I saw this opportunity develop during evening rush hour on a narrow coastal path in St. Andrews Bay. Hundreds of king penguins in groups of 10 to 20 were making the journey, with the South Atlantic in the background and the trapped glacial lake in the foreground. On this day the wind was gentle, which allowed greater creativity in photographing the fishing commute.

If the march of the penguins is perpendicular to the camera, all the penguins should be in focus. But generally penguins do not march as orderly as Marines, and their line tends to be characterized by chaos rather
than even spacing. If any penguin obscures part of another—and this happens most of the time—it creates a visual tension point and that tension doubles in a reflection. I want these types of images to be simple and easy on the eye, and I can’t stand tension points.

It can be incredibly frustrating when there is nothing a cameraman can do. Penguins are not actors and cannot be directed. It’s nature’s way of challenging artistic preconceptions.

If there are just a few penguins in a line, the task is easier, but the longer the line, the more arresting the image. As it turned out, there was just one image in which it all came together. The second- and third-last penguins were almost together, and the beak of the second-last could have been obscured, which would have killed the image. But, by a fraction, all was OK. When I returned to the boat and counted all the penguins, there were 11, which made the naming of the image a straightforward and immediate job.