Photography and Birding Have a Major Influence in the Way I Travel Today

As a high school graduation gift, my mom gave me a camera: a Nikon N2020, one of the company’s first consumer autofocus SLRs. For years, I carried that camera around with me like a security blanket, replacing batteries and blowing my savings on film development — all in the hope that a few of the couple dozen images I shot would be keepers.

I still have stacks of negatives and even some rolls of undeveloped film lying around today.

Years later, when the first digital SLRs were released, I leapt at the opportunity to take as many photos as I wanted at no cost to me except the price of the camera body: I could use all my same lenses, and the batteries were even rechargeable. Total game changer! By this time I had a job, though, so I mostly only busted out the camera when I traveled. But I was still super happy to have it… and then I became a dad.

My camera bag gave way to a diaper bag, and when you’re pushing strollers and wrangling toddlers, a camera with a telephoto lens strapped across your body only slows you down. The camera bag was relegated to a corner in favor of a digital point-and-shoot and a compact video camera, then eventually a smartphone, so I could document the lives and travels of my children, which I dutifully did over the next two decades. Somewhere along the way, I sold my digital SLR and lenses.

We still traveled quite a bit with the kids, but I saw many more water parks and far fewer museums or hiking trails when they were younger. Frankly, though, most of my weekends and evenings were spent shuttling between practices, rehearsals, meetings, games, tournaments, and performances – depending on the season, of course.

But then high school rolled along, and the practices were generally self-contained. My obligations dwindled from spending weekends in noisy school hallways or parks on the other side of the state to attending games and events and offering rides home. When they got their driver’s licenses, I found I had even more time on my hands for doing… what?

After so many years, I’d kind of forgotten what it was I liked to do that did not involve my kids. So I went back to the basics: nature. I started going for regular hikes and got a kayak, documenting my adventures on my phone. My first big road trip without my children (they shockingly were not interested in joining me) came when I drove to Wyoming to experience the total solar eclipse of August 2017. I even bought a special lens and case to attach to the back of my iPhone for the occasion. The result — especially compared to others floating around social media — was… okay. Other than the frustration I shared with everyone about the then-inability of smartphones to take a decent photo of the moon, this was my first nagging photo disappointment.

Not long after that, the same year, I think, I was on a trail near my house, and I spotted an owl. The last time I’d seen — or at least noticed — one had been more than a decade before, although I’d heard their calls many times in the intervening years. I took a picture with my phone and showed it to my brother, who is an avid birder. He identified it as a barred owl, a fairly common woodland species. The more I hiked, the more owls I saw. And the more owls I saw, the more attention I paid. I started noticing the habits and patterns of my local, extended barred owl family.

Then I started paying more attention other bird species that frequented my hiking spot. When the pandemic rolled around, I started visiting almost daily and noted the changing of the seasons in the area, the species that were visiting, what they were doing, and when. As much as I had traveled in Minnesota (my home state), I felt a little embarrassed at how little attention I’d paid to all that was happening in the trees around me. I was always looking at the landscapes or for the megafauna – moose, black bears, wolves, etc. – and missing these fascinating animals.

My brother explained that the Land of 10,000 Lakes was home to some of the best areas for birdwatching in the world, especially for owls. I was stunned to learn how many different owl species exist (19 in the United States) and how many can be found in Minnesota (12, technically; 10, realistically). One of the best spots to see the most uncommon owls is the Sax-Zim Bog in northern Minnesota. I first visited in May of 2021, and I was hooked — but with each cool new species I saw, the frustration I first felt after the 2017 eclipse started creeping back.

The final straw came in February 2022 when, on a visit to the Bog, I saw my first snowy owl, and through my binoculars (Nikon Monarchs, considered some of the best binoculars for birding), its startling yellow eyes were mesmerizing. I’d seen them in my brother’s photographs, but I’d never seen them myself until that day. I put down the binoculars, zoomed in, and snapped my own photos. When I reviewed them, I was beyond disappointed: I couldn’t see the eyes, and there was insufficient detail, so I couldn’t crop any closer without the whole photo becoming pixellated.

Within days, FOMO won, and I ordered a new mirrorless camera with a decent zoom lens. My life has not been the same since. Between the pandemic travel restrictions lifting and a desire to photograph everything, I spend most of my time between trips taking photos and planning my next adventure. But my first order of business with the new camera was to start chronicling my local birds.

I usually take my camera with me when I go hiking and photograph anything I see that interests me. Now, when I plan a trip, I research what kinds of birds and animals are in the area before I go; or I pick a bird or animal I’d like to photograph and choose a destination where I can find it. One of my favorite recent encounters was on a trip to Maui. As I was leaving Haleakala National Park, an endangered pueo, a Hawaiian short-eared owl, flew from behind a tree line and landed on a fence post just as I was passing. I stopped, and in the dying light, managed to get a couple of photos. I’d been to Maui many times before, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many times I’d failed to notice these amazing birds in the past.

Armed with improved gear, I also wanted photographic redemption. I started planning my trip to the Cleveland area for the April 2024 total solar eclipse almost a year in advance. Not only did I want to experience that eerie, otherworldly sensation of the world going dark in the middle of the day once again, I wanted better shots. I bought a solar filter, made sure my tripod was in order, and I hit the road. The powers that be were smiling, because on the day of the eclipse, I got great weather, clear skies, and the shot I was looking for.

It only recently occurred to me how photography and the desire to see birds, wildlife, and other natural wonders have really changed my way of traveling, from how I plan trips and where I choose to go to what I pack and where I stay. I won’t say that it’s sparked an interest in travel that wasn’t there — I’ve always enjoyed an adventure. Rather, it’s just shifted the way I think about traveling, and I believe it’s really helped me to focus on details that, in the past, I may have missed — not to mention, filled all the time I have now that I’m an empty nester.

And speaking of photographic redemption, I finally got the snowy owl shot I was looking for. I had seen a handful since the first one in 2022, but they were always too distant or the conditions were not quite right for the shot I wanted. But in January 2025, I found myself on a backroad in northern Minnesota, alone with a snowy owl who didn’t seem to mind my presence. I snapped a few shots, thanked her, and left her to her perch.