My Story: The Kingfisher

The sea loch stretched out before me, its surface calm and glassy in the early morning light. A soft mist hovered over the water, blurring the line between sea and sky, while the distant hills loomed like silent sentinels. This was why I loved Scotland—the untamed beauty of it all, where the air felt heavy with history and the wild creatures seemed to belong to another world.

I sat quietly at the edge of the loch, my camera resting in my lap, waiting. Patience was key with wildlife photography, especially when tracking something as elusive and fast as a kingfisher. I had seen flashes of them here before, a streak of electric blue darting over the water, too quick to capture. But today, I had a feeling. The stillness, the light, the quiet—it all felt right.

The rear of the Kingfisher showing its colours
Taken: Nikon Z9 - 400mm f/2.8:TC

My eyes scanned the shoreline, where the seaweed clung to the rocks, swaying gently with the tide. A few gulls circled in the distance, their calls sharp and lonely. Then, from the corner of my vision, I caught a glimpse of movement. A flicker of blue, small but unmistakable, perched on a branch that jutted out over the water.

My breath caught. There it was—a kingfisher, sitting perfectly still, as if it had been waiting for me. I lifted my camera slowly, not wanting to startle it. Through the lens, I could see every detail: the brilliant blue feathers catching the light, the orange chest a vibrant contrast. It was smaller than I expected, delicate yet bold.

The kingfisher cocked its head, its sharp beak pointed downward, eyes focused on the water below. I held my breath, waiting for the perfect moment. And then, in an explosion of motion, it dove. I barely had time to react, my finger instinctively pressing the shutter as the bird pierced the surface of the loch, disappearing beneath the water for what felt like an eternity.

Kingfisher perched on a driftwood branch
Taken: Nikon Z9 - 400mm f2.8:TC

I sat frozen, camera still raised, watching the spot where it had gone under. Seconds passed, then a splash broke the surface. The kingfisher shot back up, a tiny fish clasped in its beak. It returned to its perch, shaking droplets from its wings, as though it had never left. I pressed the shutter again, capturing the moment of triumph.

For a few minutes, the kingfisher stayed there, basking in the quiet victory of its hunt. I took several more shots, feeling the excitement build with each click. It was rare to get so close, to witness something so intimate, and I knew these would be some of my best photos yet.

Kingfisher alert looking around the area
Taken: Nikon Z9 - 400mm f/2.8:TC

As the kingfisher finally took off, disappearing into the trees along the shoreline, I lowered my camera and smiled to myself. This was why I did it. The waiting, the quiet, the connection to the wild. Moments like these, where the beauty and fragility of nature unfolded before my lens, made every cold morning and long hike worth it.

I glanced out at the loch again, the mist beginning to lift as the day wore on, the memory of the kingfisher already imprinted in my mind. Scotland had given me another gift, and I couldn’t wait to see how it looked captured in the stillness of my camera.