Articles

Male pink salmon, in contrasting stages of decay, hold position against a ripping current as they fight their way upstream towards the perfect spawning spot
 

The first time I visited Alaska, back in the summer of 2018, I had one thing on my mind: salmon sharks. I had been fascinated by this elusive, cold-water predator for as long as I’d known they existed. There’s something compelling about their rarity and their natural history, their preference for cold-water environments, and of course, their overall aesthetic. Prince William Sound is one of the only places on Earth where sightings occur with any degree of regularity. It felt like the perfect opportunity—finally, a chance to encounter and photograph a species that had long occupied a spot on my bucket list. Naturally, in true wildlife fashion, we didn’t see a single salmon shark the entire week!

With each passing day, it became clear that we needed a new plan if we were going to salvage the trip from a photographic standpoint. That shift came in an unexpected, and now much-beloved, form—the salmon themselves. Specifically, chum salmon, gathering in one of the frigid creeks that run through Alaska’s backcountry.

For a few fantastic days, we sat in a plunge pool—submerged in glacier-fed water—making images of these remarkable fish. It was cold and challenging, and I was absolutely hooked. Up to that point, salmon had interested me only when they were on my dinner plate. But in that creek, they turned from food into photographic obsession.

The following year, in 2019, I chased that obsession to British Columbia and, surprisingly, even Connecticut—all in pursuit of new salmon images. Each trip brought new photographic opportunities, further deepening my respect for these fantastic fish. Despite the memorable experiences, Alaska lingered in the back of my mind. The landscapes, the light, the wildness of it all—and, of course, the promise of not just salmon, but their most iconic predator.

It would take seven years before I finally made it back to Alaska. This time, I wasn’t alone. I returned with a group of fellow salmon fanatics—equally obsessed with photographing these them and capturing the complex ecosystems that support them. The goal was clear: to immerse ourselves in the world of salmon once again, and if we were lucky, to cross paths with a grizzly bear or two.

What follows is a selection of images from this most recent trip, along with insights into how they were made and a few thoughts on how best to photograph such a remarkable subject. I don’t claim to be an expert—but I’ve been fortunate to create some well-known salmon images over the years, and I’ve spent a significant amount of time in the water with these fish. Hopefully, something useful can be garnered from these thoughts.
 

Okay so I’m cheating right off the bat. This picture is actually from my first Alaska trip. While we did see chum salmon in 2025, we were a tad late to hit the peak run, their numbers had dropped a bit, and many that remained were not looking so hot (see below). Salmon live in a chaotic environment with fast flowing water, lots of bubbles and often lots of of detritus and debris. One of the best ways to not only disguise or eliminate the latter, while also conveying the chaoticness of a salmon run, is to slow your shutter
 

A female chum salmon who has nearly reached the end of her run—in both senses of the phrase. While she was still spirited, she looked exhausted and has nearly had all her skin rotted away, her fins tattered, and hopefully her job complete. Salmon are generally highly reflective, so I’d always recommend diffusers when photographing them. Even on soft, wide-beam flashes like the Retra Pro Max and Isotta RED64 I was using, I still used diffusers exclusively. Unless you have a very specific need or want for a large dome, small domes or optics will be your absolute best friends when photographing salmon. You are often in very shallow water, making it difficult to manuever even with a small rig
 

For those familiar with my photography, it is no secret that I love not only salmon, but also slow-shutter imagery, and when combined... chef’s kiss! No two slow-shutter pictures ever look the same, even ones shot back to back. The underwater world is also constantly in motion; there is no such thing as static. A slow shutter is a fantastic way to convey that. I also like incorporating the reflections off the surface if possible, as those reflections can add a lot more interest and dynamism to the picture
 

Fear not, it turns out salmon photography can be enjoyed by land-lubbers as well! Often, the creeks the salmon are running are so choked with fish and so shallow that the fish have to essentially crawl or flop their way up to the next deeper pool. This particular section of creek was barely deeper than 2–3 inches for long stretches and seemed a particularly brutal choice to try to run. But alas, salmon are tough creatures and instinct is impossible to overcome
 

Salmon runs often scream for split shots. With interesting subjects right at the surface, and often a quite beautiful topside environment, one would be remiss to not shoot a few of these pictures. Even then, I would suggest a small optic or dome port. I used the Nauticam WWL-1 exclusively on this trip, and while it isn’t the perfect split-shot tool, it got the job done
 

A gnarly male sockeye salmon that has reached a relatively advanced stage of zombie-fication. As they get closer to death, the salmon begin to rot while still alive. While it must be excruciatingly unpleasant for the fish, they are often much easier to photograph and you can create some very compelling and interesting portraits of these characterful fish. This is another example of why I would recommend a small optic like a mini-dome or the Nauticam WWL-1/WWL-C 99% of the time when photographing salmon: Tools like this make extreme close-focus wide angle pictures much, much simpler, especially in such shallow water
 

During sunrise, this grizzly went for a refreshing dip and had a very fishy breakfast. Trying to pay attention to photographing salmon underwater while there are grizzlies around isn’t the easiest—especially if you love bears like I do!
 

The above grizzly bear with a hard-won Chinook salmon! The bears are very particular about which fish they eat. With such a bounty to choose from, it is unsurprising they are choosy, but it was still amusing to watch. The bear would catch a fish, sniff it, maybe touch it with its tongue, and if it wasn’t to its liking, throw it away, likely dead or severely gored, and go find another