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Watching the fynbos burn from vantage points around the Cape, the combination of proximity to houses, heat and wind makes it quite a petrifying spectacle to Capetonians.

The Cape Floral kingdom is said to be more botanically diverse than the Amazon rain forest, it has a unique relationship with fire and in order for certain species to germinate properly it requires a burn every 10 years or so, this also remineralises the soil and surrounding area.

Green Planet is an ambitious series by the BBC focusing on the world of plants and their adaptions to survival, to have them focus on Fynbos is a no brainer from my point of view.

The fire burns with such intensity you can only film it completely covered, any bit of skin showing forces you to retreat, the few times I got to close and had a piece of forehead exposed it felt as if it would instantly blister. Getting close we wore non synthetic cotton material and balaclavas, and goggles to even get remotely close enough. The synthetic stuff would just go up in smoke, I had a synthetic LowePro bag on my back which came back peppered with tiny ember holes. My balaclava still smells like smoke and sweet floral fynbos sweat, I wont wash it ever, to fond of the memory.

Director: @alitones
Cinematography: @samlewiscamera @luckynelson

Watch the behind the scenes of the episode to see my running for my life from fire, narrated and presented beautifully by Ali!

Over 15 shoots and almost a year in the field for me alone. (47weeks) Planet Earth 3 is nigh.

In Early December 2019, I got a call saying they wanted me on board as a Junior Cinematographer. February the following year I flew out from gloomy concrete London to pastures anew! My first of hopefully many shoots for Planet Earth 3, The production was to run over three/four years, visiting and revisiting locations and animal behaviour across the world over with new tech taking things up a level. I hadn’t realised then that the following years that followed were to be as tumultuous as they were exciting, before the project even started, I broke my foot, signed a contract, got covid, contract got cancelled, covid got cancelled, got Covid again. Did some shoots in between, moved countries, got a new contract (Phew) - and as the ball got rolling during and post Covid, my shooting schedule was suddenly condensed into the most exciting back to back globe trotting camera wielding animal filming late night lattes of my life. 15 shoots and almost a year in the field!!!

🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️🧗‍♀️

The Snow Leopards
The Rhino
The Flamingoes
The Monarch Butterflies
& The Caves. I experienced first hand. The sequences and series is out soon 🔜 and there’s a lot more not in the trailer.

But here’s the trailer again incase you
Didn’t see it on the www.

Still can’t believe this. A few years ago, I started working on my most momentous project yet. Today the first look trailer dropped and I could not be more happy to see quite a few of my shots and sequences I worked on in there. From deep dark caves to Rhinos, flamingoes, camels and butterflies. Today I danced around my kitchen to “KWS - Please don’t go” thanks for the colab @davidattenborough would love nothing more than to meet you one day, to have you talking over my shots is like winning something every day.

Some screenshots - go watch the trailer here:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UOp9Cig3_Bw

Special thanks to Fredi, Kiri, Abi and Theo for pushing me in all the right ways!!

Still can’t believe this. A few years ago, I started working on my most momentous project yet. Today the first look trailer dropped and I could not be more happy to see quite a few of my shots and sequences I worked on in there. From deep dark caves to Rhinos, flamingoes, camels and butterflies. Today I danced around my kitchen to “KWS - Please don’t go” thanks for the colab @davidattenborough would love nothing more than to meet you one day, to have you talking over my shots is like winning something every day.

Some screenshots - go watch the trailer here:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UOp9Cig3_Bw

Special thanks to Fredi, Kiri, Abi and Theo for pushing me in all the right ways!!

Still can’t believe this. A few years ago, I started working on my most momentous project yet. Today the first look trailer dropped and I could not be more happy to see quite a few of my shots and sequences I worked on in there. From deep dark caves to Rhinos, flamingoes, camels and butterflies. Today I danced around my kitchen to “KWS - Please don’t go” thanks for the colab @davidattenborough would love nothing more than to meet you one day, to have you talking over my shots is like winning something every day.

Some screenshots - go watch the trailer here:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UOp9Cig3_Bw

Special thanks to Fredi, Kiri, Abi and Theo for pushing me in all the right ways!!

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

a fun and exciting morning caught by @luckynelson

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

The healing height of alpine air, the soft guidance of an alpine chough, each one thought to be a mountain guide who never returned home, equally inquisitive and mischievous looking, whether yellow-beaked or red. With sun on my shoulders as well as theirs, dark glossy wings carried us, moss, sand and 250 million-year-old dolomite underfoot. These are the moving mountains of my mind, A long but somehow fleeting, meditative power run through the charismatic eye widening Alta via uno. Clear eyes full heart 💚🫰

Grazie per averti ospitato

Big love to Roberto and Doyle my very special friends x

I snuck up the ravine well before the sun and the heat rose. Littered with sleeping, stirring ibex curled into the rock. I was hoping they’d forget I was ever there. My plan: Let them settle…then ideally they’d precariously scale those distant ridges with that gorgeous sweeping valley vista behind them. Secretly I was also hoping that far in the distance I would get lucky, a snow leopard would slip down quietly into my frame. How nice would that be.

This 5 - 8 am period. The only realistic window of filming any animal before the mountain fell quiet. It was then too hot, harsh and horrible light-wise anyway.
The plan was specific, unlikely, so I started without a hide. Just watching, observing, learning, sometimes the only real way to work it out. Sometimes I feel like once you’re in a hide, tucked into a dark hole with a small window of view, you risk missing things on your peripherals, which can feel daunting when moments on the mountain are fleeting. (Cue: a thermal searching Bearded Vulture flies right past me on the cliff and down the valley into the distance)

Enjoy - and any questions, ask away.

On location for Planet Earth, in Mongolia. 🇲🇳

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

A few weeks ago, I flew to the northernmost settlement I could: Longyearbyen. There to shoot a pilot for an upcoming project, an exciting on-camera personality paired with a series of important stories that feel close to my heart. An intersection of art, documentary, and natural history. It’s about the overlooked and the stories in between - but more on that later, okay.

The cold, breathless and heavy. The light is constant and disarming, relaxing and confusing all at once. When I arrived, the sun didn’t set until I left. It’ll remain in the sky until the end of August. That’s close to four months of daylight. One of my first experiences of the deliriously beautiful midnight sun. These are my anecdotes from hour 1. We drove for hours across the space between frozen sea ice, land and crumbling earth. Refuelled via jerry cans and Termatt dry meals. A dehydrated bean never tasted so good. A flask of hot water the only thing that wouldn’t freeze, your pathway to food and hydration. One must forget the luxury of putting together a cheese and cucumber sandwich. The cold enveloped everything. Batteries lasted moments. We travelled in a party of three snowmobiles. In case anything went awry. This landscape was harsh and ever-changing. No machine was immune to the freeze-thaw polarity. We broke our suspension, got stuck on a glacier, tipped a snowmobile and trailer. Everything feels like glass. We're not made for this place, we exist here only temporarily. Animals look on in dismay. Hands stay gloved, your face covered. We check for exposed skin. red is good, pale is not. Thumbs up, we keep moving. A sore neck from swivelling your head in all directions. Too much to look at, the great wide open white, punctuated by sea cliffs and rock. An arctic fox sniffs across the sea ice, the skat of a polar bear, a deer carcass. Always vigilant. Always tired. Always semi-delirious. The best time to film, golden light casting orange goodness, between 12am and 3am. The sun slides sideways here. Have you ever seen a sunset for four hours? We’re at the top of Google Maps. The part covered by the search bar. Hello day one on Svalbard.

Thanks @sony.unitedkingdom for the support. x

I popped in to say hello to some Otters at the Dartmoor Otters and Butterfly project. (And to test some filters/optics) The test came back conclusive…I love OTTERS!

🦦 Thanks for having me @dartmoor_otters_butterflies

At last week’s Wildscreen Festival we were lucky enough to catch up with Planet Earth 3 DP Luke Nelson!

Luke shares his thoughts on what it was like working on the project, as well as his essential wild filmmaking tips and advice for getting in to the industry.

I’m very excited to be hosting a talk at Wildscreen Festival this Thursday where I’ll be in conversation with some incredibly talented wildlife cinematographers who will share their stories about what it’s like to work in the extremes of the planet:

CINEMATOGRAPHY MASTERS: EXTREMES 14:00 - 15:00 Parsons Theatre MASTERCLASS Hosted by Alex Walters Speakers: @luckynelson , @e.ranney , @morlo_wildlife - From living in caves to wait for the perfect light, to working at extreme temperatures to capture those epic adaptations, meet the cinematographers and experts who are taking their careers to the extremes and battling the elements (in the safest ways possible!) to bring you the money shot.

If you’re at the festival then hopefully see you there! The spaces are now fully booked, but it’s also being live streamed for online pass holders and at the BBC in the cinema room 🎥 @wildscreenorg

I’m very excited to be hosting a talk at Wildscreen Festival this Thursday where I’ll be in conversation with some incredibly talented wildlife cinematographers who will share their stories about what it’s like to work in the extremes of the planet:

CINEMATOGRAPHY MASTERS: EXTREMES 14:00 - 15:00 Parsons Theatre MASTERCLASS Hosted by Alex Walters Speakers: @luckynelson , @e.ranney , @morlo_wildlife - From living in caves to wait for the perfect light, to working at extreme temperatures to capture those epic adaptations, meet the cinematographers and experts who are taking their careers to the extremes and battling the elements (in the safest ways possible!) to bring you the money shot.

If you’re at the festival then hopefully see you there! The spaces are now fully booked, but it’s also being live streamed for online pass holders and at the BBC in the cinema room 🎥 @wildscreenorg

“In the middle of the night, whilst filming a greater one-horned rhinoceros in Sauraha, Nepal, the rhino approached the film crew. The crew were not sure why it was coming towards them, and coming so close, so they made a quick retreat. It turned out that the rhino just wanted to get a better picture of the filming equipment being used.”

This was one of my first encounters with the rhino on our trip there, cautiously backtracking from the gentle unpredictable giant. I was nervous, rightfully so. Over the coming weeks I had some life changing encounters. But always at a healthy and respectful distance for all.

Always good to remind yourself that this is their environment not yours. Sometimes it’s just best to observe!

Is this extreme or just something we’re totally used to?

NEXT WEEK, very excited to be speaking at @wildscreenorg Festival - alongside some incredible filmmakers aka @e.ranney and @morlo_wildlife with @alex_sandy_walters as the host. We will be talking all things extreme wildlife filmmaking.

From close encounters, wild travel days and how some of us cope with it all. 🩵🩷❤️

THURSDAY 17th 14:00pm. Parsons Theatre.

Straight after this I’ll be going to watch @chaivasarhelyigive a talk. If you’re around that week at the festival and want to link up/talk about upcoming projects, let’s link.

Photo Credit: Fredi Devas / BBC Studios

Just lining up something glorious.Warm eyes blue skies in the Drakensberg. 💙🩵

Red Gemini / Cn20 / Fx6 / Sigma FF Primes

📸: @xander_goosen