A bit of color on a day when there doesn’t seem to be much in the out in the real world - and not just because it’s grey, windy and raining outside my window. (Though it is grey, windy and raining outside my window.) There are times when I feel generally hopeful about our future, but there are others when it’s difficult not to worry that we are approaching so many abysses that we’re bound to fall into at least one of them. Our little family lives a sheltered life in a small Portuguese farming community, and I don’t even read the local news - I keep up with important global events, but my mental health is probably better off if I don’t hear about every idiotic or inflammatory thing politicians say here, too. Just as it no doubt benefited from me removing Twitter from my phone. If anything is likely to make me feel less hopeful about the human species, it’s likely to be the hatred, false narratives and simplistic “hot takes” spewed out by moronic misfits in the cesspools of social media. Still, the world isn’t all that big, and we are all influenced by - and we all influence - much of what happens in our globalized society, albeit mostly peripherally. There is no true escape from the harm we do to one another, even when we don’t personally fall victim to it. We hear about some conflicts and acts of violence more than about others, which I think is neither surprising nor sinister. Proximity - whether geographical or cultural - matters. In Sweden, headlines today are understandably about the Tunisian Islamist who went looking for Swedes to murder during a football match in Belgium for no other reason than that he - as he explained in a video he posted online before he was shot by Belgian police - wanted to kill Swedes. (He found three, conveniently wearing Swedish football shirts, killing two and injuring the third.) How do we handle this? How do we stay engaged and compassionate, yet not end up in a spiral of depression and hopelessness? I don’t have any answers, other than to continue finding joy in everyday moments and doing our utmost to show kindness to those around us. It might not solve all the world’s problems, but at least it won’t make them worse. ❤️

Well, so much for my ambition of doing some writing this morning. 🤣 As many of you will know, our house is currently home not only to our two dogs, but the two surviving kittens from the litter of four we found in our garden a couple of months ago. One of them was already gone by the time we managed to catch the mother (who has now been sterilized). Another died soon after, despite the best efforts of the local veterinary hospital. The last two, however, recovered from the malnutrition, fleas, eye infections, diarrhea and other maladies they were suffering from, largely thanks to the herculean efforts of my wonderful wife. Pippa and Mini - who, though healthy, remains much smaller than her sister - are now almost twelve weeks old, and busy wrecking havoc: climbing up curtains, legs, furniture and anything else they can get a decent grip on. But an hour of manic activity is inevitably followed by a crash, which is what you’re seeing here. The fact that they now seek us out for their naps melts our hearts every time, needless to say. As does the bond they have formed with Mowgli. Actually, their relationship with him reminds me of my post from yesterday: they clearly adore him and consider him some kind of surrogate parent, while he patiently tolerates their presence, at least until they begin to use his tail for a toy, at which point he usually tries to make his escape. Twelve weeks also means that they are ready for their first round of vaccines, and that it’s almost time to say goodbye. Before we knew how well they would get on with our dogs, we had already found a permanent home for them. In a week, I leave for a number of assignments in Africa; by the time I come back, in December, they’ll already be with their new family. A few days ago, I wrote about paying attention to the present moment, and I’m taking my own advice. The writing will still be here by the time they wake up. For now, I just plan to sit here and bask in the experience of having one tiny kitten sleeping on my thighs, and another against my feet, listening to the birds chirping in our garden, the smell of fresh muesli baking in the oven. There is nothing more precious than right now.

All too often, we see claims by photographers about special bonds and connections - of trust and mutual respect and understanding - between themselves and wild animals, simply because the photos in question were taken at close range and involve eye contact. Obviously, such cases do exist, though they’re far more likely to occur at facilities where the animals are, at best, semi-wild. (A less generous take would be that they are more akin to unruly pets than wild animals, even if they happen to be lions or cheetahs.) More likely, however, is that the behavior of a wild - albeit usually habituated - animal is a reflection of their overall interactions with our species, rather than with any given individual. There are caveats: if we behave in an inappropriate, threatening manner, even the most habituated animals probably won’t be particularly relaxed in our presence. But, barring that - and barring weeks or months or even years spent slowly, carefully familiarizing a wild animal to your presence - the most important factor is likely to be that animal’s past experience with people. It is much easier to “bond” with elephants in Amboseli or the Mara Triangle, where poaching has been relatively uncommon, than in Tsawo or Gorongosa, where it was rife recently enough that older animals are unlikely to have forgotten what persecution by humans was like. I’m not sure there’s much harm in misinterpreting tolerance for connection, except that it sometimes leads to less than stellar decision-making, either by the person believing themselves to be on the same wavelength as a wild animal or by others, watching from a distance but keen to copy what they see. It also strikes me as slightly dishonest, adding layers of meaning to moments that ought to be special enough as they are. It is a huge privilege to be in the presence of wild animals, especially if neither they nor we have reason to be afraid. But - again, with some exceptions - animals showing us curiosity or indifference rather than fear or anger is generally a sign that they have been largely left in peace by the people who came before us, and that we are behaving appropriately - not that we are wildlife whisperers.

As someone who spends half my time in exciting and exotic (though not always comfortable) places, and the other half building and living a very domestic existence - I am perfectly happy not leaving our little valley in Portugal for weeks at a time! - I often end up contemplating mindfulness and the desire to find contentment in whatever situation I happen to be in. Though watching the sun set over the Namib desert is an incredible experience, and one I am deeply grateful to be able to enjoy from time to time, it is just as important - more important, really - that I take the time to enjoy watching the sun rise behind the olive trees in our garden, sitting on the veranda together with my wife. Each moment is infinitesimal, as all moments are, and though anticipation of future highs and the memories of past ones will help to shape who we are and impact our perspective of the future, surely the key to a fulfilling life is one where wefind satisfaction and awe and enjoyment in everyday moments, not just the obvious highlights? We can’t always be fully present, of course, but taking a step back from your thoughts and emotions certainly helps create balance. Even unpleasant, painful or deeply uncomfortable situations become less so - and, to be honest, occur less often. Still, I am no philosopher, and others have expressed this more succinctly, so I will share a few words of wisdom from @samharrisorg instead: “The reality of your life is always now… The past is a memory; it’s a thought arising in the present. The future is merely anticipated; it is another thought arising now. What we truly have is this moment… we spend most of our lives forgetting this truth, refuting it, fleeing it, overlooking it. And the horror is that we succeed. We manage to never really connect with the present moment and find fulfilment there, because we are continually hoping to become happy in the future. And the future never arrives… We’re always solving a problem, [but] it’s possible to simply drop your problem, if only for a moment, and enjoy whatever is true of your life in the present.” ❤️

I landed in Bhutan just a few moments ago - for the second time in the last twelve months. In 2022 I came here with my comrade-in-arms, Henry, to do a story for @natgeo on the re-opening of the Trans-Bhutan Trail. The Department of Tourism liked the photos I took, so this time I am here on their behalf. Apparently it’s the first time they’ve hired a foreign photographer, which, needless to say, feels like quite an honor. Bhutan is, inarguably, a fascinating country. I don’t mean that in an irrationally romanticized way. Every country faces its own complications, past and present, and Bhutan is no exception. Balancing cultural conservatism with rapid modernization is proving difficult, leading to an exodus of young, working class people, especially to Australia. But even that is quite an interesting problem, taken to an extreme here because of Bhutan’s geographical isolation. On the other hand, their environmental policy is one of the world’s most progressive: over half the country’s surface is fully protected, and biodiversity and ecosystem integrity are actually considered to be a part of public health. Makes sense, doesn’t it? I am obviously here to photograph, but also to listen, observe and learn. And to share my own experience. The world isn’t getting any less complicated, and with isolationism and tribalism seemingly increasing at the same time as connectivity and globalization, exposure to different people, places and ideas is more important than ever. In my opinion, at any rate. Speaking of balance and romanticizing, it always feels a bit awkward to talk about the costs of what most people would consider to be a dream job. And it isn’t that I’d necessarily disagree: I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t what I wanted to do. Still, even the most exotic adventures don’t make leaving your loved one(s) much fun, and setting out on an assignment is always a mixed bag of excitement and already missing home. It doesn’t make me any less appreciative of what I get to see and do, but it very much reminds me to be grateful for every single day I spend at home, too.

Today I think I’ll just offer you this: a few moments of joy. After three weeks of daily exposure, our little rescue kittens have gone from potential snacks to baffling but fun little playmates. Ellie still gets a bit rough when she’s excited, but Pippa especially absolutely adores both dogs and seeks them out whenever she can. Mowgli, though - they just can’t get enough of him. And I can’t say I blame them. ❤️

Dr Richard Harvey (@the_wildvet) and Guard Leader Juma Maze Gain fist-bump after the successful collaring of a male lion in Boma National Park, South Sudan. Conservation, especially if we’re talking about protected area management, is incredibly complex, and often has myriad moving parts, people and targets. There’s anti-poaching and wildlife monitoring, research and community outreach. Education, healthcare and infrastructure development and maintenance. In places like South Sudan, there are ethnic groups who aren’t exactly on the friendliest of terms, and there are political relationships to manage on both local and national levels. There’s all the admin, and ensuring that each team functions well. There are families to consider. There are, if you work for a large, international organization, standardized procedures and goals, and then there are all the exceptions and adjustments to your particular site. There’s logistics, from feeding your employees to making sure you don’t run out of fuel. There are patrols to plan, budgets to figure out, fundraisers to run, partners to host and entertain. Not to mention crises to handle. All of which is to say, a fist-bump at the end of the smooth, successful collaring of a lion - in a potentially tricky spot, no less, with his lady lurking in the nearby bushes - seems apt not just for this moment, but whenever things go remotely according to plan in a turbulent, complicated world. Photo taken on assignment for @africanparksnetwork in @boma_badingilo_southsudan.

We tend to speak about gorillas by their subspecies rather than where they are found. With so much focus on one of them, mountain gorillas, that is perhaps understandable. And mountain gorillas are undoubtedly a conservation success story. Fifty years ago, there were only a few hundred left. Today, there are over a thousand. Mountain gorillas bring in millions of dollars in tourism revenue for the four national parks in which they are found, making them a valuable asset for nearby communities as well as for the state. Their marginally larger cousins, the eastern lowland gorillas, are more numerous, though their population trend is moving all too fast in the opposite direction. Looking at Africa’s eastern gorillas by country paints a very different picture. In Uganda and Rwanda, the (exclusively mountain) gorilla populations are about as healthy and safe as they are ever likely to get. This is also where the vast majority of tourists go. Across the western border, in DRC, the situation is very different. Here, too, you will find mountain gorillas, but the sector of @virunganationalpark where they live has been controlled by rebels for two years, blocking access for both ICCN rangers and tourists. Meanwhile, eastern DRC is the only place in the world where eastern lowland gorillas exist. Far from the spotlight shone on mountain gorillas, their population has declined by some 80% over the last few decades. Many live outside of formally protected areas, though there is some hope that @thewcs taking on the management of Kahuzi-Biega National Park, home to a significant number of them, will have a positive influence on their situation. There are plenty of worthwhile organizations to support in this region, including @virunganationalpark, @gorilladoctors, @thewcs and @savinggorillas. #worldgorilladay

In the early days of my career I went on a number of long roadtrips: southern Africa for nine months in 2012, Scandinavia for four months in 2013, and, in 2016, Morocco, where I spent three or four months over a period of perhaps half a year. Back then, time was a much smaller issue than money; I wasn’t making much of the latter, and had plenty of the former. These trips were largely unpaid, though they helped kickstart my travel writing and photography career - primarily with @vagabondmagasin. Since priorities have changed quite a lot since then, it is difficult to imagine that I would go on a long roadtrip again anytime soon. Still, I had an absolute blast on every single one of them, and am hugely grateful for the doors they helped open. Having been hit by a devastating earthquake two weeks ago, Morocco provides quite an interesting example of the potential benefits of tourism. Not just because of what it means to the economy in general, but also for the way tour operators, companies, and tourists have rallied support and funding through and to local partners, guides, and hotels. I haven’t been on the ground myself, so it’s nothing I can swear by, but I’m seeing and hearing a lot of stories about the impact that is having in dozens of places. This really demonstrates the importance of connection. We are constantly torn between dozens of crises, and the harder we look, the more we will find. It’s simply impossible for anyone to be engaged in all of them. So how do we decide? Sometimes it’s because of geographical proximity, or because it’s likely to affect us directly. Ukraine is a prime example of that, and of a genuine concern that an era of relative global stability might end. In the case of Morocco, though, it seems to be largely an outpouring of love and concern built on people’s personal experiences. We care about what and who we know more than that and those we don’t - that’s simply human nature. And it remains one of the biggest reasons for my belief in the importance of travel, even in the face of climate change. With lots of caveats, obviously, but true nevertheless.

If you have a fever, take paracetamol. If you have food poisoning, wait it out and drink some electrolytes. If you are “possessed”, see a psychologist. If you want to avoid influenza, get a vaccine. If you have typhoid fever, take antibiotics. If you are absolutely desperate to consume keratin, despite its complete lack of medically beneficial properties, use your own finger nail cuttings. #worldrhinoday 🦏

Ever since we began the gradual domestication of wild animals - dogs from wolves, first, followed by sheep, goats, cattle and pigs, and later chickens, horses and camels - our relationship with non-human animals and the natural world has become increasingly entangled and problematic. Coinciding with other increases - the number of humans on the planet, the complexity of our social structures, the advancement of our technology - we have gone from hunting to feed small, clan-like groups of people to an increasingly exploitative and detached view of other animals, mass-producing them for meat and torturing them for our own entertainment. How did we get here? In some ways, it’s a fairly easy question to answer. The steps were small, incremental, always bringing some slight advantage. Over centuries and millennia, we became more and more reliant on domesticated animals. We invented stories to justify our behavior - our “dominion” over other animals - just as we did to justify slavery and xenophobia. Even to this day, many people will try to deny our obvious evolutionary relationship with the rest of the natural world for fear of… well, I’m not sure. But perhaps it’s easier to eat someone if you don’t think of them as a sentient, emotionally mature relative. Most people aren’t innately cruel. They don’t consciously want to inflict pain. Somehow, though, we’ve been born into a time and place where inflicting pain is difficult to avoid, because it appears to be such a deeply entrenched part of how the world works. And change - well, change is hard! We don’t question whether we really need to slaughter over 90 billion (!) land animals for food every year. Too few question our right to hold wild animals captive for entertainment, or to kill them for so-called medicine. Or if bringing children to a bullfight is a good way of teaching them about the sanctity of life. So while how we ended up here is an easy question to answer, it’s also a deeply unsettling one. Was it inevitable? Can we change? I’d like to think so. If we can abolish slavery - as universal as any institution in human history - then we can hopefully start showing non-human life a bit more respect, too.

Pygmy falcons might just be my favorite bird of prey. Most raptors - eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, vultures - are impressive-looking. Some are beautiful. But very few are genuinely cute. Pygmy falcons are the smallest bird of prey on the African continent, weighing around 60-70 grams - less than a newborn kitten. They’re so small, in fact, that they tend to use vacant rooms in the large, communal nests built by sociable weavers. They’ll occasionally feed on them, but largely leave them alone - this way they receive the benefits of communal living and thermally regulated nests without having to expand any energy on building them. Generally, despite catching the occasional bird, pygmy falcons feed on insects, lizards and other small reptiles. If you’re very lucky - I just missed out when I took this particular photo - you might see one bring a treat back to its partner. I did get to witness their greeting ritual, though, which involved a lot of raising and lowering of tail feathers. At @tswalu, where this photo was taken, there’s some very interesting research happening on these birds via @the_pygmy_falcon_project. Pygmy falcons are, thankfully, not a threatened species. The same cannot be said for some of their larger relatives. Vultures, more than any other raptors, are targeted across the continent, though Tswalu was designated as Africa’s first Vulture Safe Zone. More on vultures in a future post, I think. For now, here’s to the world’s cutest raptor - a title I think they deserve, albeit in fierce competition with boreal owls. 🦉