February 2026 Wildlife Photography Contest Advanced Category Winner

I took this photo on a bitingly cold March afternoon in Svalbard, walking through a valley close to home where I had been following three pairs of Arctic foxes for the better part of a year. Throughout the season, I had come to know each individual — their characters and their habits. Two were bold and inquisitive, often walking right up to me, attempting to get into my backpack, bite my shoelaces, or steal my gloves. Three were largely indifferent to my presence, continuing on their way if they saw me, neither curious nor afraid. The last was extremely skittish, never venturing closer than 100 metres, bolting the moment I moved.

On this particular day, I had found a reindeer carcass — always a promising scene, as the foxes would come to feed and often battle over the scraps. I positioned myself a fair distance away and waited to see what unfolded. After a few hours, I spotted the skittish fox running down the mountain towards the carcass. He arrived with suspicion, pacing from side to side before finally settling in to feed. Then, after a while, he looked up at me — and slowly, cautiously, began to walk in my direction, holding an intense, unwavering gaze.

I held my breath, moving as little as possible, feeling a quiet rush of excitement. This was the first time this fox had ever willingly approached me. I began shooting, and soon realised I had zoomed all the way out on my 180–600mm — because the fox who had never come within 50 metres of me was now standing only a few paces away. We held each other’s gaze for a long moment before he turned and left.
This image is a highlight of that winter — both for the photograph itself, and for the quiet power of the moment it holds.