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Thirty Years of Chasing the Light and Adventure in Japan. 

After three decades as a pro photographer in Japan, I remain endlessly inspired by the wildness that pulses beneath the surface of these islands. My roots reach back to the northern Canadian wilderness, where I learned to read the land and sky before I ever held a camera. That early education—canoeing rivers, tracking animals, listening to the wind—became the foundation for my photography and my life. Adventure was my inheritance: summers spent paddling remote lakes with my family, the rest of the year exploring new landscapes and chasing possibilities

This late spring to mid-summer, the soaring peaks and hidden valleys of Japan became my home once more. Each year, I lead workshops from Hokkaido’s frozen coasts to cherry blossom season, through fiery autumn forests and private wildlife tours. Clients return not just for images, but for immersion in nature’s raw beauty and the lessons it offers. Yet the summer of 2026 stands apart—a season of firsts, unforeseen challenges, and lessons that will not only stay with me but prepare me for future adventures. Next year, I’ll lead spring birding tours in the Northern Alps, then journey on through Hokkaido, Niigata, Hawaii, and Fiji—forever seeking new wildness to share.

This summer’s adventure began, as always, with meticulous planning. I believe in knowing every route, every hidden trail, every possible exit. For ten years, I’ve scouted the Northern Japanese Alps in every season, building a mental map of the region. I’ve always said: you must know your path like the back of your hand, especially when you’re leading others, and they look to you for answers, no questions. In these mountains, the weather can turn with shocking speed—typhoons, rain bands, landslides are not just possibilities, but eventualities to be planned for.

In late May, I welcomed my first group of the season—longtime friends and clients eager for new experiences. The Northern Alps, with their dramatic landscapes and elusive wildlife, were uncharted territory for my workshops. Until this summer, I’d never led clients here, despite years of exploration with my team, family, and freinds and on assignments. The anticipation was palpable as we set out, camera gear packed, spirits high, ready to immerse ourselves in Japan’s wild heart.

A Living Classroom in the Clouds

Each day in the field started long before sunrise. While my clients slept, I’d have a cup of Earl Grey and pore over weather charts and seismic data, searching for any signs of trouble. From childhood, I studied meteorology and topography in the Canadian north, which taught me to forecast accurately. I’d learned to spot the subtle clues—a change in wind, a drop in pressure, the formation of certain clouds—that signalled a coming storm. I picked up scimology thirty years ago when I moved to Japan, where it's an important tool,  especially in my business. I am going to sound like a broken record, but time and time again, I always say, when travelling to a foreign shore for photography exploration, go with locals who know the terrain, language, weather, and forget the so-called influencer photographers on YouTube, or other sms sites, I  guarantee 99% of visiting photographers to don’t know what to due in case of a typoon or other event. In short, go with a local, with a skilled team. 

The Northern Alps are a living classroom for those willing to learn. I took every opportunity to explain to my clients how to recognize weather changes, read the landscape, and understand the science behind what we witnessed. We paused to watch clouds form above the peaks, discussed how warm Pacific waters fuel typhoons, and how the mountains can turn rain into torrents in a matter of hours; and, of course, wildlife and their calls and behaviour are a weather chart all in their own.

Wildlife and Wonders Few Ever See

The summer’s highlights were many. We tracked the Ruddy Kingfisher (Halcyon coromanda)—one of Japan’s most elusive birds—through dense forests and tangled river valleys. Every sighting was a triumph, every photograph a prize. My years of study and patience paid off: from May until the final week of tours, we observed and photographed these rare birds in their secret haunts.

But the kingfisher was just the beginning. In summer, the Northern Japanese Alps become a sanctuary for a remarkable diversity of birds. Among the canopy and alpine meadows, we found:

Japanese Accentor (Prunella rubida)

Japanese Thrush (Turdus cardis)

Brown Dipper (Cinclus pallasii)

Blue-and-White Flycatcher (Cyanoptila cyanomelana)

Siberian Blue Robin (Larvivora cyane)

Japanese Green Woodpecker (Picus awokera)

Narcissus Flycatcher (Ficedula narcissina)

Japanese Grosbeak (Eophona personata)

Copper Pheasant (Syrmaticus soemmerringii)

Japanese Paradise Flycatcher (Terpsiphone atrocaudata)

Mountain Hawk-Eagle (Nisaetus nipalensis)

Varied Tit (Sittiparus varius)

And dozens more; Japan is home to over 600 bird species, and over 60% are migratory. 

Each species we spotted brought its own thrill, whether it was the flash of the Narcissus Flycatcher’s yellow chest, the haunting call of the Japanese Thrush at dawn, or the glimpse of a Mountain Hawk-Eagle riding thermal currents above the ridges. These birds, many endemic or migratory visitors, are jewels of the highlands, and sharing their world with my clients was a privilege.

One morning, after sudden, relentless rain, the mountains transformed. Rivers swelled with snowmelt and rainwater. Sensing a rare opportunity, I chartered a helicopter. My clients and I soared above the peaks, capturing images of churning water and mist-shrouded valleys from a vantage point few have ever experienced. These moments—impossible to predict, impossible to repeat—are why we venture into the wild.

The Typhoon That Changed Everything

As July turned to August, a new threat appeared on the horizon. I’d been watching the weather for days—an unusual low-pressure system swirling over the Pacific, gathering strength. The charts and satellite images hinted at something historic: a typhoon on a trajectory never seen before, aimed at the Pacific side of the Tohoku region.

I weighed my options carefully. Our schedule called for another two days in the mountains, but my instincts—and my weather models—told me otherwise. I gathered my clients and explained the situation, sharing gut feeling and the science behind the storm and the risks at stake. They trusted my judgment. We broke camp, packed every piece of camera and camping gear, and headed to a local airport in Miyagi, Japan. I got my clients on a flight to Tokyo, and before I left them, they booked a flight home a few hours after landing in Tokyo; once they took off from Miyagi, my team and I drove 6 hours to my seaside Kominka in Niigata, unpacked the gear and slept. 

The next day, the typhoon made landfall—the first ever to strike that part of Japan. It brought record-breaking rainfall, flooded roads, and halted trains. Narita International Airport became an island of stranded travellers: more than 7,000 people slept on terminal floors, wrapped in emergency sleeping bags, waiting for the waters to recede. My clients, thanks to my decision, were already safely home, and so were my team and I.

A Life Built on Preparation and Respect

As I’ve shared, the Northern Canadian wilderness was my first teacher. My family spent summers canoeing remote lakes, living by the rhythms of water, sky, and forest. My mother taught me to listen—to the wind, the birds, the silence. At three years old, I saw my first polar bear in Hudson Bay. Moose, wolves, beavers, ravens, geese—these were our neighbours. At night, the aurora would set the snow aglow, turning the world green and alive. 

Friends from Cree Nation also shaped me, especially Chief Spencer, who shared wisdom and sacred ceremonies that still guide me. Those teachings—respect for all beings, humility before nature—are so ingrained in me that I cannot live full-time in any city. Each year, I must return to a tent, to the wildness, to keep that spirit alive and to share it with others.

Looking Ahead

Even now, resting at my Niigata kominka, I start each day hours before dawn, scanning for oddities in the data—because the unexpected is always out there. This year, a powerful El Niño is shaping the world and Japan's weather, supercharging storms and shifting jet streams. Until now, Japan had been spared the worst. 

With the last Japan private photo tour done, I’m catching up on paperwork, reviewing photos, and savouring the memories of a summer spent in some of Japan’s wildest places. Soon, I’ll be back out in the field—camping, scouting, and searching for the next story to tell. There are still hidden valleys to explore, wildlife to track, and storms to outwit.

The Japanese Alps remain a realm few Western photographers have truly explored, and even among Japanese artists, only a handful know the secret valleys and the best light. Japan is over 70% unpopulated wilderness—a fact that still surprises many. This summer, I had the privilege of leading friends and clients into these forgotten places, forging memories and images that will last a lifetime.

The adventure never ends. Each day, the mountains call, and I answer—chasing storms, chasing light, and sharing the wild heart of Japan with those who crave adventure.

Contact me to book your Spring Birding Private Tour with the Ruddy Kingfisher.
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