From Trial to Frame

When I joined the Angama Photographic Studio a year ago, fresh from my conservation work at Ol Pejeta Conservancy, I stepped into a new chapter with excitement and determination. My journey was shaped by curiosity, flipping through photography books, devouring tutorials, experimenting late into the night, and eventually sharing my passion with others.

Now, I get to do that daily, teaching guests through cameras, showing them how a shift in angle or a subtle edit can transform a photograph. Each safari becomes a study in contrasts: patience and timing, light and shadow.

There's a brave tension in wildlife photography. Go too slow, and everything blurs. Go too fast, and you freeze the life out of the moment. That’s where slow shutter speed photography comes in.

The trick is deciding what part of the moment to show. For crisp action, I reach for fast shutters — 1/1000s or quicker. But for the crossing, splashes, and chaos, I slow things down between 1/30s and 1/80s, letting the herd and the river become brushstrokes.

For panning, I find a sweet spot between 1/30s and 1/125s, depending on the animal’s speed. I follow the movement, press the shutter, and keep moving through the frame. The goal is to glide with the animal, not wrestle with it. 

I shoot in manual, use continuous autofocus (AF-C), and track either eyes or a leading subject. When light allows, I drop the ISO to 100–400 to keep things clean, and position the aperture between f/4 and f/8 to balance light and depth.

The Great Migration became my training ground. River crossings are fast, messy, and unforgiving — you must lock in and react quickly, switching modes, adjusting shutters, and trusting instincts. It's a test of presence.

At first, I misfired. But each mistake taught me to stay calm, and let the camera do its job. Then one day, it all clicked. The water blurred like smeared light. Splashes became brushstokes. Stripes stretched like paint trails. The image I’d been chasing appeared on the back of my camera. 

Looking back at those frames, I felt proud — not just of the photographs but also of the process. Slow shutter photography changed how I see movement, risk, and patience. I carry the same lessons into life: try, fail, learn, repeat.

One year later, I walk into the studio with more knowledge, a steadier hand, and a deeper willingness to slow down, pan more, and embrace the blur as an expression rather than an error. I have learnt that creativity thrives when you let go of perfection. Even in the fastest, most unpredictable moments, beauty reveals itself when you dare to slow down.