Finding Purpose Through the Lens
In 2013, while studying at university, I began volunteering at Pūkaha National Wildlife Centre. At first, it was a way to spend more time in the forest, surrounded by the trees, birdlife, and the occasional flit of something rare and beautiful. But it quickly became something deeper. I found myself not just wandering with a camera, but connecting with the lives behind the lens.
I had always enjoyed exploring nature with my camera in hand, drawn to the quiet critters and colours. But Pūkaha gave that curiosity a new direction. It taught me to slow down, to listen more than I clicked the shutter, and to truly see. What started as a creative outlet evolved into a responsibility - to advocate for the species I was photographing.
Through time spent in the forest, watching the lives of the birds and forest, I came to understand that photography isn’t just about capturing beauty. It’s about protecting it.
Stepping into Their World
Working with the Captive Breeding team at Pūkaha offered a kind of access few photographers experience, one built on trust, respect, and quiet observation. It wasn’t just about proximity to wildlife, but about entering their lives in a way that demanded care. I learned their rhythms, quirks, and behaviours, not from behind a lens, but from alongside their daily lives.
One bird who still stands out vividly in my memory is a red-crowned kākāriki, always curious, always camera-ready. He would interact eagerly with the enrichment we provided, full of personality and charm. Over time, I watched this pair raise chicks that would later be released into the wild. Being part of that journey, documenting it, but also supporting it, was deeply moving. I wasn’t just taking photographs; I was witnessing futures unfold. The day I was able to release this pair into the wild cemented my love of kākāriki and desire to do more for the species.
And then there was Kahurangi, the kōkako. She was iconic, a bird with presence and charisma. She had a way of engaging with you, meeting your gaze, stepping closer, seeming to sense when the camera was near. Some of my all-time favourite images are of her. It’s through her that my deep affection for kōkako began. Now, when I’m fortunate enough to encounter kōkako in the wild, I don’t feel the same need to photograph them. The desire to capture the moment has been replaced by something quieter, an awe-filled pause to simply listen to their haunting song and appreciate their presence.
The red crowned kakariki photo
Kahurangi the kokako - one of the first images I printed out
The kaka were great fun to photograph and gave me plenty of practice!
Learning to See Ethically
At Pūkaha, working alongside the Captive Breeding team meant entering the birds’ world with care and responsibility. It wasn’t just about documenting them, it was about ensuring they could live, parent, and thrive without interference. Whether it was watching chicks hatch or preparing birds for release, I quickly understood that my presence, however quiet, had an impact. Ethical practice wasn’t an add-on, it was the foundation.
Photography, in that setting, came with an unspoken agreement: to be trusted by the birds was a privilege. To honour that trust, I had to remain unobtrusive. The goal was always to capture the quiet beauty of their lives as they were, not to provoke a pose or a reaction. If a bird seemed unsettled or alert, I stepped back. I didn’t want an image that told a story of tension, I wanted one that told a story of peace.
As I deepened my understanding of bird behaviour, I began to see those cues more clearly - not just in my own work, but in the images shared by others. A slight lean forward, the narrowing of eyes, feathers puffed or sleeked back, these signs started to stand out. It became a personal standard: any photo I shared needed to reflect a relaxed bird, comfortable in its environment, going about its normal day. No stress, no disruption. Just presence.
From Forest Floor to Wider World
Today, my photography is shared across a range of platforms, from news articles and social media to books and magazines, each image showcasing one of Aotearoa’s birds simply being themselves. Every trip brings new encounters, and with each one, I continue to learn, connect, and grow alongside the birds I photograph.
The foundation for all of this was laid at Pūkaha. It’s where I learned to slow down, to observe ethically, and to let the forest guide me. Pūkaha is also a place where photographers from around the world can get a rare glimpse of some of New Zealand’s most endangered wildlife up close, an experience that stays with you long after the shutter closes.
But this work, and this place, needs our support. Pūkaha relies on public generosity to continue its breeding programmes, habitat restoration, and education work. If you’re able, please consider donating to this incredible cause by visiting www.pukaha.org.nz.
