I look to my left and I see Hiro focusing on the same flycatcher from his hideout about 40 feet away. I raise my camera and focus, making as little movement or sound as possible. Above me, a male vermilion flycatcher keeps landing on a small mesquite branch. La Isla covers close to 4.5 acres that were once filled with hundreds of orange trees, a lush desert orchard fed by water from the traditional irrigation practice of community-managed acequias.įast forward to November, my back against the charred palm.
Known as "La Isla" for its prominence, which although naturally occurring, was given a boost with the help of many men years ago who piled dirt on top of dirt and removed an untold thousands of rocks along the way to make the land more suitable for agriculture - all for the pay of less than 5 pesos a day. Sandwiched between two arroyos, our land is to some extent manmade. This is one of the few endemic bird species to Baja California and the only endemic that we regularly see on our land. But, birds? I've always appreciated them, but they never made me tick.Ī gray thrasher perches atop a cactus outside our house. I've happily spent six hours of my day staring at the light changing on a glacier without ever feeling an ounce of boredom or impatience. I have two degrees in conservation biology-adjacent fields.
I've been a photographer since I was 12 and have been deeply curious about the natural world and its creatures since about the time I could crawl. Garland-Lewis takes us through her journey of growing to love bird photography alongside her partner on their land, nicknamed "La Isla," in Baja California Sur, Mexico.Īs I sit with my back against a charred, fallen palm tree, I can't help but hear my mother's words in my head: "I hope you don't like birds now just because of a guy." My eyes alert as I scan for various woodpeckers and sparrows, camera in hand, and I wonder if there may be some truth in what she said. Photographer and explorer, Gemina Garland-Lewis has always been drawn to nature and wildlife. A male vermillion flycatcher perches atop an open branch on one of the many charred mesquites on our land, La Isla.
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