A slowish news day had me out looking for standalone photographs – sometimes called wild art – which run in the paper on their own, without a story. After a recent snowfall, there was a chance the toboggan hill at Riverdale Park East in Toronto would be a promising place to try to find a shot. That the light was good as well didn’t hurt. There’s not much parking near the hill so I had to park elsewhere and make the 800-metre hike to the bottom. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the photo to present itself. I’d photograph more sledders than I needed but I’m always looking for something better. I was fortunate that the light conditions created shadows to define the tracks of the tobogganers. While tight action photos of people on their careening toboggans can work, sometimes a more creatively compositional photograph is more effective to set the scene.
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For some assignments, I’ll often make the decision to bring film cameras and photograph with black-and-white film. With reporter Eric Andrew-Gee doing a story on changes to the rail lines at Lac-Mégantic, Que., I knew this was a piece that had the potential for strong black-and-white visuals. I’d brought along several film cameras for this job and they both helped me take photographs that told the story. In the wide panoramic photo, I was trying to convey the mood on the night a runaway train hurtled down the track, eventually exploding in a huge ball of fire and taking numerous lives with it. This photograph had to include all the elements relevant to the moment: the tracks, the crossing lights and the eerie darkness that hid an impending disaster.
The portrait of Gilles Fluet in Lac-Mégantic came about almost by chance after the reporter met with some locals and heard Mr. Fluet’s story, which was frightening to say the least. Mr. Fluet had just left the Musi-Café, a local venue, early in the morning when he crossed the nearby railway tracks. In the dark of night, he felt a rush of air behind him as the runaway train silently passed by as soon as he crossed the last track. Mere seconds made a tremendous impact on his life that morning.
When the pandemic hit, many activities were curtailed owing to safety concerns. Backcountry canoe trips were cut back or cancelled, and some outfitters felt the pinch as school groups put trips on hold. When things opened up for some schools, they once again returned to Ontario’s Algonquin Provincial Park for overnight trips. I was fortunate to find one outfitter, located at a remote access point in the park, that had a school group going out. For some of these students, it was all new to them and they were given a quick course on canoe trip etiquette, portaging and paddling. As an Algonquin Park canoe tripper, it always fills my heart to see people getting ready to head out on their first canoe adventure.
A story about Greg Maitinsky, a swimmer attempting to cross Lake Ontario, required spending a full day on a boat as he made his way from Niagara-on-the-Lake to Marilyn Bell Park in Toronto. The photographically challenging part of this trip was that much of the swim would take place at night, when it would pretty well be almost pitch black, save for the safety lights Mr. Maitinsky wore on his cap. For the swim, I was able to go out on a smaller boat to follow him and, as morning approached, I hoped to catch the predawn glow or sunrise with Mr. Maitinsky somewhere in the frame. With the day brightening, I asked if the boat operator could manoeuvre the vessel so that I could frame the swimmer with the rising sun in the background. After a long night for Mr. Maitinsky, I imagine seeing the sun was a boost he needed to make the final kilometres to the shore.
A recent assignment to Nunavut produced several stories, but the main piece for the trip was one on birthing. We’d made contact with and spoke to and photographed several moms. This one was taken during a car visit and allowed us to observe things in the outdoors, which is a big part of Inuit lives. Inuit mothers wore amautis, in which infants are placed in the large hood or pouch, like a cocoon. While outside for a fresh air break, Adelynn peeks out past the fur ruff of Maria Noolook’s amauti. Our work precludes us from setting up photos or rearranging things so this was a photograph of what I could see without interfering, which usually produces the best and most honest moments.
It was the end of a day-long memorial in Kamloops, B.C. by Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc Nation to mark one year since the grim findings of unmarked burial sites on former residential school grounds. A brief but intense rainstorm scattered attendees, including members of the media waiting for a news conference with Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. It hadn’t been a smooth visit for him. He was met with angry shouting and singing, and was interrupted during his remarks. As we left a hastily organized media event out of the rain, the sun broke through some of the clouds. I ran to frame the rainbow over the building. Hopefully it helped symbolize the end of the traditional year of grieving.
I met Norm Retasket, a survivor of the Kamloops Indian Residential School, with columnist Tanya Talaga in May, 2021. He was deeply affected by the announcement of the unmarked graves and the new memories that surfaced. I stayed in touch with Mr. Retasket through the year, and, as the country grappled with the legacy of the residential school system, he seemed to find a new sense of healing in openly sharing his story. This spring, Mr. Retasket was rushing to make drums and rattles for a memorial in Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc. He excitedly showed me each step crafting his popular hand drums, including preparing elk hide that sits soaking in his basement and backyard. His home, set in the rolling mountains of Cache Creek, B.C., includes outdoor workshops and fruit trees and a basement crammed with crafting supplies.
In early 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted Karen Kain’s Swan Lake – her final staging as artistic director of the National Ballet of Canada – as well as our attempt to document the story. Once the production restarted some two years later, reporter Susan Krashinsky Robertson and I returned to rehearsals. We caught this special moment when Ms. Kain and Rex Harrington, her one-time dance partner in a legendary collaboration, struggled to remember a section of their pas de deux performed 30 years earlier. They disagreed at one point and watched their original performance on a tablet to settle the debate.
I was on BMO Field in Toronto with scattered media waiting for an expected official photo opportunity while the men’s national soccer team celebrated with their families after qualifying for a berth in the 2022 World Cup. CBC photographer Evan Mitsui pointed out goalkeeper Milan Borjan striding through the crowd carrying a bottle of champagne, while coach John Herdman was doing a TV interview nearby. This photo is one of a number of frames – but there were only a few where Mr. Herdman’s face is actually visible through the cascading bubbly. A very Canadian celebration in late March; it was -6 that day.
The wildfire in Lytton, B.C., laid ruin to the hobby farm of Tricia Thorpe and her partner, Don Glasgow, in June, 2021. Dozens of animals died, but a litter of puppies and some sheep and llamas were found alive, some huddled in the one unscorched patch of their property. Almost a year since the devastating fire, the couple is rebuilding their barn and home with fire-resistant materials. They are also gathering new animals to share the space with survivors like Clara the sheep.
I visited the small town of Wheatley, Ont., a number of times as The Globe and Mail investigated how hydrogen sulfide gas leaks eventually lead to a massive explosion in the centre of town. In July, Julius and his four siblings were playing outside their home, the same as they did the day of the explosion. When the town blew up, Julius said, “It felt like the world went in and then out again.” None of his family was seriously injured. They were evacuated for nine months, returning in May to find damage to the floor and other parts of their home, but it was deemed safe. There were many other homes on the street that were still uninhabitable.
I have gone to Turkana many times over the last 10 years. I know it well. The region, in the north of Kenya, is one of the driest in the country. Its people’s reliance on livestock means that when their animals die, their entire livelihoods are at stake. So even though parts of this picture look green, these people had just lost all their cattle to drought after many rainy seasons had failed. They had returned just to collect the remains. In the past when I visited, they would usually meet and drink milk mixed with blood – a local delicacy – but when I saw them eating only berries, I knew it meant things were especially bad.
It’s common in Turkana for kids to protect cattle. But for me it’s still devastating to see a 12-year-old with an AK-47. The added security is a result of the extreme food insecurity in the region. The continuing drought means there is a lack of food and water for all: people, animals and vegetation. Those whose cattle survive become targets to those whose haven’t, so then security measures increase. If I hadn’t arrived with trusted people, this boy likely would have shot at me because that is what is needed to protect the cattle and community. I walked in with other gunmen who were familiar with this youth, and so I was able to spend time with him. If you want a good picture you need to spend time and then find the good moments.
I returned to Afghanistan and spent 11 days in the capital, trying to understand how it was different under Taliban rule. In some ways, it was unchanged – residents were friendly and welcoming at the Mandawi Bazaar. In other ways, life was noticeably different – Taliban were everywhere. On this day, tensions were high because it was the Eid al-Adha holiday and people were fearful of an ISIS attack. Someone who saw me near the mosque complained about my presence there, worried I meant them harm. And so, the nearby Taliban checked me out and I remained watched. Not ideal for taking pictures. I positioned myself in a way that if there was an attack, I’d be safe. From there, I noticed this prosthetic limb amongst the shoes. When the boy went to enter the mosque, I moved from my safe spot to snap the picture. I worked as quickly as possible and moved back because I didn’t want to expose myself too long in case of a suicide attack. To me, the prosthetic leg is a stark reminder that Afghanistan is one of the most heavily mined countries in the world.
Every assignment is entirely different – scenarios, light, people. Pictures are impossible to predict. You must witness what is happening and respond as best you can. This particular assignment was difficult because the Taliban were sensitive about pictures being taken of women. So, I couldn’t take many and had to be strategic when I did. In this instance there was next to no time. I saw what was happening outside this bakery and had to shoot quickly and move.
I saw this scene from my car, in front of a cross in a village in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where there is a camp for people displaced by fighting between the M23 militia and the Congolese military. So, I stopped and I essentially sat in a trench for two to three hours. I could see the photo I wanted in my mind, but my challenge was that people kept looking at me. So, I had to wait. Thankfully a truck arrived with food, so everyone looked in the same direction at once, and that was it. I captured the moment I’d wanted. These were desperate people – there was fighting all over, so many internally displaced people fled their homes because of the fighting. Food was scarce. To me, the cross symbolizes hope, beliefs.
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A century caught on camera
In 1922, The Globe and Mail hired its first staff photographer, and nearly four dozen have followed since. Explore our curated collection of their work, more than 1,650 images, year-by-year