A widespread belief among the general, non-animal-photographing (and therefore more or less normal) population is that patience is the essential quality of a wildlife photographer. I consider myself primarily a wildlife photographer, and my social bubble is teeming with other such weirdos. So let me give a little insight into how things really are.
Let’s start by agreeing on what patience actually is. The Cambridge dictionary defines it as “the quality of being able to stay calm and not get angry, especially when something takes a long time”. The same source also states that it is “the ability to wait, or to continue doing something despite difficulties, or to suffer without complaining or becoming annoyed.”
The daily routine of a wildlife photographer is to work with creatures that are usually afraid of our presence, try to avoid us, run away from us, and in general invent all kinds of tricks to thwart the success of our work. I have been a teacher most of my life, which given the difficulties mentioned above, is the perfect preparation for wildlife photography. Believe me, there are few jobs where it is so challenging to “stay calm and not get angry, especially when something takes a long time.”
What teaching does not prepare you for, however, is the need to laboriously search for subjects. Sometimes a pupil is skipping class, but it’s not the same as waiting several hours for a bird to appear (or not appear, as is often the case).
Yet I believe that at least part of the definition of patience is unnecessary for wildlife photography, and that is the part that says “without complaint.” Oh, the complaints I’ve heard, and made, over the years. One vivid example is when I was photographing in the Colombian foothills with my friend, university professor, top scientist, and brilliant photographer, Tomas Grim. As I was photographing birds somewhere along the Río Claro, a tormented roar came from somewhere in the distant thicket. The words “it’s not focusing!!” echoed through the air. As I understand it, Tomas was fighting a losing battle with a Nikon D600 and one of the wrens of the genus Henicorhina, which had flown away a little too soon. And yet, my recollection is that Tomas got the shot anyway. Apparently one can successfully photograph wild nature even without the patience of a Zen master.
If you know that your reservoir of patience is shallow and you tend to be restless, I recommend that you adjust your “hunting” technique accordingly. Sitting in a blind for long periods of time and waiting for a fleeting chance may not be your cup of tea. Instead, head out into the field with your camera ready for quick action and take advantage of opportunities as nature presents them. This technique may not always be effective, but it will put a few more miles on your boots and a few more photos on your memory card.
If you choose instead to shoot from a blind, know that it will entail many hours of sitting and waiting. But you don’t need the patience of an elite sniper to make the most of the experience. It’s far more enjoyable to sit outside and enjoy nature than, say, to suffer for several hours on the middle seat of a long-distance flight. Plus, if you’ve set up your blind in a suitable location, your portions of spiritual food (AKA moments of good photography) will be served more often than meals on an airplane.
I don’t intend to make it sound like a simple walk in the park. Sometimes temperatures well below freezing or, conversely, tropical heat can test your desire for a good photograph. Flies, mosquitos, and more. At some point it became entertainment for me to watch the leeches in Australia and Sri Lanka struggle to find access to my veins as I waited for the birds to get into place. As I said, wildlife photographers are not the most normal folks.
A great advantage of wildlife photography is that it can free you from all social interactions with members of your own species for hours at a time. A line from a play by the Czech writer Jara Cimrman comes to mind. In it, a certain Baron Ludwig, a passionate aviator, nicely expressed the reason for his hobby by saying, “How beautiful it is to have your family… so deep below you.” The temporary refuge of the hide can be a kind of equivalent to Ludwig’s airship. But when you do return home at the end of the day, never complain, even if you didn’t get a single shot! Next time that you plan a few hours for wildlife photography, your spouse could ask you to do something useful instead.
Although solitude is one of the most amazing aspects of this photographic genre for me, I understand that socially inclined individuals may perceive it differently. If you’re one of them, don’t worry. You can buy blinds that fit more than one person. New friendships or interesting encounters can often result. For example, there was the time I met Thomas Marent, author of a number of wonderful photography books on the tropics, at a Cordillera Central in Colombia. These are some great memories.
So what about patience in wildlife photography? I think its importance is overrated. In fact, the daily difficulties we face in our jobs, in our personal lives, or while traveling are usually far greater than those we have to overcome when photographing animals. I will not hide the fact that waking up early, carrying heavy equipment, swatting away flies, and failing to bring home a good photo can test a photographer’s patience. Still, I believe that even when the memory card remains empty after sunset, it was not a wasted day. If you can enjoy even the experiences of waiting, patience is not something you will need.