Bringing it Home: Urban wildlife photography

Standing on the deck of an old pontoon boat, I’m floating down the James River wholly enveloped in the story of America. A short jaunt down river from where I am is the settlement of Jamestown, where a little corporation from England would send wave after wave of people beginning in 1607. They never meant to accidently create a new country, they were just hoping some of the people would survive and produce a profit. But such is the law of unintended consequences.

In the other direction, and just on the horizon, is all of downtown Richmond, Virginia. Once the capital city of the Powhattan tribe (of Pocahontas fame), some rebel rouser by the name of Patrick Henry would one day stir the pot of revolutionary zeal in a little church here when he shouted, “give me liberty or give me death.” Never a place to be outdone by its own history, Richmond soon thereafter took up as capital of the Confederacy during the Civil War, for which a seemingly endless display of monolithic statues nervously refuses to allow one to forget today.

To my right, some 50 yards away, is the exposed remnants of a dock where George Washington himself stood as he waited for a ferry to cross this muddy river during the revolution. And directly in front of the boat, with a large shad grasped in its talons, is a bird that posterity will forever misremember Benjamin Franklin protesting as the symbol of a nation because of a simple letter he wrote to his daughter suggesting that the “Bald Eagle...is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly…[and] is too lazy to fish for himself.”

As for me, I just so happen to be floating down this river of history for the purpose of photographing this “Bird of bad moral Character.”

The whole thing seems rather improbable to be honest. I’m right next to a major city, the capital of Virginia no less. A high-rise bridge spans the river just behind me, four lanes of traffic they call I-295. And yet, I have already filled one XQD memory card this morning with photographs of bald eagles.

For many, this national bird is a symbol of wilderness. Photographers from around the world travel to Alaska this time of year just to photograph bald eagles. Like a bear or a wolf, we tend to conjure up images of far off and distant places when we think of these birds. Yet here I am, with quick and easy access to a Starbucks for coffee, REI if I decide my North Face gloves aren’t cutting it, and Scott’s Addition to get lost in a labyrinth of breweries and hip eateries when I get off the water.

Wildlife is everywhere. It’s in suburban woodlots. City parks. Graveyards. Cattail lined ditch banks. Municipal retention ponds. The tree growing in your backyard and the tree growing in Brooklyn. Animals are in the hedgerow along your property and lining every river coursing through downtowns around the globe. The fact of the matter is that with a little “green space,” animals will take up shop and go about their lives right under our noses.

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During the pandemics and the ensuing travel restrictions, urban wildlife photography was about the best show in town for allowing us to get out of the house with camera in hand. While many rolled their eyes and accepted it as a necessary evil at the time, make no mistake here: this was still serious wildlife photography. Though working close to home may not satisfy the wanderlust that most of us yearn to experience, it can and does have the potential to fill our memory cards with extraordinary photographs.

Barred owls, for instance, have become something of a poster child for urban wildlife and photography. As large owls that need large cavities in old trees to nest, much of the necessary habitat they depend upon has been clear cut in the wild. But in cities, where trees have been allowed to grow to a hundred years lining boulevards, surrounding older estates, and sitting in parks that towns have maintained for many decades, these birds are discovering a whole new niche. In fact, so directly associated have barred owls become with our towns and cities, human development has allowed this species to spread out of its normal swampy southeastern haunts clear across the otherwise treeless plains and prairies to the shores of the Pacific Ocean.  

When it comes to finding and photographing wildlife, apps like e-bird are opening up whole new worlds. As a lone set of eyes, you can discover opportunities all around you. But when you suddenly find yourself part of a community, something of a virtual army of people who are excited to share the beauty and diversity of life around them, you may very well find yourself swimming in more wildlife subjects than you know what to do with.