Chasing Light, Losing Sight: a photographer’s thoughts on ethics in the field

I recently returned from an eleven-day photography trip that took me from Vancouver Island through Banff, up the Icefields Parkway to Jasper, and back to the Island, camping along the way. It was an incredible journey, full of opportunities to photograph stunning landscapes in both National and Provincial parks. But alongside the beauty, I witnessed some disappointing — and sometimes frustrating — behaviour from fellow photographers.

One of the first incidents that caught my attention happened on a particularly windy afternoon. A photographer casually set down an empty paper coffee cup with a plastic lid, which promptly blew away into a nearby lake. There was no attempt to retrieve it. While I doubt it was intentional, it was certainly preventable with a bit more awareness. Though I didn’t witness other photographers littering directly, I did see drink cans, food wrappers, and other garbage scattered in remote areas — some of it almost certainly left by those of us out photographing the same places we claim to admire.

Later, I came across a group of about eight people — some with cameras, others with phones — who had gone over a low fence and under a viewing platform to pose for selfies and group shots. The area was clearly not meant to be accessed: a sloped, rocky outcrop near a cliff’s edge, both dangerous and environmentally sensitive. One misstep could have ended in tragedy. Worse still, this kind of behaviour, when done openly, signals to others that such disregard for rules and safety is acceptable.

Drone use presented further ethical concerns. I brought mine along — a useful tool for capturing unique perspectives — but only flew it in areas where it was legally allowed. In Canada, drones are prohibited in all National Parks and most Provincial and Territorial parks without special permission. I respected that, keeping my drone packed away whenever I entered a park.

Not everyone showed the same restraint. While on a small island in Jasper National Park, I saw (and heard) a drone flying low overhead. The operator was nowhere in sight, and the buzzing was clearly disturbing to others enjoying the peace of the lake.

At another location — a BC Provincial Park — I hiked to a waterfall. At the trailhead, a prominent sign clearly stated that drones were not permitted. Yet just after I arrived at the viewing platform, crowded with a dozen or so visitors, someone decided to launch a drone right from the middle of the group. I approached the pilot and politely pointed that drones were not to be flown in the park and he said he was unaware of that. I politely pointed out that not only was there a sign stating that , it was also a regulation in all BC Provincial parks. He acknowledged it, brought the drone down, and left without further issue. A few people nearby nodded in appreciation. In such a packed area, the drone wasn’t just disruptive, it posed a real safety risk if anything had gone wrong.

These incidents — careless littering, unsafe behaviour, disregard for regulations — are not isolated. They reflect what seems to be a growing pattern of photographers, perhaps caught up in chasing the perfect shot, ignoring the impact they leave behind. Not only does this harm the environment and endanger people, it also damages the reputation of photographers as a whole. They also invite more restrictions, more closures, and fewer opportunities for all of us.

As photographers, especially in natural spaces, we have a responsibility to do better. That means following the rules, respecting the land, and setting an example for others. The wilderness offers us so much — let’s make sure we give something back by treating it with the care it deserves.

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“For me, the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture.” - Diane Arbus