NHM Wildlife Photographer of the Year - WPY61
There are moments in life that change you forever. Moments that you replay over and over in your mind, wondering if they really happened.
Winning the Natural History Museum's Wildlife Photographer of the Year—often described as the Oscars of wildlife photography—is one of those moments.
While many people see the photograph, the trophy and the headlines, very few get to experience what happens behind the scenes during what is almost a week-long celebration of wildlife photography. It is a week filled with anticipation, friendships, emotion, inspiration and, ultimately, complete disbelief.
Every Wildlife Photographer of the Year week begins with one of my favourite evenings: the photographers' gathering.
This was my fifth time attending the awards as a finalist, so I already knew many of the photographers from around the world. Walking into the room feels like a family reunion. There are photographers representing every continent, each carrying incredible stories from the wild—stories of months spent in freezing temperatures, weeks hidden in blinds, years pursuing a single image, and countless failures before success finally arrived.
The conversations always revolve around the things we all love: wildlife, conservation, cameras, lenses, fieldcraft and the adventures that photography continually provides.
It's an evening that reminds you that this competition isn't just about winning. It's about celebrating the very best wildlife photography on Earth and the extraordinary people dedicated to telling nature's stories.
Awards night is unlike anything else.
Held inside the magnificent Hintze Hall of London's Natural History Museum, the ceremony takes place beneath the enormous blue whale skeleton named Hope.
Only afterwards did I realise how fitting that name was.
Throughout the evening, I was doing exactly that—hoping.
Hoping that somehow, against all odds, my image might be enough.
But deep down, I had convinced myself that there was absolutely no chance I would win the overall title.
Part of my reasoning came from experience.
Having attended the awards several times before, I had noticed a pattern. The overall winner is usually invited to present a keynote talk at the annual WildPhotos symposium. As the week unfolded, no one had approached me about doing a presentation.
To me, that was confirmation enough.
Someone else had won.
I settled into my seat simply grateful to have won my category once again.
Or so I thought.
When my category was announced, I walked onto the stage feeling confident.
Then everything unravelled.
I'd spent considerable time preparing my acceptance speech. Like many people, I had rehearsed it until every sentence naturally flowed into the next.
Just before going on stage, however, I was asked by the organisers to shorten it considerably.
It sounded simple enough.
Take out a few sections.
Keep the important parts.
Unfortunately, that's not how rehearsed speeches work.
The carefully constructed flow disappeared, and suddenly I found myself trying to stitch together fragments that no longer connected.
Within seconds, I was stumbling over my words.
Sentences stopped making sense.
My thoughts became tangled.
Standing there in front of the biggest audience of my career, I felt as though I had completely blown my one opportunity to make a good impression.
As I walked off stage, I couldn't stop replaying every awkward moment in my mind.
I honestly believed I'd made a complete fool of myself.
Little did I know that the biggest moment of my life was still to come.
As the evening drew towards its climax, the atmosphere inside the hall became electric.
The announcement of the overall Wildlife Photographer of the Year is the moment everyone waits for.
The finalists appeared on the giant screens.
The room fell silent.
Then it happened.
My name was announced.
For a split second, I genuinely thought I'd misheard.
My heart seemed to stop before racing faster than I had ever felt it race before.
I sat frozen in disbelief.
It simply didn't feel real.
As I made my way towards the stage, I realised something rather fortunate.
Because I had been so convinced I wasn't going to win, I hadn't prepared an acceptance speech.
Perhaps that turned out to be the greatest blessing of the evening.
Instead of trying to remember rehearsed words, I simply spoke from the heart.
A sincere thank you.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Then something happened that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
The entire audience stood.
A standing ovation.
Looking out across that room, surrounded by so many photographers whom I admire immensely, while hearing that applause echo beneath Hope, is a memory that will remain etched in my heart forever.
After the ceremony, everyone moved into the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition.
For the first time, we could all experience the photographs together as beautifully produced museum prints.
Seeing those images hanging on the walls in all their glory was incredibly special.
Photographers congratulated one another.
Friends embraced.
Stories were exchanged.
Conversations flowed effortlessly late into the evening.
It was one of those rare nights when nobody wanted it to end.
By the time I finally returned to the hotel, it was nearly 3:00 a.m.
Then I made the mistake of switching my phone back on.
It was absolute chaos.
Tens of thousands of messages had poured in from every corner of the world.
Emails flooded my inbox.
Social media notifications seemed endless.
Friends, family, fellow photographers and complete strangers had all reached out with messages of congratulations.
It was overwhelming in the most wonderful way imaginable.
After replying to a handful of close friends and family, exhaustion finally won.
The alarm was only a few hours away.
We were due back at the museum by 8:00 the following morning.
Sleep had been in very short supply.
The next day was dedicated almost entirely to international media.
Interview after interview followed.
Television crews.
Radio stations.
Newspapers.
Podcasts.
At one point, there seemed to be a queue of journalists stretching the length of the museum corridor.
I spoke with broadcasters including Sky News, BBC News, CNN and many others from around the world.
The adrenaline carried me through the day.
Every interview was another opportunity to speak not only about the photograph, but also about wildlife, conservation and why these stories matter.
Even after leaving the museum, the interviews continued.
Radio stations from across the globe filled the remainder of the day, and by evening I had completely lost track of how many conversations I'd had.
It was exhausting.
It was exhilarating.
And I wouldn't have changed a single minute.
The following day brought the official opening of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition.
The evening welcomed distinguished guests, museum supporters, conservationists and invited dignitaries.
Before that, however, the day was surprisingly ordinary.
Returning rented tuxedos.
Buying a new drone.
More interviews.
More phone calls.
More media requests.
Then, as evening arrived, we returned to the museum once again.
Guests wandered through the exhibition, stopping to discuss the photographs, ask questions and share their own stories.
Meeting so many people who had been touched by my image was deeply humbling.
Their kindness, generosity and genuine excitement made the entire experience even more meaningful.
Looking back now, what stands out isn't simply the trophy.
It's the people.
The Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition has become so much more than an annual contest.
It is a global community united by a shared passion for wildlife, conservation and storytelling.
Throughout the entire week, every detail was executed with remarkable professionalism.
The museum staff and the Wildlife Photographer of the Year team created an experience that was both seamless and unforgettable.
They didn't simply organise an event.
They created memories that will stay with every finalist for the rest of our lives.
For that, I offer my deepest thanks.
To Kathy Moran, Chair of the Jury, thank you for your leadership, dedication and belief in the power of wildlife photography.
To Andy Parkinson, thank you for your kindness, encouragement and for being such a genuine gentleman throughout the week.
To Gemma, Laura, Matt, Rebecca, and every member of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year team, thank you for your tireless hard work, your warmth and your unwavering support—not only during the awards week itself, but throughout the entire competition journey.
You made every finalist feel valued.
That is a very special gift.
People often ask what it feels like to win Wildlife Photographer of the Year.
The truth is, it's difficult to describe.
The trophy will eventually find its place.
The headlines will fade.
Life will return to normal.
But the memories remain.
Standing beneath Hope.
Hearing my name announced.
Looking out across a room filled with people I admire.
Receiving a standing ovation.
And realising that a photograph born from patience, perseverance and a love for the natural world had connected with people across the globe.
Those are moments no one can ever take away.
For that, I will remain forever grateful.
