Echoes of the Pack — 2026

For nearly a decade, I have walked the edges of the Arctic with my camera, chasing the lives of polar bears across drifting ice and shifting seasons. In their presence, I found both fragility and power — a species at once magnificent and imperiled. Year after year, I returned to bear witness, to record what cannot be replaced. But alongside the bears, another truth emerged: the shadows cast not only by melting ice, but by rifles. These animals are still taken for sport, not sustenance, their deaths lingering as proof of how easily beauty is reduced to a trophy.

In recent years my lens turned also to the sled dogs of Baffin Island. They, too, are creatures of endurance, tethered to survival in the harshest climate. Yet what I discovered was not a single story, but a fractured one. Some of these dogs knew affection, their bonds with humans unbroken, their strength matched by trust. Others were left to chains, their bodies thin, their eyes dulled by hunger and neglect. When I was attacked, it was not malice that drove their teeth into me, but the absence of care. The scars they left behind are a part of me now — a reminder of what abandonment can carve into a life, whether animal or human.

Through these journeys, I have come to see the Arctic as a mirror: it shows us not only the endurance of its animals but the choices of the people who live alongside them — choices that reveal tenderness or cruelty, reverence or disregard. Standing in that space, I no longer photograph only to document what exists, but to hold a fragile hope that humanity might learn to look differently.

The polar bear taken for pleasure, the dog left to hunger, the ice thinning beneath them all — these are not distant stories. They are the echoes of how we choose to live, and what we choose to honor. I carry these echoes now, scarred but listening, still searching for a reason to believe in compassion amidst the cold.