There are few moments in photography that rattle your bones—in the best way. This was one of them. I was crouched on the floor of a speedboat, camera braced, heart racing, engines roaring beneath me as we raced through the standing waves of the Campbell River rapids during the king tide. Overhead, the sky split with movement: hundreds of bald eagles, spiraling, diving, rising again with a precision that defied gravity.

Every May, the tides swell with such force that herring are pushed to the surface and momentarily stunned. It’s a feast—brief, brutal, and breathtaking. Up to 300 eagles gather to take part, their presence a testimony to the richness of this coastal ecosystem. Some so close I could see the glint of their talons, the determination in their eyes as they cut through air at over 150 kilometers per hour.

It was chaos and choreography all at once. Wind, wings, water—and the sharp cry of a bird as it seized its prize. I’ve spent years chasing quiet moments in nature, but this was something else entirely: a full-throttle collision between instinct and opportunity. And yet, beneath the adrenaline, there was reverence. A knowing that this seasonal synchronicity—these tidal rhythms, this convergence of predator and prey—is as fragile as it is fierce.

To witness it is a gift. To photograph it, a privilege.

To protect it, a responsibility.