In this article, we explore how modern wildlife photography is being transformed by AI-powered tools like Merlin Bird ID and iNaturalist. These apps don’t just help identify birds and other species—they deepen our connection to the field and sharpen our observational skills. From mistaking a chuck-will’s-widow for a common nighthawk to streamlining post-processing workflows, the piece highlights how these digital tools enhance both accuracy and storytelling.

Fieldcraft is the secret sauce of wildlife photography—the often invisible skillset that allows photographers to get close to wild animals without disturbing them. More than gear, more than autofocus settings or megapixels, it’s an understanding of animal behavior, habitat, and how to move through the natural world unnoticed that makes great images possible. In a landscape where most species fear humans for good reason, fieldcraft bridges the gap between observer and subject. Without it, even the best equipment can’t deliver the intimacy and authenticity that define powerful wildlife photography.

A week that began in the quiet stillness of the prairie potholes was quickly rewritten by storms, sending us west into the rugged badlands of North Dakota. From grebes rushing across glassy marshes to wild horses sparring on clay ridges, the workshop became a masterclass in adaptability. Wildlife photography, after all, is shaped by change—and success lies not in controlling nature, but in responding to it. What emerged was a journey defined not by the original plan, but by the beauty we found when we let the land lead.

Photographing the greater sage-grouse on its lek is among the most rewarding experiences in North American wildlife photography. It begins with days of scouting and preparation, followed by hours of silent stillness in a blind long before dawn. Each decision, from where to place your hide to how to approach in darkness, is guided by respect for one of the most sensitive rituals in the bird world. With care and patience, it’s possible to document a spectacle as ancient as the prairie itself - one that few ever see, and none ever forget.

Each winter, tens of thousands of redhead ducks gather off the Atlantic coast in vast, undulating flocks — a migration spectacle few ever witness. As spring returns, those same birds trace ancient flyways north to the prairie potholes of North Dakota, where their secretive nesting season begins.

This year’s Cloud Forest Workshop was a journey into the mist-draped mountains of western Panama, where elevation and isolation have created one of the most unique ecosystems on Earth. From resplendent quetzals and fiery-throated hummingbirds to newly described vipers coiled among heliconia, our days were spent immersed in the cool, saturated world of the highlands—where every ridge holds an endemic, and every cloud carries the forest’s breath.

In the coastal mangroves of Bocas del Toro, a prothonotary warbler (Protonotaria citrea) gleams like a flame in the shadows, feeding not on insects, but on fruit left behind by monkeys. Though known as insectivores during the breeding season, warblers across the tropics consume carotenoid-rich fruits: pigments that shape the bright yellows, oranges, and reds of their plumage. This tropical diet, often overlooked, may hold the key to their brilliant breeding colors. Far from mere winter refuge, the neotropics may serve as the nutritional crucible in which these birds are built, reframing warblers not as northern migrants with southern habits, but as tropical species whose lives are only partially visible when they return to sing.

Above the mirror of a boreal wetland, a red-necked grebe ferries its chick across still water—tucked between its wings, hidden in down. This isn’t just parenting; it’s evolution in motion. Vulnerable and newly hatched, grebe chicks ride for warmth, protection, and survival in a landscape shaped by cold and predators. From the eye-level stillness of a floating blind, this intimate behavior comes into view—quiet, fleeting, and impossible to witness from shore. In these flooded forests, where most life goes unseen, the blind becomes a portal to the subtle brilliance of adaptation.

In the lowland rainforests of Panama, Geoffroy’s tamarins slip like shadows through the mid-canopy, their masked faces and white crests glimpsed only in motion. But it’s their voices that give them away. High, clipped, and metallic, their calls echo the sharp notes of tyrant flycatchers, blurring the lines between primate and bird in a forest where sound carries farther than sight. This acoustic resemblance may reflect a deeper connection: flycatchers follow tamarin troops to catch flushed insects, while tamarins seem to respond to the birds’ alarm calls—a subtle, mutual choreography played out in the tangled understory.

When a brood of mallard ducklings drifted through the morning fog, the loons disappeared from the story—but something more intimate took shape. Seen from a floating blind, just inches above the surface, their world opened up: eye-level glimpses into the fragile physics that let them float, the maternal oil that coats their down, and the evolutionary design behind their soft, buoyant bodies.

In the misty cloud forests of Panama, brilliant flashes of color give way to aerial combat as tiny birds clash over a single bloom. In this behind-the-scenes look at photographing high-speed hummingbird battles with a multi-flash rig, wildlife photographer Jared Lloyd reveals the hidden aggression behind their iridescent beauty. From the mythology of Aztec gods to the physiology that fuels their fury, this article unpacks the science—and the spectacle—of why hummingbirds fight, and how capturing it on camera is both art and endurance.

Winter is here and with comes some of the best wildlife photography of the year, if only we know how animals respond to the changes in the air. We are working on something new here at PhotoWILD Magazine and Podcast, and excited to share a sneak peak inside!