The Moments You Don't Go Looking For: Udaipur's Wildlife Photography Journey

I have learned this the hard way:

Some of the best moments show up when you are not looking for them.

And perhaps even more frustratingly, they tend to show up when you aren't carrying your camera. Which is probably why, whenever I go somewhere in nature these days, I almost always carry one.

For this particular visit to Gulab Bagh in Udaipur, I had my Sony Alpha A7 III with me, along with a few lenses that have become my usual companions.

For wildlife, birds, and even some street photography, I mostly use the Sigma 150–600mm f/5–6.3 telephoto.

I also carry the Sigma 56mm f/1.4, which is an APS-C lens and is great when I want something smaller and faster.

And for landscapes, my primary lens is the Sigma 24–70mm f/2.8 Art.

Yes, I clearly have a thing for Sigma glasses. They make great images, and, importantly, they are considerably kinder to the wallet than some of the alternatives. That's a combination I can get behind.

I Wasn't Looking for a Kingfisher

The important thing about this particular visit is that I wasn't going to Gulab Bagh with a mission to photograph a kingfisher. I wasn't thinking:

Today I will find a kingfisher.

I was simply there to enjoy the place. When you go somewhere specifically looking for one particular photograph, it is very easy to turn the entire experience into a success-or-failure exercise.

No kingfisher? Failed visit.

No dramatic photograph? Failed visit.

Bad light? Failed visit.

Nothing interesting happened? Time wasted.

I've done that before. And honestly, it is a terrible way to experience nature. This time, I was simply walking around with my camera. And then the moment happened.

And Then I Saw It

Somewhere during the visit, I spotted a kingfisher. There it was. A small flash of blue against the surroundings. And suddenly the telephoto lens that I had been casually carrying around had a very obvious job.

I was lucky enough to get some photographs. But what I remember more than the photograph itself is the feeling of stumbling across the moment. I hadn't planned it. I hadn't spent hours waiting beside a particular body of water. I hadn't traveled somewhere specifically because someone had told me that kingfishers could be found there.

I was simply there. And the bird was there too.

For a wildlife photographer, that's a pretty good deal.

The Visit Didn't End With the Kingfisher

This is something I've started appreciating more about photography. Sometimes we become so obsessed with getting the shot that we forget we are actually visiting a place. But Gulab Bagh had more to offer than one kingfisher. There were other birds. There were dogs resting and dreaming about becoming Udaipur's it-model.

There were little moments happening everywhere. And because I wasn't treating the entire visit as a kingfisher-hunting expedition, I could actually enjoy them.

And a few flowers and insects

The funny thing is that none of these photographs were necessarily the reason I came. They were simply things I noticed while I was there. And that's exactly what I like about carrying a camera. You never quite know what you are going to bring home.

Sometimes the Photograph Is Just a Bonus

I think this is something I've slowly had to learn. Photography can make you experience a place more deeply. But it can also ruin the experience if you let the photograph become the only reason you are there. You start walking past things because they aren't photographically interesting. You start checking whether the light is good instead of enjoying the light. You start thinking about shutter speed instead of actually looking at the bird. And eventually, you aren't really visiting the place anymore. You're just collecting photographs. I don't want that.

I want the photograph to be the bonus.

The experience comes first.

The Kingfisher in Black and White

Of course, once I had the photographs, I couldn't resist playing around with them.

Kingfishers are almost designed for color photography.

The blue. The orange. The contrast. Everything about them screams:

KEEP THE COLOR.

But I wanted to see what happened when I took all of that away.

Something changes. Without the blue and orange, I started noticing the shape of the bird more.

The posture. The texture. The light falling across its body. The relationship between the bird and the background.

A color photograph makes you notice the kingfisher. A black-and-white photograph makes you look at the photograph. At least, that's what happened for me. And I ended up liking both versions for completely different reasons.

And Then There Were the Dogs

One of my favorite things about photographing places like Gulab Bagh is that wildlife doesn't necessarily mean exotic wildlife. Sometimes it is a bird. Sometimes it is a squirrel.

And sometimes it is a dog who has absolutely no interest in participating in your photography project.

I actually enjoy these photographs because they make the visit feel more complete. If I only showed the kingfisher, you might think I went to Gulab Bagh specifically to photograph a bird. I didn't. I went to Gulab Bagh. I walked around. I looked at things. I enjoyed being there.

And somewhere along the way, a kingfisher happened to become part of the story. So did the dogs. So did the other birds. So did everything else that caught my attention.

The Best Part Wasn't the Photograph

The kingfisher photograph is probably the most obvious thing to talk about from the visit. But it wasn't necessarily the most important part. The best part was that the visit didn't need to produce anything. I didn't have to come back with a rare bird. I didn't have to get a once-in-a-lifetime photograph. I didn't have to tick something off a list. I was already enjoying the morning. The photograph simply gave me something to remember it by.

And maybe that's the healthier relationship to photography I've been trying to develop. Go somewhere. Enjoy it. Take the camera.

If something interesting happens, photograph it. If nothing happens, you still had a good day.

And occasionally, when you're lucky, something completely unexpected walks, flies, or runs into your frame. Like a kingfisher.

Why I Still Carry That Giant Telephoto Around

There is a practical reason I almost always carry the camera when I visit places like this. I have learned that you cannot photograph the moment you weren't prepared for. The kingfisher doesn't care whether I remembered my camera. The bird doesn't care whether I brought the right lens. It certainly isn't going to wait while I drive home to pick up the 150–600mm. So I carry it. Maybe I use it. Maybe I don't.

And honestly, that's fine. Because the camera isn't supposed to dictate the experience. It is there in case the experience gives me something worth photographing.

A Morning I Didn't Plan

Looking back at the photographs from Gulab Bagh, what I like most is that they don't tell the story of a successful kingfisher hunt. They tell the story of a morning. There is a kingfisher. There are other birds. There are dogs, squirrels, insects, flowers, etc.

There are random little moments that I probably wouldn't have remembered otherwise.

And somewhere in between all of them is me, walking around Udaipur with a camera that is probably much heavier than it needs to be.

And that's probably what I want from photography. Not to control what I see. Not to force a photograph to happen. Just to be there when something does. Because I've learned this the hard way:

The best moments often show up when you're not looking for them.

You just have to be there. And, preferably, have your camera with you.