5 Pictures of February
Today is March 27,
and I’m a little late with my 5 Pictures of February post. I should mention that I only developed these rolls of film earlier this week. Between editing our film Chasing the Pacific Herring Spawn on Vancouver Island—shot last year—and jumping straight into filming the Pacific Herring Spawn 2026 along the island’s east coast, the weeks have been moving fast. Too fast and I can’t believe winter is already over.
As the year gets busier, I will see if I can keep the rhythm of selecting and sharing five pictures each month. That’s a story for another day. For now, let me bring you back to a snowless February on Vancouver Island.
I) Nanaimo Lakes
2026 • February 8 | Nanaimo, BC
Shot on DJI Mini 5 Pro | 24mm | f/1.7 - 1/50th - ISO800
When I bought the DJI Mini 5 Pro at the end of December, I pictured winter from above. Pine crests dusted with snow, snow on the beaches, and the coastal mountains wearing their white coats. Instead, we got the warmest winter in decades here on Vancouver Island. No snow in Nanaimo, and barely any in the surrounding hills.
That didn’t stop me. I kept going out, learning what this tiny drone could really do, and slowly building a new way of seeing.
Midweek, I set out to explore Nanaimo Lakes. I drove for about an hour, only to hit a gate and a sign explaining the road was closed on weekdays to make room for logging operations.
Mosaic is a private company that manages a large amount of working forest on Vancouver Island. They log and replant these lands, while also controlling road access for safety, wildfire risk, and active forestry operations. It is a reminder that much of the island’s backcountry is not public land, even when it feels wild and open, which can be tricky to explore outside of their desired calendar.
I came back the following weekend, passed the gate, and reached the lakes. I launched the drone and made some of my first frames. The light stayed pale and restless. I often hovered in the air, waiting for the sun to break through just long enough to press the shutter, and long enough for the controller to actually record the image, which takes a few seconds each time and feels oddly slow for something so modern. Despite outputting RAW DNG files, I think DJI is processing them in a way that makes saving so slow.
What drew me in this composition was the texture: water fading into sunken shores, the clean line where trees reach for the edge, and, to the right, a small beach almost swallowed by driftwood—bright reds and browns scattered like debris from a different season.
Shot on DJI Mini 5 Pro
II) The River
2026 • February 8 | Nanaimo, BC
Shot on Canon Elan 7 with Cinestill 400D pushed 2 stops (Ei1600) | EF 40mm f/.2.8
Continuing along the lakes, I found a river cutting deeper into the woods. I had to get my feet wet to cross, but the reward came fast: the stream slithered through a coastal forest where trunks wore thick moss like old coats. When the sun briefly peeked through, the whole place flashed green.
Cinestill 400D, pushed two stops, gave everything an intense halation and a kind of loud saturation. It was exactly what I expected from that stock, although I wouldn’t have mind softer contrast to clear the shadows a little bit.
Even with the clock pushing me forward, I stayed a while on the shore. I listened to trickling water, creaking trees, and wind moving through the canopy. And for a few minutes, that was enough.
Shot with Cinestill 400D
III) The Elks
2026 • February 8 | Nanaimo, BC
Shot on DJI Mini 5 Pro | 24mm | f/1.7 - 1/60th - ISO200
This is a frame I didn’t think much of when I shot it, and then fully discovered later in post.
It was still one of my early test flights with the Mini 5 Pro. I was concentrating more on flying than on composing. When I reviewed the sequence afterward, I noticed shapes in the water. I zoomed in and realized it was a herd of Roosevelt elk crossing the river.
With only a 24mm lens, I had to crop hard to bring them closer, and the 50MP sensor made that possible.
It isn’t the strongest wildlife photograph I’ve ever made, and I chose monochrome to concentrate and shape rather than colours that almost drowned the elk (figuratively) in the river. Still, it’s a good reminder that sometimes the camera gives you a moment you didn’t even know you caught, until after the fact.
Shot on DJI Mini 5 Pro
IV) Up for a paddle?
2026 • February 28. Salt Spring Island, BC
Shot on Canon Elan 7 with Kodacolor 200 | EF 40mm f/.2.8
Late February took us to Salt Spring Island for the film festival, where I was presenting a film. Between screenings, we stole a bit of time to wander.
We found a quiet beach that looked like a common launching point for kayaks and canoes. I loved the way the colours stacked, boats on boats, weathered plastic and bright paint, all resting in the same place as if the tide had arranged them.
It also reminded me of the Gulf Islands’ slower kind of trust. You see watercraft left out in the open, and you wonder if they’re abandoned, lost and found, or simply placed where they’re most useful, without the anxiety of them disappearing overnight.
It’s the same feeling you get when you pass a roadside stand selling home-baked pies and farm goods, with nothing but a cash box and an honest sign. A quiet honour system. It makes me think about how rarely you’d see that on the mainland.
Shot with Kodacolor 100
V) The Southern Gulf Islands
2026 • February 28. Salt Spring Island, BC
Shot on Canon Elan 7 with Kodacolor 200 | EF 100-400mm f/4.5-5.6 IS L II
This one will likely end up in my ongoing collection, Into the Pacific Northwest (working title)—a series built around scenes that could only exist here.
Mount Baker looms in the distance. A BC Ferry cuts through the Gulf Islands. Land, sea, and a working coastline share the same frame. And it feels unmistakably Pacific. If not for the modernity of the ship, this could have been a scene shot in the 80s.
Shot with Kodacolor 100
Final Thoughts
And that’s February. It didn’t feel much like winter, and it didn’t bring the weather I was hoping for, but it did show—again—how different the coast of British Columbia can be from the rest of Canada.
I know plenty of people who envy the mild temperatures. Coming from the French Alps and having lived in Northern Ontario and Alberta, I never really get tired of snow. If anything, I feel a small pang of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) when I see it falling everywhere else. The grass is always greener on the other side.
And maybe that’s part of why I keep photographing seasons the way I do, to hold on to what’s here, while still longing for what isn’t.
What kind of winter do you miss when it doesn’t arrive?
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