Tag: Macro

  • Hunting Dew: A Close-Up Encounter with Sundews

    Hunting Dew: A Close-Up Encounter with Sundews

    Fascinating Facts About Sundews


    Sundews (genus Drosera) are some of the most intriguing and otherworldly plants found in Australia’s wild places. These carnivorous plants have evolved sticky, glistening leaves covered in glandular hairs tipped with mucilage — what looks like morning dew is actually a cunning trap. This “dew” lures insects in, only for them to become stuck and digested by the plant for essential nutrients, particularly in the nutrient-poor soils where sundews often grow.

    Australia is home to the greatest diversity of sundews anywhere in the world, with over 100 native species. They range in form from tiny ground-huggers to taller, upright varieties, often hiding in plain sight among grasses and heathland.

    Tiny But Deadly: Why I Turned My Lens on Sundews

    Since adding a macro lens to my kit, I’ve been drawn to subjects that are both small and unique — and sundews tick both boxes in spades. But finding them? That was another story entirely.

    After some local research, I came across a report mentioning that sundews were growing only 15 minutes from home. That was all the motivation I needed. I packed my gear and set out the very next day, eager for a macro adventure.

    The first hour wasn’t easy. I had only a rough idea of the habitat they preferred and no clue what size I should be looking for. After a 2km hike, I finally found the first one. The moment of discovery was almost comical — I’d likely walked over dozens before spotting one. They’re extremely low to the ground, with their round, sticky leaves blending perfectly into the grassy environment.

    Through the Lens: Photographing Carnivorous Jewels

    Once I knew what I was looking for, I spotted them everywhere. I discovered two distinct species during the shoot — one was short and rounded, hugging the soil, while the other stood tall on delicate stems with tiny leaves dotted along them.

    Using maximum magnification, I focused in on the intricate detail of the leaves, each covered in glistening droplets. At the time, I couldn’t tell whether they had any insects caught, but the detail revealed in the photos was reward enough. Only later, while reviewing the images on a larger screen, did I realise I had captured a tiny sundew in the process of digesting its prey — a fascinating and unexpected bonus.

    In one frame, I included my fingers for scale — and it’s staggering just how small these plants are. You’d never expect something so small to be such an efficient predator.

    Sundews are best photographed in the early morning. As the sun rises, the dew drops begin to dry off, so that first light is your window for capturing them in their full, glistening glory.

    Tips for Capturing the Best Sundew Shots

    • Shoot early: The dew drops begin to vanish as the temperature climbs.
    • Look closely: At first glance, they’re nearly invisible. Patience and careful scanning are essential.
    • Try stacking: Focus stacking can produce stunning detail, especially with a macro lens.
    • Think abstract: Even fragments of the plant — or a single dew-laden tentacle — can make for a striking composition.
    • Play with light: The droplets reflect sunlight beautifully, adding natural sparkle and colour to your shots.

    Final Thoughts

    Photographing sundews wasn’t just about capturing their alien beauty — it was also about learning to slow down and observe the tiny dramas unfolding underfoot. In a world obsessed with the big and the bold, these micro predators remind us that some of the best stories in nature are written in miniature.

    If you’re into macro photography and looking for your next subject, don’t overlook what’s beneath your boots. You might just find yourself walking on a wonderland.

  • Crossing the Line: My First Year Competing in International Wildlife Photography Contests 🏆

    Crossing the Line: My First Year Competing in International Wildlife Photography Contests 🏆

    Until 2024, I believed I was “just an amateur” — someone who took photos for the love of wildlife but never quite dared to think they were on par with the images that win international photography contests. I used to draw a mental line between “my photos” and “their photos” — the ones you see on magazine covers or award sites. This year, that line blurred. Or rather, it disappeared.

    The Leap Into the Competitive World

    This was the first year I submitted my work to international photo contests. It meant stepping far outside my comfort zone. Each contest came with its own set of submission rules — whether it was about the maximum age of the photo, allowed editing levels, or color accuracy. Learning these details felt like navigating a new language.

    One of the trickiest gray areas I encountered was understanding the limits of editing, particularly the acceptable degree of object removal. What counts as a “minor” object? A distracting branch? A blade of grass across the subject’s eye? Every contest seems to have its own interpretation. That’s part of the learning curve I’m still riding.

    A Shift in Mindset

    I owe a huge thank you to Sergey Puponin. He was the one who first looked at my work and said, “You belong there.” Without his encouragement, I might never have taken that first step. But I did — and I realized something powerful. I’m not just submitting to the world’s top photography contests. I am part of them now.

    This shift in mindset is deeply validating. It takes time to fully accept that your creative ideas are not only enough but can be embraced by international judges, respected peers, and upcoming photographers who might one day look to my work as a benchmark.

    Highlights from My First Year of Contests

    Here’s a quick look at how my first year in the contest scene unfolded:

    🐦 35AWARDS Theme Contest: Wildlife – Birds

    This was the very first contest I entered. Out of 4,269 photographers from 114 countries, I placed 12th. It was an incredible feeling — not just being among the top results, but knowing I was judged alongside such a diverse and talented global crowd. To view the best photos, visit the following link.

    🦋 35AWARDS Theme Contest: Winged Insects

    This time, I reached the Top 1% of 3,941 participants with a total of 14,815 submissions. My photos didn’t get lost in the crowd — they stood out, and that meant everything to me. To view the best photos, visit the following link.

    🌿 Nature Photography Contest 2024

    Here, my photo passed the preselection phase — an important step that filters out AI-generated images, overly edited work, and other non-compliant entries. Only winners are published, so I don’t know my final standing, but making it through preselection in a high-caliber contest is an accomplishment I’m proud of.

    🐦 Birdlife Australia Photography Awards 2024

    A photo series I submitted here was previously featured in my blog >>link<<. As a testament to the unique narrative captured in these moments, I submitted this series of images to Birdlife Australia for their annual wildlife photography competition. The sequence of the Osprey and the Silver Gull, with its mix of humor, elegance, and raw survival instincts, seemed to resonate with the judges. I was thrilled to learn that the series had made it to the final round of judging. While it ultimately didn’t win, the recognition itself was a rewarding acknowledgment of the story the images told. Below is a screen copy of the email I received from Birdlife Australia:

    I reached the final round of judging — again, an impressive milestone given the competition.

    David Stowe won in the portfolio category, but the feedback I got was humbling and reinforced my passion for wildlife photography. Sometimes, the joy isn’t just in winning, but in sharing a story that resonates with others — and in this case, even the journey to the final round was a victory in its own right. That said, next time, I’ll be back to claim my prize!

    🦜 Bird Photographer of the Year (BPOTY) 2025

    This is perhaps the most prestigious bird photography contest in the world. It takes six months to review entries. While I won’t know my ranking until November 2025, I was thrilled to receive a request for the RAW file of one of my submissions — a promising sign that it stood out.

    🌍 10th 35AWARDS International Photography Award

    This was the highlight of my year. Out of 112,771 photographers who submitted nearly 473,000 photos, I was selected among the Top 50 Wildlife Photographers of the Year.

    That number still blows my mind. To be ranked so highly among thousands of breathtaking images is a surreal, deeply affirming experience. It tells me that every moment spent in nature, every early morning, and every patient hour waiting for a perfect shot — it all matters. It all adds up. To view the best photos, visit the following link.

    Looking Forward

    Next year, I’ll continue submitting, learning, and pushing myself to grow. Wildlife photography is an endless pursuit — a mix of gear, technique, patience, and the unpredictable magic of being at the right place at the right time.

    To anyone out there wondering whether their work is “good enough” — let this be a nudge. Take the step. Submit. Learn. Improve. Someone out there might be waiting to see your perspective on the world.

    And who knows? Maybe soon you’ll be among them — or rather, us.

  • Project Scorpion: The Glowing Escape Artist 🦂

    Project Scorpion: The Glowing Escape Artist 🦂

    How I Ended Up Photographing a Scorpion.

    It all started about a year ago, in 2024, while I was photographing a Noisy Pitta. I was fully camouflaged, sitting motionless in the undergrowth, when I heard footsteps approaching. Not wanting to cause a heart attack by suddenly materializing in front of someone, I stood up and revealed myself.

    The man was a city council worker collecting seeds in the area. We struck up a conversation about wildlife, and during our chat, he casually mentioned that just a short distance away, black scorpions could be found under almost every rock. That little piece of information lodged itself in my memory. I didn’t act on it right away, but when I finally invested in a macro lens, I knew I had a new project: photographing a scorpion.

    When I returned to the area he described, I was surprised to find fewer rocks than expected. I walked a two-kilometre stretch, flipping nearly every stone along the way — nothing. Just as I was about to turn back, having mentally set a limit for how far I’d go, I lifted one last rock… and there it was: the elusive scorpion.

    My initial vision was to photograph a scorpion in a desert-like setting — golden sands and stark shadows. Since I don’t live near a desert, I figured a local beach might do. I carefully transported the scorpion there, all while diving deep into research about Australian scorpions. I learned there are around 100 species in Australia. Thankfully, unlike their infamous African cousins, none are deadly. Still, their sting can pack a punch — comparable to a large bee or wasp—so I always wore gloves when handling the container.

    The beach shoot didn’t go as planned. The sand lacked those beautiful, rippling dunes typical of deserts, and the scorpion itself was covered in mud and debris from its rock hideout. I had no idea how to clean it — what would you do? A tiny scorpion wash-and-groom session wasn’t in my skillset.

    During my research, I discovered that scorpions fluoresce under UV light. Fascinated, I ordered a UV torch. Time was tight — I needed to release the scorpion soon, and I still hadn’t gotten the shot I wanted. I learned they only eat every few days, so I fed it bugs I caught myself, hoping that would tide it over.

    With the beach shoot a bust, I decided to photograph the scorpion in its natural environment — somewhere lush and mossy. I imagined it perched on a vibrant green rock. To keep it from scuttling away mid-session, I placed the rock in the middle of a creek, hoping the water would serve as a natural boundary.

    That was the plan, at least…

    Instead, the scorpion started running laps around the rock, dipping both pincers into the water repeatedly. At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was doing — until it suddenly leapt into the creek, latched onto the bottom, and began walking across the stream bed, fully submerged. That’s when it hit me: the scorpion had been using its pincers to gauge the strength and direction of the current, calculating the shortest and safest path to the shore before making its move. It was a remarkable display of instinct and problem-solving. And, to top it off, the little escape artist finally came out sparkling clean.

    The photo session that followed was… intense. Camera in one hand, gloved hand ready to gently place and reposition the scorpion, constantly squatting, stepping back to focus, and just as I’d frame the shot—it would move again. After 30 or 40 minutes of this cardio-intensive “macro workout,” I managed to capture just one usable photo.

    It was time to bring it back to where I’d found it. Camera in one hand, rock in the other, I began walking back. That’s when the scorpion decided it wanted to get to know me better — it started climbing up my glove. Within seconds it was just millimetres from my bare wrist. I panicked. I tried shaking it off, but it held on with impressive strength. I ended up flinging the entire glove. The glove flew one way, the scorpion the other, and my heart almost exploded.

    After catching my breath, I realized I’d accidentally released it several kilometres from its home. I felt a bit guilty — what if it didn’t like its new neighbourhood? To ease my conscience, I flipped a few rocks nearby to see if others lived there. Under the second rock – bingo – another scorpion. Hopefully, my little friend would have company.

    When my UV torch finally arrived, I returned to the new area at night. On a short walk, I found three scorpions. I picked the largest to be my model. That night, with a mirror set up and my son holding the UV torch, I finally captured the shots I’d been dreaming of. Under UV light, the scorpion glowed an eerie, radioactive green. The camera’s white balance went haywire in the darkness, rendering the photos a surreal blue. But honestly? Both versions looked amazing, so I kept and sharing them here. Let me know in the comments below, which photo do you personally like more?

    In the final images, you can even make out the tiny eyes of the scorpion — an incredible detail that most people never get to see.

    And now? I’m not sure how keen I am to return to that park at night, knowing just how many creatures are hiding beneath every rock. But again… things like this never stopped me before.

  • Falling for the Small Things: Discovering the Art of Macro 🪲

    Falling for the Small Things: Discovering the Art of Macro 🪲

    I often joke that I was born with a camera in my hands. Over the years, I’ve explored a wide range of photographic styles—panoramic landscapes, infrared scenes, long-lens wildlife work, and more. Each genre brought its own challenges and rewards, and I embraced them with curiosity and passion.

    But one area I deliberately avoided was macro photography. Not because it lacked appeal, but because I feared falling too deeply for it. The idea of spending my days crawling through undergrowth, chasing insects the size of a grain of rice, didn’t seem all that glamorous. I knew myself well enough to recognize that if I gave it a try, I’d probably get hooked—and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that kind of commitment.

    However, after years of wildlife photography—particularly after photographing over 60% of Australia’s bird species—I began to feel the creative itch again. As the opportunities for new and exciting avian subjects dwindled, I found myself in a lull. Boredom crept in. And that’s when I finally gave in and picked up a macro lens.

    What I discovered was a world more intricate and challenging than I’d imagined. Macro photography is intensely technical. The shallow depth of field demands that you get close—really close—to your subject. But that proximity often causes it to flee. Achieving tack-sharp focus is a constant battle. Stop the lens down beyond f/11, and images start to lose their crispness due to diffraction. Open wider than f/7, and the razor-thin depth of field forces you into the realm of focus stacking—a technique that requires shooting multiple frames at different focus points and blending them later. But stacking only works if your subject, and the environment around it, stay perfectly still—no easy task when you’re outdoors and every breeze becomes your enemy.

    As with any new photographic style, I started with the basics. My first macro subjects were the easiest and most forgiving—flowers. They don’t move, they don’t mind how close you get, and they’re full of colour and texture. I especially enjoyed photographing them after rain, when droplets clung delicately to petals and leaves, adding a layer of mood and detail. Those early sessions taught me how to handle the razor-thin depth of field, how to compose within such a small frame, and how to manage light and contrast on a micro scale.

    From there, I started to explore one of the most fascinating aspects of macro work—the ability to zoom in and keep zooming, revealing details invisible to the naked eye. One of my favourite series so far features a common house gecko. In the first image, you see an animal, perched against a neutral background. In the next, the frame tightens around its head, drawing attention to the texture and pattern of its skin. And in the final shot, I’ve zoomed in so close that you can see the reflection of clouds in its eye. That moment perfectly captured what I love about macro: the ability to discover entire landscapes in a single square centimetre.

    It took some time, and plenty of trial and error, but gradually my results began to improve. And, as I feared, the more I practiced, the more I fell in love with it. While bird photography remains my primary passion, macro photography has carved out its own irresistible niche in my creative life.

    I now find myself drawn not just to the tiny creatures themselves, but to the stories their environments can tell. To truly elevate my macro work, I know I need to focus more on composition and backgrounds—on creating images that aren’t just technically sharp, but also emotionally engaging. That will come with time and patience.

    One unexpected challenge I’ve encountered in this journey is the identification of the subjects I photograph. Unlike birds—where field guides and online databases make species recognition relatively straightforward—the world of insects is incredibly vast, diverse, and often under-documented. Many species can be nearly impossible to identify without expert knowledge or even microscopic examination.

    As a result, I’ve chosen not to provide species names for every photo from the set of photos below. My focus at this stage has been on exploring the art and technique of macro photography rather than diving deep into taxonomy. I hope you’ll enjoy these images for their visual storytelling, detail, and character, even without a scientific label attached.

    This collection represents the early steps of what I suspect will become a long-term fascination—and perhaps obsession—with the tiny, intricate world hiding in plain sight.