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For thirty years, I’ve called Japan home, camera always in hand, searching for the stories that nature tells best. This year, I’ve traded up my beach home and the urban lights for the wilds of the north, pitching my tent in the heart of the Northern Japan Alps, chasing the thrill of adventure and the promise of rare birds.

This is the realm of the Ruby Kingfisher—a bird so secretive, most never catch a glimpse. But I’m determined to spot, photograph, and video them at least three times a week, and for the past month, I have kept to my schedule. Mornings start before dawn, boots wet with dew as I follow narrow trails along rushing streams that lead to ponds, where life is rich, and frogs are plentiful, the perfect feeding grounds for the Ruby Kingfisher. Every snap of a twig, flutter of wings, and bird calls sets my heart racing. Some days, I wait for hours, silent for that spark of red in the green shadows that I know will appear. When the Ruby finally appears, it’s pure magic—a flash of crimson, a quick dive for frogs —and, when I'm lucky, I get a thirty-second video, and or a thousand frames, then it’s gone, leaving me grinning like a kid.

Up here in the northern Alps, every hike, every hidden valley, is a chance for discovery. It’s wild, unpredictable, and sometimes tough—but it’s the best adventure I could imagine, one frame at a time. This rainy and breeding season, the forests and rivers are alive with possibility. I’ve found myself captivated by the playful snow monkeys, their fur slick with rain, as they leap between mossy rocks and shelter beneath ancient trees. The brown-eared bulbul’s melodic call echoes through the mist, and I’ve spent hours tracking the delicate Narcissus flycatcher, whose golden chest glows in the dim forest light.

Every day brings new surprises: a flash of blue as a fairy pitta darts past, the bold markings of a Japanese grosbeak perched high above, or a murmuration of swallows sweeping low over a flooded rice field. The rainy season is also the peak for migratory species—each downpour seems to coax out another rarity, and my tally has already surpassed a hundred species this year.

In this lush, ever-changing landscape, patience and presence are rewarded with unforgettable moments. The northern Alps, with their hidden trails and abundant life, have become both my studio and my sanctuary. Here, every photograph is a testament to the wild pulse of Japan—a record of fleeting beauty, chronicled one frame at a time.

The adventure doesn’t stop there. The rainy season brings everything to life. I track footprints, follow bird calls, and sometimes find myself lost—only to stumble on a new species I’ve never photographed before. Over a hundred species this year, each one a new adventure. Every day ends in the onsen, then around a campfire, boots drying and downloading my memory cards, dreaming of what tomorrow might bring.

Once a week, I head down the mountain in my Toyota Hilux GR Four Wheel Drive to resupply, making a half-day trip of it and stopping at local shrines and ancient Zen Buddhist sanctuaries. In the part of Aomori where I am located, there are no large cities; it’s extremely rural, just the way I like my adventures, with no tourist traps, and even the shrine entrance image in this newsletter gets maybe ten visitors a day. Oh, yeah, I am following an ancient pilgrimage route along the Alps that dates back thousands of years, and so do the temples and Zen Buddhist sanctuaries I visit. Thankfully, this pilgrimage route is one of Japan’s best-kept secrets, and is not advertised—and for good reason. It’s not for the faint of heart, but only for seasoned backcountry explorers.

Next week, I will have clients flying in for a week of birding with me, sure am looking forward to friends visiting my slice of nirvana, and they are sure to capture images of the elusive Ruby Kingfisher. 

Hokkaido Photography Winter Tour 2027, I have one spot open. 

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