The rain in Northumberland that day wasn't gentle. It was a cold, relentless October soaking that found every gap in my "waterproof" gear.
I was six miles into a hike, halfway to nowhere, drenched to the bone - my camera tucked under my jacket, like contraband.
Most photographers would've stayed in the car. And that’s exactly why you should go out.
Because rain gives you three unfair advantages: soft, dramatic light, fewer people, and wildlife that behaves more naturally. This guide will show you how to stay safe, keep your gear working, and choose settings that make rain look like rain - plus a field checklist you can copy.
We’re taught to wait for the golden hour, but rain clouds are a gift: a giant softbox that evens out light, deepens colour and kills harsh shadows.
Out there, shivering, I watched a fox move through the drenched grass. The greens and browns weren't washed out; they were profound.
That’s the first win in the rain: the light is already doing you a favour.
Fox in the rain - Canon EOS 7D Mark II, 70-200mm, f/4 1/1250s, ISO 1600Before that hike, I'd worried endlessly about my gear. Is it weather-sealed? What if water gets in?
But as water seeped into my jacket, I had a revelation. The most important piece of gear to protect wasn't the camera. It was me. If your hands stop working, the shoot is over - even if your camera is "fine".
I was so cold I could barely feel my fingers on the shutter button. No photo is worth risking your well-being. Before you even think about camera covers, make sure you have the right gear to keep yourself safe and thinking clearly.
Your ability to think and function is what gets the shot.
The real test began as the gloom deepened and the rain intensified. It wasn't one single problem, but a cascade of them, each one a new invitation to just give up and go home.
The first thing to fail wasn’t my camera—it was comfort. A wet strap turned into a chafing rope.
Tiny annoyances end shoots early, so pack for morale: a spare strap or even a simple neck buff can buy you another hour outside.
As the light dropped, I stopped thinking in “nice photos” and started thinking in trade-offs.
In rain, you’re balancing three dials: aperture for light, ISO for survivable shutter speed, and shutter speed for the look of the rain.
A bedraggled sparrowAperture (Letting Light In):
First instinct? Open that aperture wide. I set my camera to Aperture Priority (Av) and spun the dial to f/4.
ISO (Making the Camera More Sensitive):
The gloom was winning, so I cranked my ISO up to 1600. Yes, purists obsess about grain, but a slightly grainy photo that captures a magical moment beats a clean photo of nothing. Every single time.
Shutter Speed (Capturing the Rain):
Then came the creative decision. Did I want to freeze those raindrops mid-flight at 1/500s? Or let them streak into silver ribbons at 1/30s?
For wildlife, I rarely go below 1/250s unless the subject is still - rain streaks look great, but blur kills keeper rate.
Reflections in rain drops on a cobweb - keep your eyes open for little scenes like thisJust as I was tracking a bird, a sudden gust of wind blew a sheet of rain sideways, straight into my lens hood. It flooded instantly.
Oblivious, I carried on shooting. When I finally chanced a look at my screen, I saw every shot was a mess - a ghostly, smeared haze.
My lens hood, which I thought was protecting me, had become a tiny bucket.
I frantically wiped the lens with my sleeve, making it worse. As I fumbled with my hazy viewfinder, I realized my camera was fighting its own battle.
When the autofocus started hunting through the haze, I stopped bargaining with the camera and switched to manual. It felt slower at first, but it was the only way to get a clean eye through the rain.

The best part of that whole, soaking experience? The silence.
There was no one else for miles. The wildlife hides were empty. The usual chatter of other photographers was gone, replaced by the sound of wind and rain.
When the footpaths empty, you’ll often see longer feeding, less alarm-calling, and fewer “freeze-and-stare” moments.
This is the ultimate reward for braving the weather. You get the whole wild world to yourself.

As the rain finally eased, a new world appeared. Every puddle became a perfect, temporary mirror, reflecting the dramatic, clearing sky.
I watched a blackbird bathing in one, its joy palpable. I got down low, almost lying on the wet ground, to capture the action from its perspective.
This is the final chapter of a rainy day shoot. The light after a storm is often the most beautiful. Look for these reflections. They turn a simple scene into a work of art.
Shoot low, expose for the highlights in the sky reflection, and let the subject sit slightly darker for drama.
A female Blackbird bathing in a puddle after the rainSo, the next time clouds gather and the forecast looks grim, I hope you don't see a cancelled day.
I hope you see an invitation.
Zip up your jacket, protect yourself first and your gear second, and step out the door.
Go find a story that only the rain can tell - and come back with frames the fair-weather crowd never even saw.
Copy/paste this before a rainy shoot. Priorities first: stay functional.
Tip: keep this checklist near the top of your bag. It prevents “I forgot gloves” disasters.
I’m a wildlife photographer who learns on everyday walks. This site is my field notebook: practical photo tips, gentle ID help, and walk ideas to help you see more—wherever you are.
I write for people who care about doing this ethically, who want to enjoy the outing (not stress about the gear), and who'd like to come home with photos that match the memory — or at least the quiet satisfaction of time well spent.
Seasonal field notes from my wildlife walks: recent encounters, the story behind favourite photos, and simple, practical tips you can use on your next outing.