technique which has to be taught and copied.

They do it at the end of the dry season, when the lower branches on the trees have been all but stripped by the grazers.

To reach the food-laden higher branches one daredevil elephant, back in in medieval elephant times, attempted the unlikely acrobatics, and then taught the technique to others in the family. They in turn told their offspring, and so on.

It was a sight that I had really hoped to see, as it offered potential in three diverse areas of interest- Mammalian Physiology, Inherited Behaviour in African wildlife, and the 'Animals doing hilarious things' section on YouTube. Full frontal images of a wild African elephant grabbing air could, I reasoned, be of great biological and comedic significance.

When we arrived at Old Mondoro, though, Etienne hadn't spotted his perpendicular pachyderm for over two weeks, and thought that it had moved on.

Maybe the elephants sensed my disappointment, because five minutes out from camp on our first afternoon, an elephant obligingly elephated for us, and then performed two encores.

Now, there's something you don't see every day.

Interestingly, it seemed that only one elephant in a family would perform the feat. The others would wait for it to rear up and snap off a decent branch. Then they'd steal it.

To me, this seems to demonstrate more intelligence than learning the trick in the first place. So after much studying of field notes and analysis of the behaviour displayed, my scientific conclusions for 'project aerial elephant' are as follows:

Elephants that stand on two legs are clever, athletic and comedy gold (as expected). Ones that don't are of dubious character and should not be left alone with your groceries.

RETURN TO OLD MONDORO

2010-10-15T13:33:00.008+01:00

Of all the camps in Zambia, one of our favourites is Old Mondoro. Owned by Grant Cumings, and run by our chums Etienne and Leana (pictured below) it's the sister camp to the the rather more luxurious Chiawa camp just upriver.

Which is certainly not to say that Old Mondoro is in any way less comfortable - it's just about perfect in my opinion. It's better appointed than a bush camp and less chichi than a lodge. So you feel adventurous being there, but you can still charge your camera batteries in your room. Which, incidentally, is nicely open to the elements along one wall during the heat of the day.

This open side to the room gives close up views of passing wildlife, as the long- suffering-Dilly discovered when putting her face on one morning (below). After a moment of shock when she thought she was looking in the mirror and had grown a trunk overnight, she realised her hilarious mistake, and settled down to chat with her new friend. By the end of our stay, the big tusker had her wrapped round the elephant equivalent of a little finger, even prompting her to gather various tasty treats to pile on the cabin steps for his delectation.

In the dry season, Old Mondoro has elephants in camp most days, and Etienne and Leana run the 'elephant shuttle', ferrying guests back and forth to their rooms in land cruisers, thus ensuring their safety, and avoiding any startling of itinerant pachyderms. They gather in camp prior to crossing the river to feed (see post below), and are wonderful animals to have around.

Old Mondoro is a camp like few others- classic, relaxed and with some of the most photogenic landscapes I've seen in Africa. Expect to see elephant (obviously) and lots of hippo and big nile crocodile. Excellent chances also of leopard, lion, kudu, honey badger and all the usual suspects, along with fantastic birds including white fronted, little and southern carmine bee eater. (Of which more will be written later).

ABRAHAM BANDA - GUIDING AWARDS

2010-09-29T12:26:00.005+01:00

I attended the Wanderlust 'Guide of the year' awards last night at the Royal Geographical Society, to watch Bill Bryson be funny, and a very chicly besuited Abraham Banda scoop silver. Congratulations to Abraham for winning this prestigious and well deserved award. He's a credit to South Luangwa and to Norman Carr Safaris .

Although by his own admission lost for words, he made a great speech and we saw the preview of a new UK TV series that featured he and his solid and reassuringly rifle-toting scout John Saili prominently. High spot was a deadpan Abraham helpfully pointing out to the breathlessly excited and rather nervous presenter, "Getting trodden on by an elephant can really spoil your day". Thanks for the tip, Abes.

INTERMISSION

2010-09-28T10:07:00.004+01:00

Well, I'm off to Zambia for the next 10 days, so there will now be a brief intermission. Looking forward hugely to seeing some old (and newer) chums out there, and visiting some spectacular locations.

The principle reason for the visit is to photograph the Carmine Bee eaters which gather in their thousands at this time of year to nest in the river banks. I'm no twitcher, but you've gotta love those bee eaters! I'm a sucker for anything brightly coloured, child that I am...

We'll be viewing them from Derek Shenton's hide, which is revered by wildlife photographers as being top notch. So I'm pretty excited by the prospect.

Other possibilities include the chance of African Wild dog, and the extraordinary sight of elephants standing on their hind legs to grab food from the trees, since they've pretty much demolished the lower stuff.

Dilly and I will be staying for some of the time at Old Mondoro camp, which we are really looking forward to. It's run by our friends, Etienne and Leana, and a good time is guaranteed. Etienne achieved photographic stardom a few weeks back with his amazing shot of the elephants doing just that, which was featured in multiple newspapers here. Good pachyderm work, fella!

Hopefully we shall return to the UK with some great new photographs and stories to share. See you then. And Etienne and Leana - if you're reading this, we'll see you next week!

KING PENGUINS

2010-09-21T12:10:00.007+01:00

There are few things to compare with the sights and smells of a penguin colony. This one on South Georgia was home to about 750,000 King penguins. That's what I was told, anyway. Presumably at some point a scientist had counted them- that is after all what scientists do. But given that individual penguins look pretty much identical and that they are constantly waddling around and generally honking at each other, it's difficult to see how even the maddest of scientists could actually count them. It's my deeply held suspicion that some lazy boffin may have rounded this figure up to make his life easier. Also, I spotted a dead one, so it should really be 749,999.

King penguins are largely monogamous from breeding season to breeding season. One goes off in search of fish, returning to regurgitate it for their ever hungry youngsters, while the other stays behind to look after things. For a penguin, a fishing trip must provide a welcome relief from the packed, noisy and lets face it, fishy smells of the rookery. So they tend to be pretty jaunty on these trips. They enter and leave the water in groups, in case of lurking leopard seals or orcas.

This is an entirely new subspecies, discovered by me, which I named the short-ass king penguin. Or it may just have been an ordinary one standing in a dip.

There is a constant rivalry between king penguins and southern fur seal pups, who spend a lot of time niggling at each other. The seals are aggressive little tykes, fast on their flippers and with needle like teeth that they don't hesitate to use. The penguins have a sharp beak, the advantage of numbers and, as clearly seen in this photograph, fish breath.

DAWN IN ANTARCTICA

2010-09-21T11:50:00.004+01:00

Antarctica is without a doubt the coolest place in the world (pun fully intended). It's also, surprisingly, the driest. And the most inhospitable. It's a continent of superlatives. And it's really, really quiet. Only about 1000 people reside there at any one time, and they're all scientists.

For a photographer, there is quite simply nowhere better. The Antarctic constantly surprises you, not least with the colours it produces, some of which you will never have seen before. I kid you not.

This iceberg caught the first rays of the sun and turned bright yellow. It looked like an enormous floating pat of butter, and was one of the most stunning sights I've ever seen in my life. Three minutes later, though, the sun rose a little higher and the effect was lost.

CROSSING THE DRAKE PASSAGE

2010-09-21T11:29:00.008+01:00

This is the Drake Passage on a good day. At some points, the waves were cresting 70', and the wind was gusting force 8. And we weren't doing it in a 20' lifeboat (see Shackleton, below). This ship is the Explorer aka the Little Red Ship. She was the first true expedition cruiser, and I was privileged to travel aboard her twice, both times to Antarctica via the fearsome Drake Passage- arguably the roughest piece of sea in the world.

Sadly, six months after my last outing on the Little Red Ship, she finally succumbed to the perils of Antarctic travel and sank near the Falkland Islands having been torn open on a low lying bergy bit (small iceberg). All passengers were safely evacuated, but the Explorer, which I remember with huge fondness, is at the bottom of the ocean.

A TOAST TO 'THE BOSS'...

2010-09-21T09:53:00.019+01:00

Anybody who's spent more than 10 minutes or so in my company will almost certainly be aware of my deep attachment to all things Springsteen... but this Boss ain't him. This is the final resting place of the other Boss - Ernest Shackleton. Explorer, leader, hero, and copywriter of the greatest advertisement ever:

"Men wanted for hazardous journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in case of success. Reply E. Shackleton, 4, Burlington St."

Brilliant. 5000 replies received. To put that into perspective, it's about a million percent more replies than most small ads (or indeed big ones) get. Now, some believe that the ad is apocryphal and never actually ran in the newspaper. But this is advertising, and so what?

But I digress.

Down on the incredibly beautiful subantarctic island of South Georgia lies the grave of Ernest Shackleton. A man who snatched glory from the jaws of defeat on his ill fated jaunt to the South Pole by crossing the sea in a lifeboat, yomping across the hitherto uncrossed South Georgia and eventually returning with help to Elephant Island to rescue every single man on his expedition.

When Ernest finally reached the whaling station at Stromness, South Georgia, the man on watch opened the door to the exhausted, filthy, wild looking explorer and (understandably, since everyone thought the party had long since perished) looked at him blankly. Whereupon Ernest looked straight back at him and uttered the coolest words ever to have been ripped off by Ian Fleming-

"My name is Shackleton. Ernest Shackleton".

That's why they call him the Boss. And that's why anyone visiting South Georgia is morally obliged to stand at his graveside and toast him with a tot of rum.

And quite right, too. Read his story of the trip - 'South'. It's a goody.

POLAR BEARS

2010-09-15T13:59:00.018+01:00

As a rule, the arctic is a more difficult area to photograph than the antarctic. The wildlife is less prolific and tends to be more skittish. This can be solely attributed to mankind. Nobody lives in antarctica, so the animals have no reason to fear humans. The arctic, however, has been conquered by many, from Vikings and Inuits to Jeremy Clarkson and the Top Gear lads. And this makes the animals understandably nervous of humans. This polar bear in Spitsbergen took one look at our ship and took off like a rocket.

In Churchill, Manitoba ("Polar bear capital of the world...") however, it's a different story. The bears here have learned to exist alongside humans- or maybe vice versa. The bears gather in Churchill each year, waiting for the pack ice to form before going off and hunting seals on it. They pass the time by wandering up and down main street, doing a bit of window shopping and hanging out at the local landfill site. Which means that when in Churchill, you need to listen out for the bear siren, and then get off the street while the largest and most dangerous land carnivore on earth saunters past your bedroom window...

Polar bears are deceptive. Like many iconic animals, exposure to polar bear imagery can make you feel that they are cuddly and rotund fluffballs that wouldn't really hurt a fly. The late lamented advertising guru John Webster had them selling Cresta soft drinks in sunglasses and uttering the catchy phrase 'Rimsky-Korsakov'. But sadly, I've never known one to actually do this.

Actually, they are very large and formidable hunters, and fast on their feet. It's easy to forget that bears can move as fast as horses when they want to. They are sensorially (is that a word?) acute, with excellent smell and vision. A polar bear can smell a seal from a couple of miles off. Anyone still thinking that these animals are cuddly would do well to check out the claws on the paw shown below. And then run away fast.

GLOBAL WARMING 2

2010-09-15T13:33:00.004+01:00

Cruising the high arctic. As you get further towards the top of the world, the curvature of the earth gets more pronounced. The icebreaker was having no problems, as the ice was breaking up, and is continuing to do so year on year. This is causing big problems, however, for polar bears, as there are fewer floes that will support their weight without tipping. Polar bears are excellent swimmers, but in recent years more and more are becoming exhausted and drowning as a result of being unable to haul out.

GLOBAL WARMING- THE EVIDENCE

2010-09-15T13:12:00.005+01:00

Believe what you hear....this shot was taken in Svalbard. The captain gingerly edged the ship right up to the ice shelf until it was actually nudging it, enabling the hardier amongst us to take a , shall we say, bracing shower in the run-off caused by the melting ice. It's not until you see the sheer volume of meltwater that's running off 24/7, that you can start to get an idea of just how global warming is affecting the arctic and antarctic. This run off is just one of dozens along a single ice shelf, this shelf being a relatively small one at, I would estimate, about a couple of miles long and maybe 50m high. Of course, it won't be that size any more....

CHEETAH

2010-09-13T15:32:00.004+01:00

Cheetahs are cats with a problem. During the last ice age, numbers dropped to the point where a genetic bottleneck was formed, and resulted in a prolonged period of inbreeding. This means that their genetic variability is worryingly low, and they have problems with deformed sperm. In fact, the sperm count of the cheetah is so low that in other mammalian species it would be considered effectively infertile. The cheetah is actually a jaffah.

Namibia has the largest cheetah population in the world, and the Cheetah Conservation Fund (CCF) is doing a great job in research and education to help give the cheetah a future. There are also efforts afoot to reintroduce this charismatic cat into India. The last known cheetahs there were shot in 1947 by the Maharajah of Surguja. He also holds the record for the largest number of tigers killed, incidentally- 1,360. So he must have been a fun chap to have around...

RESPECT THE MIGHTY HONEY BADGER

2010-09-13T09:59:00.001+01:00

This is the mighty honey badger, one of my favourite animals, and ignored by most visitors to Africa. Which is a shame, because the nocturnal honey badger, or ratel, is a really interesting critter. This animal is seriously tough. I mean, special forces tough. Sharon Osbourne tough, even. Honey badgers, though only the size of a small dog, have been known to see off leopard, hyaena and even lion on occasion.

Honey badgers are highly intelligent, and have been known to use tools to gain access to food. They are highly accomplished snake killers, with an iron constitution that enables them to shrug off even the bite of the notorious puff adder. In Pakistan, they have the reputation of raiding graves and removing the bodies to eat. Honey badgers have a wealth of myth surrounding them. And deservedly so.

Utterly fearless, they have a badger's tenacity and ferocity, large claws and a powerful bite. Their modus operandi is reportedly to go straight for an opponents genitals, savaging them in the first seconds of action. But should they be compromised, the skin at the back of the neck is loose, enabling them to twist around and look eye to eye with whichever misguided creature has them by the scruff of the neck, before biting and clawing again. Some books have claimed that this neck skin is tough enough to withstand shotgun pellets, but this, like so much honey badger trivia, could be just rumour and legend.

If you catch them in a bad mood, they will attack pretty much anything. I first encountered one during a peaceful morning drive in Botswana. It strolled nonchalantly round a termite mound, saw my jeep, and froze for a second before barrelling over and attacking the large metal intruder. OK, the jeep won in the end, but the badger gave a good account of itself, leaving the vehicle with several nasty scars.

Notorious for raiding safari camp kitchens by night, the mighty honey badger is treated with justified fear and respect by all locals who come into contact with it.

MORE LEOPARDS

2010-09-07T15:36:00.001+01:00

LIONS ON THE HUNT

2010-09-07T15:18:00.004+01:00

Lions are essentially night creatures. The vast majority of lion sightings are of them lying around and sleeping. They sleep with ruthless efficiency, for up to 20 hours a day. So while a lion sighting is always exciting, it's seldom very...well, exciting.
This is not the case at Duba Plains in Northern Botswana. Duba is, in effect, a fair sized island, surrounded by water except for a narrow strip of land. This means that animals like buffalo amble onto it, and then lose the entrance and get stuck there. Which means that the lions of Duba Plains are basically living in an enormous larder.
These lions are so confident in their plentiful surroundings, that they hunt whenever they feel hungry, day or night, in the knowledge that a good meal will always present itself. So if you want to see lions as the terrifying predators that they truly are, as opposed to snoring pyjama cases, Duba Plains is where you want to be.

Lions are possibly the most cooperative pack hunters in Africa, along with wild dog. Like all apex predators, they aren't successful on every hunt, but at Duba Plains, the percentage is much higher because of the sheer amount of potential prey in a limited space.
To watch lions hunt is an incredible thing. There is a high degree of intelligence working here, with total understanding and cooperation between the females (lionesses are the ones who do the hunting) and constant reaffirmation of bonds within the pride through physical nuzzling. Each lion knows its role in the hunt exactly, and their use of tactics is second to none. Unlike wild dog, who chase animals down until the prey is exhausted, lions are cunning and tricksy operators, using guile, bluff and ambush techniques that are both inspiring and chilling to watch.

ZEBRAS FIGHTING

2010-09-07T14:47:00.001+01:00

I can never make up my mind about zebras. On the one hand they are the brightly striped horses of the plains, beloved of small children and effortlessly iconic in their barcode livery. On the other, they're stubborn, bad tempered beasts with a vicious bite, an iron hoofed kick and an antisocial tendency to break wind whenever they feel threatened. Which is often. Either way, as soon as you see a zebra, you know you're in Africa. And that, on balance, is usually a good thing.

KENYA

2010-08-26T13:20:00.001+01:00

Giraffes crossing the vast open plains of the Mara, where the sky seems bigger than anywhere else on earth.

Thomson's gazelles on the Mara.

MIGRATION

2010-08-26T13:13:00.005+01:00

Every year in the Maasai Mara in Kenya, one of nature's most famous migrations takes place. Thousands of tourists make the arduous journey to the Mara river to watch a lot wildebeest crossing, in the hope that they might see one being eaten by the Nile crocodiles that gather in anticipation.

The crocs (and the tourists) hang around looking for stragglers and animals isolated by the strength of the fast flowing river. The zebra shown below escaped his attacker, turned in the water and reached the safety of the bank, but suffered a large chunk chewed from its rump.

It is unlikely to have survived the night, though. Even if the wound and attendant flies did not prove fatal (and zebra are remarkably quick to heal) it would probably be too weak to cross the river, and the scent of blood would attract all manner of predators.

NORTHERN LIGHTS

2010-08-13T16:31:00.005+01:00

The Northern Lights are one of my favourite subjects, but their appearing from night to night is unpredictable. These were taken in Iceland at the Hotel Ranga, an excellent spot for viewing them thanks to a microclimate that tends to keep some of the notorious Icelandic cloud at bay. But not all. If you're going to give it a try, the best time is October to March (when it's dark most of the time). They can appear at any time, but between 10pm and 3am seems to be favourite. The night needs to be cold and clear. I've found that you get a sighting about 1 night out of every 4, so you're best to stay for longer than a weekend to stand a good chance of seeing them. However, that's not exactly a proven statistic. You might find that they appear for 3 nights in a row, and then do nothing for a fortnight. It's a bit of a lottery. But worth it. They are profoundly jaw dropping. The Aurora peaks and troughs in a roughly 11 year cycle. So it should become more impressive over the next year, and reach its peak in 2012.

The Hotel Ranga is a homely sort of place managed by Bjorn, an Iceland Aurora expert, who goes by the alter ego of Borealis Bob. I love staying there. You can sit in an outdoor hot tub with snow all round you and watch the lights. And it's only a few kilometres from the volcano. When it's erupting, the hotel runs helicopter flights over the crater. Nice.

MILKY WAY OVER THE ZAMBEZI

2010-08-13T15:59:00.001+01:00

I love taking night shots. You're never really sure what you're going to get, which makes it all the more fun. This amazing sky revealed itself after a 30 second exposure. I was shooting for hours, fiddling with various exposures and ISO levels. I'd run out of mossie rep, so the little tykes were having a lovely time on me. In fact, the skin on my back looked not unlike this shot the following day.

ARENAL- LIKE A REAL VOLCANO SHOULD BE...

2010-08-03T21:07:00.004+01:00

Arenal volcano in Costa Rica is the most user friendly in the world. For starters it erupts every 15 minutes or so, and has done for years. So you know it's going to perform for you. It erupts rather well- not particularly threatening, but satisfyingly pyrotechnic. Like a Kiss concert.

But the best thing about Arenal is that it looks like a proper volcano. The kind that a child would draw. Big triangular mountain with the top sliced off? Check. Fiery bright orange glow emanating from within? Absolutely. Belching long plume of smoke? Yes indeed. River of bright red superheated lava trickling improbably down the side? No problemo..

It's absolutely, utterly, exactly what you expected. Which is just what you want from a devastating force of nature.

BUTTERFLIES OF BERNWOOD FOREST

2010-08-03T15:30:00.011+01:00

I could consider myself a lucky man for many reasons- but one of them would undoubtedly be that down the M40, only 45 minutes from base camp Balham, between the Oxfordshire villages of Oakley and the intriguingly named Horton cum Studley (and trust me, you don't want to be googling that one with the kids around...) lies amazing Bernwood Forest.

Bernwood must surely be one of the premier sites for butterflies in England, and it's a darned fine place to spend a sunny summer's afternoon. It's one of Britain's oldest forests, and thanks to the efforts of the people at BBONT (the Bucks, Berks, Oxon Nature Trust) is beautifully maintained in a butterfly friendly way.

Wandering along the peaceful sun-dappled rides, you get a feeling for how England might have been centuries ago, and an appreciation of just what we may have lost through the ravages of progress. I can get quite misty eyed about it all. Really, I can. I start whistling the theme from Robin Hood (The Richard Greene version, obviously. Not the new fangled one with the bloke from Spooks).

And then, there are the butterflies. There are lots and lots of them. Clouds, even. To see butterflies in this quantity, you would otherwise have to travel to, say, rural mainland europe or the South American rainforest.

But these are British butterflies, which, while not always as big and colourful, are to my mind better- perhaps because of their scarcity, perhaps because of their understated subtlty, or perhaps because I'm whistling the theme from Robin Hood.

So, inspired by the great national butterfly count (courtesy of my M&S, so the ads tell me) I have spent a few hours over the last 2 weeks indulging my inner lepidopterist. I've been into butterflies since childhood, which makes me a true butterfly and bug fan. (I've tried to find a cooler term for this, but all I could come up with was 'Bugger' or 'Butt-head' so, on reflection, i'm sticking with lepidopterist).

In 4 hours over two days at Bernwood, the long suffering Dilly and I counted 21 species. Given that there are only about 58 resident species in Britain, that's a pretty good haul for such a short time. And of course, not all the species are on the wing at the same time, so that total is by no means all of the butterflies found there.

Dilly, armed with a pair of binoculars and a battered copy of the observers book of butterflies, was getting quite enthusiastic at each new species, and I sense that she may too be discovering her inner lepidopterist. Mind you, she was being spoiled. There can't be many people whose third official recorded species is the sublime but seldom seen Purple Emperor. (And yes, it looks as good as it sounds...)

Even I, as an old hand, managed a new 'lifer'- the rather fetching and scarce brown hairstreak, which I'd wanted to see for many years. It's pictured here below, 2nd row down, feeding on Bramble. There are also some of the more common, but no less stunning species pictured; White admiral, comma, ringlet, common blue, large skipper, silver-washed fritillary, small copper, speckled wood and marbled white.

So we have a few weeks of summer left. The common blues are on the wing. Get yourself out into ye olde English countrysyde and count some butterflies. All together now- Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen.....

BERNWOOD BUTTERFLIES

2010-08-03T15:29:00.004+01:00

CHIMP POLITICS

2010-07-26T15:30:00.006+01:00

These two chimps were brilliant. One was clearly the brains of the outfit, while the other was slightly dimwitted, but provided the muscle.

They popped their heads round the tree, focussing on the alpha male further down the path on which I was standing with several other visitors and a couple of guides. The alpha male had his back to them, intent on winkling out some juicy shoots.

Realising that the alpha male was otherwise engaged, the smart one gave a signal, and the two of them grabbed sticks and charged down the path. A charging chimp is not to be messed with, particularly when wielding a club, so we humans moved aside to let them pass, although the slower amongst us did sustain minor cuts and bruises as Dimwit cleaved his way through us. Since they charged silently, the idea apparently was to make a sneak assault on the alpha while his back was turned.

Sadly for them, one of the minor cuts and bruises was sustained when a stick connected with the shin of a large American gentleman, who tumbled backwards off the path with a resounding crash and a terrified yell. This unfortunate moment raised the interest of the alpha male, who glanced round enquiringly, only to see the gruesome twosome barrelling towards him.

As the two usurpers realised that their cunning plot had been exposed, they threw the branches away, u-turned and strolled back the way they'd come, the picture of innocence. If it was possible for a chimp to casually whistle, they would undoubtedly have done so...

Like I said, chimps are brilliant.

CHIMP PORTRAIT

2010-07-26T15:27:00.003+01:00

A young chimp in Mahale, Tanzania.

GORILLA FEMALE BREASTFEEDING

2010-07-26T14:45:00.008+01:00

As you might expect, mountain gorillas form extremely strong family ties, particularly between mother and baby. For the first 5 months, the infant is in constant contact with the mother, who in turn remains close to the dominant silverback of the whoop for protection. (A group of gorillas is a 'whoop' for any collective noun geeks). The infant will be suckling every hour or more, as seen in the first shot here.

After 5 months, the infant may stray from the mother for a few seconds at a time and then, at 1 year old, they wander up to 5 metres or so from her- again, only for a few seconds.

By 2 years old, the infants are nursing approximately every 2 hours. They are still sharing a sleeping nest with the mother, but beginning to wander farther afield, only remaining in close contact with the female for about 50% of the time.

Finally they are weaned at 3 years old, and the mother will begin ovulating again. At this point, the silverback has a large grin on his face.

Gorilla infants learn from watching the adults and sub adults, often just sitting nearby and staring at them with intense concentration.

CHIMP WITH A THORN IN HIS FOOT

2010-07-20T15:04:00.007+01:00

By the shores of Lake Tanganyika in Mahale, Tanzania, the chimpanzees are well habituated, having been studied for many years by Jane Goodall and then a succession of international research teams. It's one of the few places in Africa where good sightings of chimps are virtually guaranteed. And you get to stay in the lakeside paradise that is Greystoke camp. (This assumes that paradise has tsetse flies, obviously).

Chimps are brilliant animals. They're really characterful, and super intelligent. And their social structure and behaviour is complex beyond belief. The ones at Greystoke Mahale have had an ongoing dispute for some time now with the unhabituated group in the next valley. So, to put the frighteners on them, they deliberately lead the researchers up to the top of the ridge, where the other gang can see them hanging out with their big, dumb, ugly pink mates. This is a highly effective scare tactic, and frankly it's good to see animals exploiting humans for once.

This particular chimp had got a thorn lodged in his foot and was carefully extricating it. Oh, the joys of opposable thumbs....

More chimp shots soon.....

GORILLAS ON THE P*SS!

2010-07-20T14:28:00.006+01:00

The first thing that strikes you about a mountain gorilla is just how human their actions are. After all, they have a lot in common with us in terms of DNA. So it shouldn't have surprised me that the preferred Friday afternoon routine of the young males is to lie around and get drunk (Sooo much in common....).

They achieve this by ingesting the alcoholic sap from fermenting bamboo shoots. The local guides know it as a gorilla shandy. This particular teenager, having downed a few shoots, threw his empties down in front of him (you can see the remnants in the picture) and laid into a few forest bar snacks- stripping the outer layers with his teeth to get to the goodness within. Not unlike me opening a pack of scampi fries.

Having got himself well and truly sozzled, he then lay there for a while, before staggering back to join the gang (and presumably tell them how much he loved them). All it needed was an enterprising golden monkey with a kebab van and it would have been just like a weekend in South London...sort of.

RWANDA OCTOBER 2009

2010-07-20T13:57:00.005+01:00

RWANDA OCTOBER 2009

2010-07-20T13:51:00.003+01:00

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

2010-07-20T13:47:00.007+01:00

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

2010-07-14T13:23:00.001+01:00

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

2010-07-14T13:08:00.001+01:00

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

2010-07-14T12:55:00.003+01:00

Before you can take your shot, you need to find your subject and get into position. So a good guide is as important as a good lens- arguably more so. Fortunately the guides in Zambia enjoy the well deserved reputation of being the among the best in Africa. And they really turned up trumps for Anna and me on our trip. All our guides were great (as hopefully the photos here reflect) and it's unfair to single out anybody in particular...but I will.

Abraham Banda, the guide manager for Norman Carr Safaris, has just reached the final 3 in the prestigious Wanderlust worldwide guide awards. And it couldn't happen to a nicer bloke. That's him pictured. He's the one without the tusks. 'Abes' listens carefully to what you're after and then goes hell for leather to deliver it. He doesn't always pull it off- this is wildlife photography, after all- but even when it doesn't come together perfectly, you don't really notice because he makes it all so darned interesting. You can find Abraham in the South Luangwa National Park at one or other of Norman Carr safaris impeccably organised camps. It's worth seeking him out. And best of luck at the awards in September, fella!

The other standout guide that we encountered was the formidably passionate Etienne Oosthuizen, who manages Old Mondoro bushcamp in the Lower Zambezi with his wonderful wife Leana. When I developed an obsession with snapping white fronted bee eaters in flight (there's a sample above), Etienne, a talented photographer himself (here's his blog), rose majestically to the occasion by producing a makeshift hide (by which I mean a bit of old tarp) for us to lie under.

As we lay full length on the dirt of the riverbank in increasingly ovenlike temperatures, two thoughts occurred to me. The first was 'what a great guide Etienne is'. And the second was 'what the hell is crawling up my leg'? Whatever it was, it soon transferred itself to Etienne, judging from the stifled expletives. And that's what I mean- taking bites for the team; what more could you want from a guide?

Respect.

Tim Hearn Gallery

INSECTS IN FLIGHT

MY ADOBE SHAME

A BUTTERFLY SUMMER

URBAN FOXES

FIGHTING COOTS

EYJAFJALLAJOKULL- FIRST SHOT OF THE ICELAND ERUPTION?

BLUEBELL WOOD

TRAVEL ZAMBIA MAGAZINE

SOUTH GEORGIA (ON MY MIND)

HUMMINGBIRD AFTER A STORM

GRIZZLIES FISHING

MORE POLAR BEARS

BALD EAGLE

MILLIONS AND MILLIONS OF MONARCHS

ABSTRACT DOLPHIN

THE CASE OF THE SUPERNATURAL TIGER

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (2009)

A CHEETAH FOR CHRISTMAS

WALRUS

GULF FRITILLARY

IMPALA AT DAWN

WHAT ATTENBOROUGH WON'T SHOW YOU

BIG SHOUT GOING OUT TO THE DUNG BEETLE...

ORYX

SOSSUSVLEI, NAMIBIA

UNEXPECTED ZEBRAS

MAMMOTH SPRINGS

THE PUFFINS OF SKOMER

GREAT WHITE SHARK (PART 1)

HUMMINGBIRDS

NOT A GOOD LOOK

HOLD THE FORT (FOR WHAT ITS WORTH)

HOLLYWOOD IN SOUTH LUANGWA

PENGUIN TRIPLE WHAMMY

THE BIGGEST, FATTEST GRIZZLY BEAR EVER

WILDPHOTOS 2010

HIPPOPHOTOMUSTS

GIANT EAGLE OWL

SOUTHERN CARMINE BEE EATERS

THE AMAZING AERIAL ELEPHANTS OF LOWER ZAMBEZI

RETURN TO OLD MONDORO

ABRAHAM BANDA - GUIDING AWARDS

INTERMISSION

KING PENGUINS

DAWN IN ANTARCTICA

CROSSING THE DRAKE PASSAGE

A TOAST TO 'THE BOSS'...

POLAR BEARS

GLOBAL WARMING 2

GLOBAL WARMING- THE EVIDENCE

CHEETAH

RESPECT THE MIGHTY HONEY BADGER

MORE LEOPARDS

LIONS ON THE HUNT

ZEBRAS FIGHTING

KENYA

MIGRATION

NORTHERN LIGHTS

MILKY WAY OVER THE ZAMBEZI

ARENAL- LIKE A REAL VOLCANO SHOULD BE...

BUTTERFLIES OF BERNWOOD FOREST

BERNWOOD BUTTERFLIES

CHIMP POLITICS

CHIMP PORTRAIT

GORILLA FEMALE BREASTFEEDING

CHIMP WITH A THORN IN HIS FOOT

GORILLAS ON THE P*SS!

RWANDA OCTOBER 2009

RWANDA OCTOBER 2009

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

ZAMBIA JUNE 2010

Good guides- worth their weight in memory cards.