Building a Community of Conservation
If you spend any time in nature, you probably don’t need to be told there are countless benefits, both mental and physical, to being in the great outdoors. Green spaces offer everything from increased cognitive development in children, to the production of cancer-fighting cells, and positive effects can be achieved in as little as twenty minutes a day. As a wildlife photographer, I am interested in yet another benefit of spending time with Mother Earth: an increase in empathy. But what does empathy have to do with wildlife photography, and why do I care about it? To answer those questions, I’ll take you on a journey into the not-too-distant past.
There are a lot of animal species in the world. That may seem like a straightforward remark to make, but when you try to build a life around photographing the world’s diverse fauna, it can be easy to get overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the planet’s biodiversity. Take, for example, the province of Manitoba. To capture an image of every animal in Manitoba, I would need to photograph over three hundred bird species, almost fifty mammal species, nearly a hundred freshwater fish species, and nearly a thousand insect species—and I would still have an incomplete catalogue of Manitoban animals. Because of this abundance of critters, I am often surprised and delighted by first-time encounters with new-to-me species. However, the extensive list of animals in Manitoba doesn’t stop me from having a bucket-list of creatures to capture. A few short weeks ago, a friend of mine took me out to photograph one such species: the saw-whet owl.
After several unsuccessful passes through known roosting sites, it became obvious that seeing an owl just wasn’t in the cards that day. So, when my friend turned to me to ask how badly I wanted to see a saw-whet that morning, I said we could leave whenever they were ready. A smirk on their face, they told me that leaving would be unfortunate because we were standing right next to one!
Before I go any further, let me specify that knowing a species is imperative to creating an ethical experience when photographing them, but there is a certain amount of knowing that can only come from being with the species itself. That is to say that regardless of how much research you do beforehand, some species can still surprise you.
Unlike the great grey owls I photograph, which are the largest owls in North America, the saw-whet owl is one of the smallest owls on the planet with a height range of 6.5-9 inches and a weight of less than 6 ounces. Only a few inches tall, with eyes of molten yellow, the saw-whet that was perched before us was a being of true beauty and a testament to the unwavering magnificence of nature’s wonder. Watching through my camera as the saw-whet scanned the forest floor was like being transported into the realm of the fairies where tiny folk ride on the backs of chocolate-dappled birds of prey. The moment was simply incredible and one I won’t soon forget. So, what does that story have to do with empathy? Well, magic.
In her book Wilding, Isabella Tree wrote “children who spent time in green spaces between the ages of seven and twelve tend to think of nature as magical. As adults they are the people most likely to be indignant about lack of nature protection, while those who have had no such experience tend to regard nature as hostile or irrelevant and are indifferent to its loss.” In essence, those of us lucky enough to experience the beauty of nature are much more likely to want to safeguard against its destruction. A connectedness to nature allows people to develop an emotional affinity towards wild spaces that helps foster an environmental identity. I was lucky enough to grow up on a hobby farm in south-western Manitoba, but a vast majority of the province’s population is born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba’s capital city. What of those people? How do we craft the same level of empathy towards wildlife in inner city youth that we do in country kids?
Well, first off, Winnipeg has the largest urban forest in Canada, Assiniboine Forest, and also has the largest urban elm forest in North America. Secondly, I have seen almost every owl species in the province within the confines of the city limits. As I said before, there are a lot of animal species in the world, you just need to get out and look for them. But how do you get people to take that first step towards a day in the woods? That’s where photography comes in.
While nothing can replace the lived experience of seeing a saw-whet owl in the wild, photography is a type of second-hand memory that can evoke feelings of fascination, curiosity, and yes, even empathy. Photography can also bring attention to issues like the fact that the Assiniboine Forest is unprotected and at risk for development, that the saw-whet owl, as a species, is threatened by deforestation and has been identified as a priority for conservation, and that Dutch elm disease has killed well over 30,000 trees in Winnipeg since 2016. While those facts may seem dire, all it takes is one photo, seen by one person, to evoke tangible change in the world.
So, I challenge you, dear reader, with the season of resolutions upon us, to get outside whether you have children or not, and create memories with nature. Set an example of exploration in your community and take your stories back to young people so that they too might seek and find wild spaces. Capture and share photos so that you might help mother nature open the hearts and minds of those you love, and whether you get out once a week, or once a day, I can promise you this: nature is out there, in all its glory, waiting to show you a little magic.
