Too Close for Comfort

On that misty monday, Rachal cranked the motor and whirred out from the mouth of the Alafia River into Hillsborough Bay, then rounded the corner at Sunken Island, a dredge spoil with a small beach and a raised sandbar where shorebirds scurry and egrets prowl for fish. He and Paul were expecting some visitors, and found them. “There they are,” said Rachal, nodding toward the island as he steered.

A pontoon boat ferrying passengers adorned in floppy hats and quick-dry pants was parked just off the beach. Each person was wading in the water, wrangling a big camera lens on a leggy tripod; most were positioned between the boat and the edge of the island, where spoonbills were “sky-gazing”: bobbing their heads up and down to attract a mate.

This is spoonbill heaven. Designated as an official Global Important Bird Area, Hillsborough Bay hosts more than 300 spoonbills courting, feeding, roosting, and raising their chicks. Which is why it’s also a haven for people hoping to take their picture—and willing to pay hundreds of dollars a day to do so with the pros. As one photographer who runs regular workshops on the Alafia Bank writes on his website: “Roseate Spoonbill is one of the most sought after avian photographic subjects in Florida.

They are generally hard to find and somewhat difficult to approach. They are relatively easy to find at Alafia Banks—heck, you can’t miss seeing them. The huge incentive to get out to Alafia Banks is the chance to photograph this species at the height of its spectacular breeding plumage.”

“That’s the problem,” Paul said. “The animals are being disturbed when they’re courting. Then the tour groups come back later in the season when the young spoonbills are on the beach during what you would consider the teenage period. They’ve left the nest, but they’re not independent yet. The parents still have to feed them, so that’s also a sensitive time.”

Photographers who attend the tours often return again on their own and repeat the behaviors they’ve learned, Paul said. “They mostly stay off the islands, which is a blessing—the effect of that could be catastrophic.” When the parents get flushed from the nests, it exposes the chicks to predators—Fish Crows, Great Blue Herons, Black-crowned Night-Herons.

If chicks fall to the ground, the vultures get them. Once the young birds are flying, they run into other hazards—eagles, power lines, raccoons, cats. “The list of what can kill these birds is very long,” Paul said. “But if they can get past that first year, they can live at least up to 15 years.”

Paul and Rachal cruised by the photographers, noting their distance from the shoreline—probably about 50 feet, they estimated, closer than they would like to see but “not egregious.” The biologists prefer that people stay back 100 feet, at a minimum. “And that may not be far enough,” Paul said. “If the birds respond to people’s behavior, then it’s too close.”

Paul and Rachal are not the police. Unlike the wardens in the early days, they have no authority to arrest anyone. They can only call the Hillsborough County sheriff and report trespassers on the islands—owned by Mosaic and the Port of Tampa and managed by Audubon—and warn recreationists if they’re in danger of bothering the birds, all of which are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. “We appeal to the better nature of people,” Paul said. “We know people are here because they love it. We ask them to protect the resource and the ecosystem so it will be here in the future when they come back.”

Their task is made more challenging by the fact that it’s tough to prove that such human intrusions kill birds. “Fish and Wildlife officers want us to produce a scientific study that shows the negative impact recreational boaters and photographers have on these different species,” Rachal said. “It’s just not in the literature—it’s a lot of anecdotal evidence from managers and biologists that see it every day, see the changes over years. But there’s no studies isolating those effects on birds.”

One body of anecdotal evidence concerns the Reddish Egrets on Alafia Bank. “They like to nest specifically where the photographers like to camp out every year,” Rachal said. “We think that constant pressure is causing a reduction in their numbers.” A few years ago there were 40 pairs—one of the highest concentrations in the state. “Now we’re at 15 to 20 pairs,” Paul said. “While it’s difficult to relate this decline to a single cause, we do know for certain that there was significant disturbance at Alafia Bank by nature photographers taking pictures of courting Reddish Egrets and Roseate Spoonbills.”

On their first pass by the photographers, the biologists decided to leave them alone. But later in the day, on their second pass, it was a different story. They estimated that one member of the group was within 10 feet of the mangroves, and others were creeping to well within 20; the spoonbills that remained had shifted toward the opposite end of the beach. “They’re too close. We’ll have to go talk with them,” Paul said. “We hate talking to them. It’s never pleasant.” 

Rachal, a 36-year-old biologist born and raised in Chicago, pulled the boat up near the photographers’ pontoon, and Paul took her position near the bow. “Hi,” she said to the photographers, who mostly kept their backs turned. “We ask that you stay back from the beach. Earlier we didn’t say anything because you were at a safe distance, but now you’re too close. We ask that you stay back so your presence doesn’t disturb the birds. We saw some spoonbills fly . . .”

One photographer cut her off: “Do you ever think they might fly off because that’s just what they do?”

“Yeah, that’s possible,” Paul said, raising her voice a notch. “But these courting birds are sensitive to disturbance, and that’s why we ask you to keep your distance. You’re not breaking the law—we all know that. But we ask that you keep your distance because these birds are nesting. They need to be here.” 

The tour leader thanked Paul, and called his clients back to the boat. Shouldering their tripods, they returned single file.

“This is why we want a buffer,” Paul said after leaving the group. Audubon Florida is working with the state Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission to get a Critical Wildlife Area designation for Alafia Bank. That would mean the sheriff could arrest anyone who came within a stipulated distance of the bird sanctuary.

Paul is lobbying for that 100-foot line and working with the landowners to advance an application to the Fish and Wildlife Commission. Within that process there will be a public comment period. “We expect some opposition from the photographers,” Paul said. “But with the equipment they have, why do they have to get so close?”

The ethics of nature photography is an extremely touchy subject, with passions running high on all sides of the debate. Some photographers challenge the recommendations made by biologists and land managers, saying they’re too strict and seriously biased against anyone carrying a tripod. According to Arthur Morris, who has been making award-winning pictures at wildlife refuges and sanctuaries for more than 30 years, “If you have a big lens, you’re a criminal—period.”

Morris is a 68-year-old retired schoolteacher who wears his gray hair in a ponytail and signs his emails with “love” and smiley faces. He isn’t shy about sharing his opinions and tales about run-ins with refuge staff and even the police. And he’s adamant that he and most other photographers are ethically in the clear. “Hey, listen, do I ever scare a bird by getting too close? Yeah, once in a while,” Morris said. “So does everybody who walks to the beach and goes outdoors and opens the door of their house or their cabin. I try to do my best and not do anything that will have a negative impact on the birds, especially nesting birds.”

Like many full-time photographers, Morris guides tours because he says it has become very difficult to get by simply selling photos. He leads roughly a dozen photo safaris a year, with price tags varying from $400 per person for a one-day workshop to about $3,500 for a four-day tour, not including lodging. International trips are significantly more expensive. Most of his customers are intermediate to advanced photographers, often toting up to $20,000 worth of gear, he said.

Each year Morris takes clients to the Alafia Bank, largely because it’s such a great place to see spoonbills. “They can on some days be somewhat difficult to approach,” he wrote on his website, promoting a recent tour. “On some days we may be able to get ridiculously close to them.”

Not surprisingly, Morris and the Audubon Florida biologists are at odds about what constitutes “ridiculously” close. “We only photograph from the water,” Morris said. “We’re not allowed on the island—never been on the island. But it’s sort of difficult in the struggle to get good pictures and stay on the right side of the law, and stay on the side of what’s morally right.” He gets annoyed about being constantly reminded to keep his distance.

“You get your chops broken nine times out of ten. Even if you’re 50 yards off, they tell us we’re 50 feet away—‘You’re not breaking the law, but that’s what we prefer.’ We prefer you don’t bother us all the time.”

His feeling is that research biologists do way more harm to the birds than wildlife photographers do. “To survey the nest, they send a party of three to four people. They walk on the island, use mirrors to check the nests, band the chicks, and use ladders. We’re 50 feet away—and you guys are walking on the island.”

Ann Paul countered: “We had a spoonbill banding project [from 2003 to 2005] trying to gather some information about the biology of the birds. We found out that after nesting, these birds travel widely, to Georgia, North Carolina, and beyond.” Another finding: The birds start to nest at age four. “Previously, it wasn’t known when they reached sexual maturity. We’ve learned all this scientific data because of the banding project.

Did we disturb the birds? You bet. But the work was carefully planned to balance the need for additional information with the short-term impacts of being in the colony for a few days each spring.”

Morris doesn’t waver. “I understand that there has been some good done by researchers,” he said. “But I stand by the fact that there is more disturbance done by the researchers in a single day than by all the bird photographers in a single year.”

After being interviewed for this article, Morris expressed interest in working with the Audubon Florida biologists to help protect the birds, and he offered to provide them with free pictures for educational purposes. In response, the biologists emphasized that they collaborate with photographers who are sensitive to wildlife and habitat, and that they’re making an effort not to use photographs that were made while disrupting the birds.

When Paul was asked if she would work with Morris going forward, she said that he’d been argumentative about following guidelines in the past, and she expressed concern about whether he would listen now: “How many times does someone have to misbehave before you don’t give them another chance?”

Nature publications, including Audubon, wrestle with how to tell whether a photograph was taken ethically. “When something’s too perfect, that’s when I have to question it,” Audubon creative director Kevin Fisher said, offering an owl-in-flight example from this year’s Audubon photo contest. “Something seemed off. But a lot of times we just don’t know. We have to trust our contributors. And we are going to make mistakes.”

Unfortunately, there’s no eco-seal like “USDA Organic” or “GMO-free” for pictures, photography director Sabine Meyer said. “It would make my job a lot easier!” She tries to work with responsible photographers and stock agencies, and relies on bird experts, mainly Audubon’s field editor, Kenn Kaufman, to vet photos. “He’ll say if he sees something suspicious, like when a bird looks stressed.” Meyer also acknowledged that magazines play a significant role in what tempts people to push the limits. “We are the ones who have such high standards and demand more and more unique photography.”

Bill Thompson III, the editor and co-publisher of Bird Watcher’s Digest, won’t publish anything that seems questionable. “No shot is worth damaging a bird,” he said. But he’s also sympathetic: “A lot of people just don’t know they’re doing something wrong. Because anybody can plunk down $8,000 and get a top-of-the-line camera and a good enough lens and start out the door. There is a huge thrill when you get a really nice shot. It’s addictive, that’s for sure.”

And there’s no shortage of addicts. Last year when a pair of Great Horned Owls nested near a popular picnic area at Florida’s Fort De Soto Park, another wildlife photography hotspot, the Twittersphere exploded. “As soon as that first tripod hit, the news went out on Brdbrain [a popular listserv],” park supervisor Jim Wilson said. “We had 40 to 50 photographers standing 10 deep behind a barricade at the nest. It was absolutely nuts. People were coming in by the busload.”

Wilson has mixed feelings about listservs and social media. On one hand, they’re a miraculous tool for getting the word out about conservation efforts and campaigns, and for birders and photographers to find out when a rare species is spotted. Unfortunately, he said, that can also cause a stampede. But Wilson’s major gripe is when birders and photographers employ birdcalls—another controversial practice—to, say, catch an owl’s attention for a “cameo shot” or to flush some warblers into a place where they’re more visible.

Like many other biologists, he worries that the use of calls dupes birds into expending valuable energy while needlessly defending their territories. “To me it’s just unnecessary. If you don’t have enough time to do it right, then maybe you should find another hobby,” he said. “Birds are pretty predictable. If you get quiet and wait, they’ll generally come to you.” He emphasized that the majority of people follow the rules. “Ninety-nine percent of photographers are well behaved; we just don’t want that one percent to ruin it for the rest of them.”

Sadly, that does happen. Last year in Minnesota, a huge influx of Snowy Owls, Northern Hawk Owls, and Great Gray Owls descended from Canada and the Arctic, and a few photographers started using bait to draw the birds in. The shooters worked in pairs, with one person using a fishing rod to cast a lab mouse or a faux rodent made of felt over the snow near an owl, and the other getting in position to take the photo.

“These people were going out and spending the entire day with an owl, continually trying to get flight shots, for hours and hours on end,” said Carrol Henderson, a biologist who has been with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources for 42 years. “In many cases, the owl wasn’t even allowed to capture or eat the prey.” What’s more, this was all happening next to roadways, putting the birds at risk of being hit by cars.