The captivating art of Gyotaku fish prints begins with the art of fishing, an exquisite dance between patience and anticipation. Fishing involves waiting, and in this case, it meant waiting for the strong tidal currents of the Strait of Juan de Fuca to slow down.

While pretending to be a tourist in my local stomping grounds, I came across some beautiful Gyotaku prints of kelp at a local art store in Port Angeles, Washington. My uncle, visiting at the time, kindly bought some of this artwork and gifted it to me. Little did I know, I would soon become friends with the artist himself. Nam Siu, also known as @Spearotaku on Instagram, is a local spearo and biologist. Nam creates beautiful Gyotuaku prints from fish and other marine creatures and has a unique style and method.

The term gyotaku is derived from two Japanese words: gyo means fish, and taku means rubbing or impression. This art form has a history dating back several centuries before photography and was originally developed by Japanese fishermen as a practical way to record their catches.

I connected with Nam through another biologist friend of mine, Campbell Gunnell, who was already acquainted with him. Together, the blueprint was laid for an epic diving expedition. The plan was to spend the day free diving for lingcod and rockfish and document the entire Gyotaku printing process from the spear to print.

The tides favored the afternoon, so we met at the boat launch at 10:00 a.m. All being diving aficionados, friendly smiles and fishing stories were exchanged at the boat launch. After packing our gear, making a dive plan, and launching the boat, we set off. The Pacific Northwest offers an infinite number of dive sites, but we had a specific secret site in mind. According to legend, lingcods love shipwrecks, so that's where we were headed. Campbell graciously took us out on his boat, which was perfect for spearfishing being a small inflatable rib.

Before long, the landscape seamlessly transitioned from idyllic shores to the majestic waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, bathed in the resplendent hues of a summer sun. After a short 15-minute run, we reached our submerged sanctuary, yet the currents were unrelenting, fiercely guarding our treasure trove. At this spot, a shallow reef, a finger of land thrusting seaward, catalyzed turbulence of upwelling currents. Conditions seemed daunting and a contemplative huddle led to an alternative plan – to dive into a kelp-shrouded nook, both a location to warm the lungs and a staging area for taming the currents' ferocity.

Diving closer in kelp slows down the current, but it also decreases visibility. Diving is still possible, but it's not as favorable for photography. Campbell, Nam, and I all speared a few Black Rockfish, so we were already guaranteed prints and dinner. After about half an hour, we decided it was time to check our secret dive site. Unfortunately, our anchor was stuck. Campbell and I had found this anchor on another shipwreck near Seattle. It was a great find, but little did we know the anchor was down there for a reason – it was too effective. This Bruce-style anchor hooks onto things and doesn't let go. Fortunately, we are divers and could retrieve it manually.T the previous crew who owned it were not divers. Nam made a few dives and managed to unhook it.

As we motored to our next dive site, the strong surface current was still evident. Nonetheless, we decided to anchor and wait it out. Nam dipped his fins into the water, and they bent like a banana, indicating the strong current. While sharing stories, we waited for about an hour, and finally, the tide started to slack off, allowing us to get in for our dives. Nam did a few dives to locate the exact site, and we were about 50 feet away from our desired destination. We attempted to pull up the anchor and relocate, but the mighty Bruce was stuck again. Nam had to make five dives to free it. We moved 50 feet closer, anchored again, and decided we might need a floating line off the stern in case we drifted away, but we didn't have a buoy. I decided to empty out all my fresh water and use my water bottle as a buoy, which turned out to be a bad idea.

The site turned out to be incredible, with habitat and wreckage scattered everywhere. Visibility was around 25 feet, and the reduced current made conditions more manageable. As the current slowed down, the rockfish and lingcod emerged from their hiding spots to feed, revealing themselves to us. About halfway through our dive session, Nam spotted a bright orange boat in the distance – a Coast Guard vessel. Not that we were doing anything wrong, but we had lost our dive flag earlier that day, so technically, we were in the wrong. They inspected our boat but didn't mention anything about the missing dive flag, luckily for us.

Nam had the best luck that day, spearing a nice-sized lingcod and possibly a state-record black rockfish using a speargun. Campbell came in second with a few good rockfish, and I came in third – but that's only because I was the one taking photos! I did have a battle with a nice lingcod but lost it. I speared the lingcod, which then darted into the wreckage, tangling my line around rocks and steel rubble. I had to make a second dive to release the line from the gun and a third dive to retrieve the fish from within the rubble. The fish slipped off my spear on the way up, glanced at me, and winked. At that moment, both my legs began to cramp, and I could barely swim back to the boat. I was dehydrated from repurposing my water bottle as a buoy.

As the day grew late, we decided to head back to the ramp to have more time for Gyotaku fish prints. We stopped at the fillet station and cleaned the few fish we weren't going to print. Nam weighed his large rockfish, and it came in at 5.8 pounds. The current state record was 5.51 pounds.

After cleaning the boat, gear, and stinky wetsuits, we arrived at our campsite. Now it was time to start the Gyotaku prints. Nam's style is very unique – he uses a signature black cloth with white ink. This combination creates a beautiful, vivid, and three-dimensional print. We placed the lingcod and large black rockfish on a table and secured them in position with towels. Nam then carefully applied a thin layer of white ink to every inch of the fish using a roller, resulting in a smoother application that brought out more detail. Once the fish was entirely coated in white ink, he removed a small amount from the eye. Next, he placed the black fabric over the fish and pressed it gently with his hands, ensuring intimate contact. Finally, it was time for the reveal. Slowly pulling the fabric away, the print came to life. After repeating this process several times for each fish, Nam completed four prints. The finishing touches included hand-painting the eye and stamping his name and logo.

The prints looked incredible – they showcased the most detail Nam had ever achieved in a Gyotaku print. He generously gifted them to Campbell and me. The entire journey, from venturing out to dive in the cold waters of the Pacific Northwest, to spearing fish living on a shipwreck, to creating art, and finally enjoying a fresh fish dinner, was a day to remember.

The local news KOMO, published this video on all their platforms and its gone viral! Seen across the US from Seattle, to Arkansas and Miami. What a famous octopus.

I felt incredibly fortunate to capture such a momentous event on film, especially considering how rare it is to witness a giant Pacific octopus swimming freely in its natural habitat.

This was truly the most incredible wildlife experience I've ever had. The giant Pacific octopus, typically snug in its den, surprised me by not only venturing out but also walking around and even gliding through the water. It felt like stepping onto an alien planet, witnessing such rare behavior up close.

As the largest species of octopus, the giant Pacific octopus is not only an awe-inspiring sight but also one of the most intelligent marine creatures. With their remarkable ability to change color and texture, solve puzzles, and even use tools, they continue to fascinate and captivate marine enthusiasts around the world.

Embark on a picturesque journey westward from Seattle, and you'll discover the captivating charm of Neah Bay, nestled in the northwestern corner of the United States. This scenic drive is well worth undertaking, for it leads to a fishing haven unlike any other in the Lower 48. Moreover, if you have a penchant for diving, Neah Bay promises an awe-inspiring spectacle beneath its azure waters. While free diving presents a more convenient option, scuba diving is also available for those seeking an immersive experience. The primary objective of our expedition was to engage in free diving and spearfishing, and despite less-than-ideal tidal conditions, we successfully located vibrant schools of Black Rockfish. As expected in the Northwest, the weather showcased its typical mélange of rain, sunshine, and wind gusts. Should you ever find yourself with the opportunity to fish in Neah Bay, I implore you to seize it without hesitation!

Roy and Vivian. These two have been together since the early days of college. I was honored when they asked me to photograph their wedding and excited about the location they had chosen. All things aligned nicely and Loveland Pass/Lake Dillon provided the perfect backdrop for their special day. The fall weather created dramatic scenery with rich colors and tones. Enjoy!

Here is a highlight reel from a live aboard trip to Komodo National Park. All shot with a Garmin Ultra Virb and Nikon D600.

A grueling 11 hour climb up Navajo Peak was how I spent my Saturday. We woke up at 4:30am and arrived at the trailhead by 6:15am. The timer started and we set out at 6:30am. Round trip the climb was about 11 miles with 2900 ft of elevation gain. Luckily all the elevation gain is in the last 2 miles… The route follows the Isabelle Glacier trail until it ends, where you must route find up Airplane Gully to the ridge and finally up the last bit to the summit. Airplane Gully, aka, the “ankle breaker” has plane wreckage scattered throughout. In 1948 a C-47 plane leaving Denver lost control in high winds and crashed into a cliff near the summit of Navajo Peak. Seeing the wreckage up close was eye opening, thrilling, and sad. The three people in the plane were not found for months due to the harsh winter. The debris made for some interesting subjects to photograph in the high alpine. I would highly recommend this climb for anyone willing to endure it. Watch a short video of our summit below.