Wildlife Gallery
Photographed at The Lee G. Simmons Conservation Park and Wildlife Safari, Nebraska. Sandhill Cranes are icons of North America's great migrations, yet many people will never get the chance to stand just feet away from one—witnessing the sheer presence of such a powerful, perfectly engineered bird. Places like the Lee G. Simmons Safari give us that rare chance to get close—not for entertainment’s sake, but to spark awe, understanding, and responsibility.
Photographed at the Platte River Valley, Nebraska. Each spring, nearly a million Sandhill Cranes descend upon the Platte River Valley in one of the last great migrations on Earth. For a few brief weeks, the skies fill with their calls and their silhouettes streak across the dawn—reminders of endurance, instinct, and the wild rhythms that still persist. Photographing this moment—cranes gliding past a rising full moon—was a chance alignment, but the migration itself is no accident. It depends on a fragile chain of stopover habitats, healthy wetlands, and people who care enough to protect them. Witnessing this migration is a gift. Keeping it alive is a responsibility.
Photographed at Lee G. Simmons Conservation and Wildlife Safari, Nebraska With wings like sails and a stride that borders on prehistoric, the American White Pelican is built for both grace and grit. Though we often picture them on coastal shores, these giants migrate across the heartland, relying on inland wetlands that are shrinking each year. At places like the Lee G. Simmons Safari, visitors have the rare chance to encounter birds like this up close—far from the ocean, but still deeply connected to the health of wild waters everywhere. This image isn’t just about one bird—it’s a reminder of how interconnected our landscapes really are.
Photographed near the Badlands, South Dakota Alone on the ridge, this bison carries the weight of a legacy nearly lost. Once numbering in the tens of millions, they were hunted to the brink of extinction in less than a century. What remains today is both a triumph of recovery and a reminder of fragility. This quiet scene—open grasslands, endless sky, a lone silhouette—feels timeless. But its survival depends on our choices. Restored prairies, responsible land use, and respect for native wildlife are what keep this vision from fading into history. Some icons of the American West still walk the land. Let’s keep it that way.
Photographed at Fontenelle Forest, along the Missouri River, Nebraska Not yet wearing the white head of adulthood, this juvenile Bald Eagle cuts a bold path through the overcast sky. Along the Missouri River, these powerful raptors find a vital corridor of trees, water, and quiet needed to grow, hunt, and thrive. Fontenelle Forest is more than a sanctuary for wildlife—it’s a buffer against the pressures that crowd the edges of wildness. Every preserved stretch of riverbank, every intact stand of trees, helps sustain the return of species that once nearly vanished. The comeback of the Bald Eagle is a success story—but it’s one we have to keep writing.
Photographed near American Heroes Park, Bellevue, Nebraska Perched high above the forest floor, this Bald Eagle locked its gaze as I passed below with my dog. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the presence—sharp, composed, and unshakably wild. These riverside woodlands north of American Heroes Park provide crucial habitat for raptors that depend on tall trees, open water, and space to watch the world unfold. As development continues to press in, every intact pocket of forest becomes more valuable—not just to the eagles, but to the balance they represent. As we push forward with our own expansion, it’s worth remembering: the wild is watching. The choices we make—about land, water, and space—should be choices that consider and act on behalf of their well being.
Photographed at Walnut Creek Lake, Nebraska A brief downpour scattered most of the activity on the lake—but not the ducks. From the stillness of my kayak, I watched them gather on a weathered log, shaking their feathers and stretching their wings in the soft rain. Places like Walnut Creek Lake show what’s possible when we set aside land not just for people, but for wildlife too. Thoughtfully managed parks and reservoirs can become quiet sanctuaries—supporting everything from migrating waterfowl to early morning paddlers with a camera in hand. When we make room for nature, it shows up.
Photographed in the upland forest at Fontenelle Forest, Nebraska This red-tailed hawk held perfectly still, eyes fixed on the leaf-littered floor below—waiting for a squirrel, vole, or careless rustle in the grass. Mid-afternoon sunlight lit its feathers, revealing the quiet tension of a predator at work. The upland forests at Fontenelle provide just the kind of layered canopy and open understory that hawks rely on—offering space to hunt, perch, and raise their young. It’s a reminder that conservation isn’t just about preserving the remote and wild—it’s about protecting places right here, where wildlife and people already coexist.
Photographed at Pony Creek Lake, Loess Hills, Iowa Gliding quietly across the water in my kayak, I spotted this Great Blue Heron poised on a weathered log, motionless but alert. These birds have a way of becoming part of the landscape—still as driftwood until the moment they strike. Pony Creek Lake, tucked into the folds of Iowa’s Loess Hills, is one of those hidden places where wildlife thrives just beneath the surface of everyday life. It’s lakes like this—protected, accessible, and wild around the edges—that give moments like this a chance to happen.
Photographed at Sage Creek, Badlands National Park, South Dakota The colors were soft and muted that morning—mist settling into the valleys, distant hills blending into a quiet backdrop. This bison moved steadily through it all, perfectly at home in the open space. Sage Creek offers a rare glimpse of prairie life where it still runs on its own terms. The bison here aren’t exhibits—they’re part of a functioning ecosystem that has shaped them for thousands of years. Seeing an animal this massive in a place this still reminds you just how much space matters.
Photographed at Mile Hill Lake, Iowa On a quiet winter morning after fresh snowfall, this mink popped up between the branches—alert, curious, and dusted with snow like it had just finished a snowball fight. It only paused for a second before darting back into the underbrush, but the moment felt like a small secret shared. Mile Hill Lake, like so many small public spaces, quietly supports wildlife that most people rarely get the chance to see. From mink to owls to dragonflies in summer, these hidden corners offer the kind of habitat that keeps wildness woven into our everyday surroundings. Sometimes it’s the little encounters that stay with you longest.
Photographed in the restored wetlands at Fontenelle Forest, Nebraska These wood ducks found a perfect perch in the quiet water—a leaning tree surrounded by cattails and stillness. It’s a peaceful scene, but one that nearly disappeared. In 2019, historic Missouri River flooding devastated this wetland. What was once a thriving habitat was left choked with silt and debris. But thanks to the work of Fontenelle Forest and its partners, the area was carefully rehabilitated and reopened—not just for visitors, but for the wildlife that depends on it. Restoring a wetland isn’t just about fixing the damage—it’s about making sure scenes like this remain possible.
Photographed in the restored wetlands at Fontenelle Forest, Nebraska I took this shot lying flat in the grass along the muddy shore, barely moving as this pair of wood ducks emerged from the reeds. These birds are cautious by nature—especially here, where they haven’t learned to ignore humans. It took patience, stillness, and a lot of silence to earn a moment this close. That skittishness is part of what makes the Fontenelle wetlands so special. It's a place wild enough that animals still act wild—alert, wary, and free to come and go as they please. Preserving places like this gives us more than photographs. It gives us the chance to be part of a world that doesn’t revolve around us.