Hi, I'm Shay
My goal isn't to take photos—It's to tell stories.
The kind you’ll want to share for years. The ones that capture
the why behind what you do, the atmosphere of an event, or
the essence of a person in their element.
I grew up in Entwistle, Alberta — a small town West of Edmonton some would call “the middle of nowhere.” Wide-open skies, muddy boots, and the occasional cow escape were my normal. Back then, the world felt far away, and I couldn’t shake the urge to see more of it.
Halfway through my graphic design degree, I dropped out, packed my things, and moved to Vancouver Island in search of adventure. My family thought I’d lost my mind (they weren’t entirely wrong), but I was chasing something I couldn’t ignore: new experiences, new people, and new stories.
I’ve always had a thing for photography. Maybe it’s my creative eye. Maybe I’m just a memory hoarder. Either way, capturing moments that would otherwise slip away lights me up inside.
That Time I Was on Bear Watch…
Some photography jobs are simple—set up your tripod, find good light,
click the shutter.
Others start with a 7-foot-tall British ex-military man knocking on your car window at 2 a.m. and telling you to grab your camera because it’s time to “ambush” a campsite.
This was my very first Summer Brutality event. It was midsummer in northern BC, so the sun stayed out until nearly 11 p.m., which meant I’d gone to bed late—about 12:30 a.m.—curled up in the back of my car. Two hours later, I’m awake, lacing up soggy Nike trainers, following a man built like a tank up a muddy hill in the dark. He’s in full gear, hiking boots, and night-vision goggles. I’m in rain gear with a camera slung over my shoulder, slipping backwards every third step.
By the time we reach the top, I’m feeling fairly accomplished—until he hands me his rifle (loaded with bear bangers) and says: “Stay here. Watch for bears. I’m going down to raid their camp.”
So now I’m sitting alone, wet, and running on 90 minutes of sleep, trying to remember if my farm-kid upbringing in Entwistle, Alberta prepared me for this. Every squirrel rustle becomes a potential bear. Every bird call sounds like a warning siren. And as the sun slowly rises, every dark shadow in the trees morphs into something with teeth.
Then, all at once—chaos. Shouting. Bear bangers exploding. My heart tries to exit my body. I’m just sitting there, gripping a gun I have no intention of firing, thinking, “This is easily the weirdest morning of my life.”
By the end of the weekend, I had mud up to my knees, hundreds of candid shots, and zero doubt from anyone about whether I could handle the job. They invited me back for every future event, and the following one I was hired by Tourism Prince George
That’s the thing about how I work—whether it’s bushwhacking through mud in the middle of the night, dangling off a hillside, or crawling through a crowd to catch that fleeting expression in someone’s eyes—I’m willing to go through just about anything to get the shot.
It’s not about staged smiles. It’s about the grit, the spark, the unscripted moments that tell the real story. And sometimes, that story just happens to start with, “So there I was… on bear watch.”
My Style
If you’re looking for stiff, overly posed “say cheese” photos, I’m probably not your photographer. My approach is more fly on the wall—capturing those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments when people are being their truest selves. The sparkle in someone’s eye when they’re in their element. The quiet grin after an inside joke. The chaos and joy in the middle of a great event.
Clients often tell me, “I didn’t even see you there—how did you get that shot?” That’s the magic. The less you notice me, the more authentic your photos will be.
Selected clients
Over the years, I’ve been honored by the incredible people and brands who’ve trusted me to tell their stories. From passionate local entrepreneurs and unforgettable community events to internationally recognized names, each collaboration has been
a chance to capture moments that reflect their vision, values,
and unique journey.
