Bigwildfoto

Bigwildfoto New Brunswick, Canada
// Photographer & Field Producer
// Bow Hunter & Outdoor Guide
// Backwoods Bearcraft Artisan

06/02/2026

Most folks will never understand what goes into this life.

They see one photo, One bear, One grip-and-grin moment online… and think, that’s the story.

What they don’t see is the hundreds of trips before that moment ever happens.

The bait runs after work, The barrels dragged through cutovers, bogs, deadfall, and thick Nova Scotia spruce. Boots soaked through, Back screaming, Blackflies in your ears, Sweat pouring off you while you haul another load deeper into the bush because the bears changed patterns again.

They don’t see the routine either.

Checking cameras constantly, Pulling cards, Swapping batteries, Watching daylight disappear while you’re still hiking out through the woods carrying empty pails and broken gear.

One week the bears vanish, Next week they clean you out overnight.
Then you do it all again.
Fuel, Time, Money, Effort.
Nonstop effort.

Not because it’s easy but because it means something and when the right bear finally comes in, people still act like you just wandered into the woods and got lucky.

What they don’t understand is we pass more bears than we harvest.

Mothers, Young bears, Small boars.

We wait for the mature animal, One clean shot, One honest harvest, That’s archery bear hunting.

This isn’t mindless killing, This is putting the best meat possible on the table through hard work and respect for the animal that gave it.

Out here you earn every opportunity and somewhere between the long walks, the silence, the bait runs, and the dark hikes back to the quad… you realize this life keeps a man grounded in a world that forgot where food comes from.

People can judge it all they want.

Opinions don’t carry very far through the Nova Scotia woods anyway.

Lately it’s been pretty hard to beat days like this, Besides the rain and cold air ofcourse.Hop on the old Yamaha Grizzl...
06/02/2026

Lately it’s been pretty hard to beat days like this,
Besides the rain and cold air ofcourse.

Hop on the old Yamaha Grizzly 700 EPS, dogs losing their minds before we even leave the driveway, bow in the back, coffee half spilled already, and just disappear for a while.

No plan half the time either, Just riding roads that probably haven’t changed in twenty years and checking spots that always somehow pull me back in.

Bodhi and Juno are usually right there stuck to me like glue.

I swear those two think they’re part bear dog, part house pet, part unpaid trail crew, but it doesn’t matter if I’m baiting, scouting, dragging camera gear around or sitting in the woods doing absolutely nothing for hours, they’re there for all of it.

Wouldn’t feel right without them anymore honestly.

The new Mathews bow has been an absolute cheat code too. Thing shoots so smooth it almost feels disrespectful. Makes me look way better than I probably am.

And the Vortex Optics gear has pretty much become part of the routine now too. Covered in dust half the time, bounced around on the bike, soaked the other half yet still doing its thing. Same as always.

There’s just something about this life that makes sense to me.

The mess of it. The quiet. The long rides. The smell of wet pine and gas. Dogs wandering around your feet while the woods wake up.

Might not look like much to some people, but to me this is the good stuff.


05/21/2026

Everybody kinda hummed and hawed when I said I had a 8+ footer hitting the bait. Lots of “oh yeah, we’ve seen bigger” comments from the peanut gallery.

So I went in today, rejigged the whole setup, and did some proper size comparisons around the site just for fun. Safe to say, some of you boys are absolutely full of s**t and have no clue how massive a real bear actually is when you’re standing where he stood.

Internet giants are easy to talk about, different story when the ground looks like a crime scene and the barrels suddenly feel small.


"Whatever blows your hair back, kid."
05/11/2026

"Whatever blows your hair back, kid."


05/11/2026

Most people who know me know I bow hunt.

They know I spend countless hours in the woods, sitting silent beneath dark skies, waiting for movement in the timber. But what many don’t understand is the love and respect I carry for the animals themselves, especially the coyote and the black bear.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about them.

The yote, slipping through the night like a ghost with eyes full of intelligence and survival while the bear, powerful and ancient, carrying a presence so heavy it silences the entire forest around it.

To stand in their world, even for a moment, feels sacred.

I don’t just admire these creatures, I connect with them. In a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve truly sat alone in the wilderness and listened to the woods breathe around you. Watching them, learning them, simply existing in their presence gives me a feeling I struggle to put into words. Peace. Clarity. Purpose. Life.

As someone carrying PTSD from my years in the military, the outdoors became more than a hobby. It became my refuge. The wilderness is the ONE place where my mind finally quiets down. The ONE place where I feel grounded, connected, and truly alive again.

People can judge it if they want.

They can misunderstand it, criticize it, or twist it into something it’s not.

That’s their business.

But the negativity means nothing to me anymore. Keep it in your own echo chamber.

Because out there, beneath the stars, with coyotes singing through the darkness and bears moving through the brush, I found a piece of myself that the world almost took away.



Got the dogs back out on the range at the new property, and it’s been equal parts progress and pure circus.The young guy...
04/18/2026

Got the dogs back out on the range at the new property, and it’s been equal parts progress and pure circus.

The young guy’s still figuring out that this isn’t recess, it’s work.

Right now he’s bouncing between “no idea what’s happening” and “almost getting it right,” which is a polite way of saying he keeps testing my patience.
But that’s part of it. You don’t build a solid dog overnight.

Every session’s about tightening things up, where he sits, when he moves, when he freezes and actually pays attention.
Most important lesson? When the range is hot, you don’t f**k around. Period.

That’s where the shift happens, from clueless pup to something dependable.

Reps, consistency, and a bit of tough love go a long way.
Bit by bit, he’s starting to click.
Less chaos, more control.
You can see the gears turning now instead of just smoke coming out of his ears.

That’s how you turn a young dog into a well-oiled machine, one correction, one clean rep at a time.
That’s the goal, because when the moment matters, I don’t need “almost.” I need him exactly where he’s supposed to be, doing exactly what he’s supposed to do.


04/07/2026

Today finally felt like spring showed up and decided to stay for a bit.
Sun out, ground drying, you’re outside actually moving around like a normal human again instead of freezing your giblets off.

And then tonight?

Snow.

Just enough to p**s you off and remind you where you live...
But honestly, it doesn’t hit the same now.
Because bear season’s close approaching.

That itch is kicking in and it's that kind where sitting still feels like a waste of time.
You’re already thinking about gear, setups, spots… even when you’re doing other stuff, it’s in the back of your head.

You’ve been busy, sure.
But now it’s turning into focus.
You’re getting ready.
Dialing things in.
Less talk, more doing.
Let it snow tonight.
It’ll melt, It always does.



Gotta love Nova Scotia this time of year…False spring number… what are we at now, 6?This s**t is for the birds man.
03/25/2026

Gotta love Nova Scotia this time of year…
False spring number… what are we at now, 6?
This s**t is for the birds man.

02/27/2026

Cold bow again today.

Been making a habit of stepping out and taking that first shot somewhere between 30 and 55 yards.
No warm-up, just an honest arrow and two behind it to see where things really sit.
Most days it’s been living around that 40–50 yard mark.

Today on “Ole Bucky,” the first arrow drifted just a touch left. Nothing wild, just enough to remind me that the first draw of the day always tells the truth. The next two settled right in, about an inch apart.

There’s something about that quiet moment before the first shot. Cold air, steady breath, and a single arrow deciding whether the work you’ve been putting in actually shows up.



I come to the season as those before me did.Quiet, deliberate, half-ghost in the timber.I climb many trees & in many tre...
11/13/2025

I come to the season as those before me did.
Quiet, deliberate, half-ghost in the timber.
I climb many trees & in many trees I wait.
From those perches, I become something other than a man.
I watch as the bird watches, patient and unblinking.
I sit as the owl sits....motionless, educated & stitched into the foliage itself.

Time drifts.
Light changes.
The forest trades secrets with the wind.
While I wait.

In my waiting, my reflecting, my mind sharpens. I picture my shot long before it exists, draw my breath, steady my pulse, rehearse every quiet piece between thought and release. Sometimes, the moment comes like a whisper meant only for me. Sometimes, it never arrives at all. Yet the anticipation never dulls.
It coils, hums, & it tests my resolve.

But when the moment does come, and the arrow finally sings its song.
That is the oldest language we know.

So ask yourself:
Are you someone who can sit in the trees, long in the hush and the despair. To endure waiting for your single chance like a true predator of the wild?
Is your arrow straight, your intent honest, your aim without sin or judgment?
Can you take a life with reverence, knowing it feeds you, sustains you, connects you to something far older than convenience?

Ask yourself all of this the next time you grab a hamburger from McDonald’s or a handful of wings from wherever you get them...because someone, somewhere, made the choice you never had to.



















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Fredericton, NB

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