How to start wildlife photography

A friendly first-trip guide from your local UK footpath

Let’s be honest: that first outing with a “proper” camera can feel weird.

You’ve invested in gear, maybe watched a few videos, and now you’re standing in a muddy car park wondering what on earth you’re supposed to do next.

If that sounds familiar, you’re in the right place.

You don’t need a once-in-a-lifetime trip, or a beautiful setting. You just need a plan simple enough to remember when you’re half awake, wearing three layers, and listening to something rustling in the brambles.

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Before You Step Outside: Make Life Easy

Start by picking somewhere close and slightly unglamorous: the scruffy local pond, the slim strip of woodland behind the estate, a park you already walk through, or even your own garden or balcony.

The goal isn’t to impress anyone; it’s to choose a place you can visit again and again.

When you return often, things start to click.

You realise the same robin uses the same perch, that the light hits one corner of the pond beautifully at 8am and looks flat by 10, that the squirrels follow a similar route along the fence.

Do two minutes of homework before you go. Look up what usually lives there, when it’s most active, and whether anyone has seen anything interesting lately.

A quick glance at a sightings board, a reserve website, or a local nature group is enough.

Jot a couple of notes in your phone so your walk becomes “I’m going to see if the swans are nesting yet” rather than “I’m wandering around with expensive equipment.”

Be kind with the light you choose.

Early mornings and late afternoons are your friends: the light is softer, there are fewer people, and many animals are more relaxed.

Overcast days are secretly brilliant because the light is gentle and forgiving.

If the only time you can go is lunch break, that’s fine too; just expect tougher contrast and a bit more squinting.

When it comes to packing, think “corner shop run” rather than “expedition.”

Take your camera with one lens, a full battery, an empty card, and wear sensible clothes.

That’s it.

The lighter your bag, the less you’ll want to give up and trudge home early.

What kind of photographer you want to be?

Before talking about settings and composition, decide what kind of photographer you want to be.

Make a private promise that if an animal changes what it’s doing because of you, you’ll back off.

Commit to skipping flash on wildlife; if it’s that dark, you’re there to watch, not to force a shot.

Decide that you’ll leave the place at least as tidy as you found it, maybe even a little better, and that you’ll respect signs, closed paths, and the Countryside Code even when you’re tempted to “just nip under that rope.”

When animals settle, relax, and more or less forget you’re there, that’s your real win.

You’ve Arrived. Now What?

When you first arrive, resist the urge to start shooting immediately. Find a spot and deliberately do nothing for five minutes.

Stand or sit.

Listen to the calls, the splashes, the rustles in the undergrowth.

Notice what’s already moving without you trying to “make something happen.” The place feels different when you give it a moment to breathe.

As you start to move, think of yourself as part of the scene rather than barging through it. Walk slowly, avoid big arm gestures and loud conversations, and use trees, bushes, hides, or reeds to soften your outline.

If you’re hoping for mammals, walking into the wind helps keep your scent from announcing your arrival in advance.

Begin with the easy crowd: ducks looping around the pond, swans cruising about like they own the place, garden birds taking turns at a feeder, park squirrels being shamelessly nosy. These subjects give you time to frame, miss, and try again without feeling like you’ve blown your once-in-a-lifetime chance.

Try a small game with yourself: watch a behaviour the first time, notice the pattern the second time, and only lift the camera on the third.

It will feel slow and slightly silly at first. Then, gradually, you’ll find you’re anticipating the moment before it happens. That’s when things get fun.

Most importantly, quietly redefine “success” for this first outing.

Success is not a portfolio shot.

It might be finally getting a reasonably sharp duck, realising how much your hands shake when you’re excited, or spotting a tiny behaviour you’d normally walk straight past.

Those small wins are how every wildlife photographer starts.

Nobody talks much about the early, wobbly years, but they’re where the good stories live.

Settings That Don’t Melt Your Brain

Choose your camera settings then forget about them so you can concentrate on the animals or birds.

For focus, use continuous autofocus, and for drive mode, pick single or a modest burst. That way you get a few chances at each moment without filling your card with thousands of near-identical frames.

Change things only when something really changes: the light drops, the sun comes out in full force, or your subject is moving much faster than before.

Otherwise, leave the dials alone and keep your attention on what the animals are doing.

Wildlife moves. A lot.

The right focus and drive settings give you a little safety net so you're not relying on a single, perfectly timed shot.

For your first outings, you don't need high-speed bursts, you just need a small burst of chances. Three frames per second is plenty. It gives you options without overwhelming you with thousands of nearly-identical shots to sort through later.

Composition, One Idea at a Time

You don’t need to memorise every composition “rule.” For each walk, choose one idea to play with.

Maybe you push your subject a little off centre as if there were a grid on the screen.

Maybe you look for gentle lines in the scene that guide the eye towards the bird or fox.

Maybe you use leaves, grass, or branches at the edges of the frame to loosely “hug” the subject, or you step back a bit to let the surroundings tell part of the story.

Once you’re comfortable with the basics, feel free to do something “wrong” on purpose: centre the subject, tilt slightly, crop tighter than you normally would.

The point isn’t to impress anyone; it’s to change how you see.

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Your Best Classroom Might Be Home

You don’t have to travel anywhere impressive to become a better wildlife photographer.

A bird feeder outside the kitchen window, a dish of water on a balcony, or a hedge at the edge of a car park can teach you timing, focus, patience, and observation.

Many of my favourite photos were taken within walking distance of home. It takes the pressure off. It helps you build muscle memory, experiment freely, and start seeing the familiar with new eyes.

Make the Most of Local Parks and Reserves

Once you're comfortable at home, step slightly further afield.

Parks, ponds, and local reserves are full of "everyday wildlife" that's ideal for building your fieldcraft and composition skills.

Walk slowly. Stop often. Let the wildlife come to you.

Observe how light changes in different areas. One park, four visits, four completely different moods. Nature's never the same twice.

Even Zoos can help you learn

Zoos might not be wild, but they're brilliant for learning how animals move.

You can practise focus, anticipation, and composition without worrying that you'll never see that species again.

Track animals in motion, practise focus modes and timing. Use shallow depth of field or natural framing to avoid distracting fences. Observe body language and behaviour up close.

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After the Trip: Looking at Your Photos Without Crushing Yourself

When you get home, the temptation is to zoom straight to 100% and declare everything a disaster.

Instead, do a quick first pass and simply mark anything that makes you smile, even if it’s technically messy.

On a second pass, ask what almost worked: maybe the light is lovely but the focus is off, or the behaviour is interesting even though the subject is small in the frame.

Every few months, go back to your earliest shots and notice what has changed in how you see, not just how sharp things are.

If you feel even a bit proud that you went out at all, that counts. If you’re already thinking about where to go next time, that’s progress.

One day you’ll look back at that first out-of-focus robin and realise it wasn’t a failure; it was the moment you quietly shifted from “I’d love to try wildlife photography” to actually doing it.

If you’re here, planning that first outing, you’ve already crossed that line. You’re a wildlife photographer now. You’re just at the very beginning of the story.

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