I boarded the first ferry of the day to Campbell River, Vancouver Island. After 26 hours without sleep—spent editing and packing for a wedding shoot—I was running on fumes. The 4 a.m. departure left little room for clarity, but there’s something about the quiet of a ferry ride at dawn that always resets my focus.

My routine was familiar: park the car, walk the decks with my camera, maybe take a portrait or two, and scan the horizon for whales before docking. That morning began just the same. As the sun rose, I breathed in the cold, crisp air and circled the ship a few times, enjoying the solitude.

Eventually, I made my way toward the back of the ferry, where you could stand at the railing for an uninterrupted view of the ocean. It was there that I met Michael.

Walking between the parked cars, I heard a voice call out: “What camera are you shooting with?” I turned and saw a man seated in his car, parked right at the edge of the ferry. I told him about my camera, and that simple exchange opened the door to one of the most meaningful conversations I’ve had as a photographer.

Michael, as it turns out, is a fellow professional photographer originally from Canada but now based in Mexico City. Unlike the usual hobbyist chats I have with strangers curious about my work, this encounter felt different. We spent the next hour talking shop—photography, creative philosophies, and life—while keeping an eye out for whales.

Michael’s career and perspective resonated deeply. He shared insights about his journey into commercial work, and I opened up about my aspirations to expand into that space in the coming year. His encouragement and advice felt genuine, and our interaction left a lasting impression.

At one point, we spotted the faint blow of a whale in the distance. As luck would have it, my camera batteries had died, and my telephoto lens was sitting uselessly in the car. By the time I grabbed my gear, the moment had passed—but the shared excitement was worth it.

Before long, the ferry’s announcement called drivers back to their vehicles. We exchanged contact information, said our goodbyes, and I returned to my car, grinning like a fool. My second shooter, Jose, had just woken up and asked how my walk went. It was hard to put into words how profound that hour had been.

Meeting Michael was more than coincidence—it was the kind of serendipitous moment that reminds you why photography is more than a profession. It’s a way of connecting with people and the world around us in ways that are often unexpected.

Thank you for the memory, Michael. One day, I’ll take you up on that offer to visit in Mexico City.