As part of an engaging session with the Bristol Underwater Photography Group in the UK, Theresa Guise and Peter de Maagt shared their recent photographic adventures in Sri Lanka. Their story was not just one of photographing majestic marine life but also about unexpected conservation encounters. Hosted virtually, this interview allowed people from across the globe to join. Theresa joined from the United States, while Peter connected from the Netherlands, showing how technology enables storytelling despite geographical distances. The event was a vivid recollection of their experiences diving with cetaceans and the emotional rollercoaster of encountering marine debris affecting vulnerable wildlife.
The Blue Whale Hotspot of Sri Lanka
Their expedition took them off the southern coast of Sri Lanka, an area known for its deep underwater canyon that attracts marine giants. Their sightings were nothing short of astonishing. Apart from the highly elusive pygmy blue whales, the team also encountered Bryde’s whales, sperm whales, pilot whales, false killer whales, and even whale sharks. One particularly memorable moment was spotting orcas. This was especially unexpected, as orcas are more commonly associated with colder waters. The fact that one of the orcas had been previously identified in the same region suggests it may be a year-round resident, defying common assumptions about their migratory patterns. This array of cetaceans is not typical for most visitors, making their journey particularly rare and fortunate.
Marine Life and Marine Litter: A Dual Narrative
What began as a whale photography trip quickly transformed into a rescue mission. While scanning the horizon for whale activity, the team came across ghost nets drifting on the surface. Upon closer inspection, they discovered a turtle entangled in one of them, struggling to breathe. Alex Mustard, who was part of the expedition, jumped into the water to hold the turtle above the surface while the rest of the team worked to free it. The turtle was successfully released and swam away after regaining its strength. The very next day, they encountered a similar situation, saving another turtle. Unfortunately, not all stories had a happy ending. A third turtle was found lifeless, its skeletal remains still tangled in plastic and netting. These experiences brought a sobering realization that such tragedies happen far more often than seen. Peter mentioned the idea of using satellite data to trace the origin of this floating debris, though current results remain inconclusive. The encounter sparked a deeper interest among the team in tracking marine pollution as a by-product of wildlife photography.
From Passion to Purpose: The Origins of Two Underwater Photographers
Robert Bailey took the opportunity to dive deeper into the background of both photographers. When asked about her entry into underwater photography, Theresa Guise reflected on her early interest in film photography during college. Her passion lay dormant through medical school, only to be rekindled 15 years ago when she started diving. Initially documenting her experiences with a simple point-and-shoot camera, she soon realized a deeper interest. Her turning point came during a workshop with Alex Mustard in the Red Sea. Since then, her photography has evolved through workshops and continuous practice, creating a balance between her medical profession and her creative pursuits. She finds a fascinating parallel between her scientific research on the tumor microenvironment and her observations of marine ecosystems.
Peter de Maagt’s journey into photography followed a different route. A seasoned diver, he began to feel that something was missing from his underwater experiences. Photography became the answer. Starting with a small Sony camera, he was thrilled by the initial results, likening the feeling to being Jacques Cousteau. However, a frustrating experience with the Canon G7 pushed him to explore the mechanics of photography more seriously. Transitioning to a Nikon D300 system, and later to the Nikon D500 for macro and the Nikon D850 for wide-angle photography, Peter invested in training and workshops to refine his craft. Like Theresa, he found mentorship under Alex Mustard to be instrumental.
Beyond the Lens: Using Photography for Conservation
When asked how they use their images, both photographers emphasized the importance of education and advocacy. Theresa uses her photographs to raise awareness about ocean conservation through social media, competitions, and collaborative articles. She also contributes images to charity initiatives and occasionally creates prints or calendars. Her goal is to spread a message of preservation and curiosity about the marine world. Peter echoed a similar sentiment. For him, the true value of a photo lies in its utility for conservation. He finds joy in knowing his work contributes to a cause, even without financial compensation. Together, they have co-authored numerous articles and covered conservation topics across different regions including the UK, South Africa, and Asia.
Professional Lives Behind the Camera
Robert Bailey then asked about their professional careers. Theresa Guise is an endocrinologist and medical scientist. Her clinical focus is on bone health in cancer patients, while her lab research explores the effects of cancer and its treatment on the musculoskeletal system and metabolism. Her medical and scientific knowledge informs her environmental perspective, making her dual interests mutually enriching. Peter de Maagt, on the other hand, works as an antenna specialist at the European Space Agency. He explained how his work with optical and microwave systems shares fundamental similarities with photography. The physics of light, lens behavior, and signal detection intersect across both domains. His job involves designing antennas for spacecraft and ground-based observatories studying phenomena such as the cosmic microwave background, bridging the worlds of deep space and deep sea.
The Power of Expectation vs. Reality
Robert asked whether the trip lived up to their expectations. Theresa replied that it far exceeded them. Merely seeing a blue whale from the surface would have been fulfilling. Being able to swim and photograph them was unimaginable. The diversity of cetaceans encountered—thirteen in total—was remarkable. Despite the harsh physical demands of the trip, including repeated free diving from a moving boat and long hours under the sun, she called it the most rewarding trip of her life. Peter shared the sentiment. Having gone in with no expectations, he found the experience overwhelmingly rewarding.
Conservation Encounters that Changed the Narrative
The most disturbing but poignant part of the trip involved the discovery of turtles entangled in ghost nets. Theresa noted that witnessing animals suffer firsthand was a jarring, emotional experience. Although the primary goal was to photograph whales, the team’s focus expanded to include locating and helping trapped turtles. Peter added that they began documenting marine litter more purposefully after that. Their guide and naturalist on board became equally committed to the cause, and the group took on a dual role of photographers and conservationists. These encounters transformed the expedition into a narrative not just about marine beauty but also about urgent responsibility.
Techniques, Challenges, and the Art of Whale Photography
Photographing blue whales—the largest animals ever known to have lived—is a feat not only of technology but of timing, endurance, and respect for nature. In this part of the interview, Robert Bailey steers the discussion toward the actual logistics and artistry involved in capturing these magnificent creatures on camera.
Blue whales move fast. They are elusive, surfacing only for brief moments before descending into the deep blue. For photographers like Theresa and Peter, capturing even a single frame of a blue whale underwater requires significant preparation. You can’t rely on luck. You need to read water conditions, understand whale behavior, predict surfacing patterns, and be ready to plunge into action at a moment’s notice.
Peter de Maagt explained that it’s not just about pointing and shooting. Blue whale photography is often a game of patience and anticipation. You observe from the boat for hours. When the whale surfaces, you only have a few seconds to act. The boat moves at high speed, the photographer positions on the edge, and with a signal from the guide, they leap into the water—sometimes blindly, hoping the whale remains within visible range.
Free diving adds another layer of complexity. Neither Peter nor Theresa uses scuba gear in these conditions. The noise of bubbles would disturb the animals, and scuba equipment limits movement and depth. Free diving, while silent, demands strong physical conditioning. Holding your breath while swimming at speed, focusing a camera, and composing a shot in moving water all while staying calm is a serious challenge.
Theresa Guise added that the contrast of shooting such massive creatures in an open, infinite background like the ocean requires rethinking traditional rules of composition. A blue whale doesn’t fit neatly into a frame. Most often, you get partial body shots, close-ups of the eye or jawline, or moments of interaction with light that highlight the texture and scale of their skin. Sometimes even a silhouette tells a complete story.
Theresa also discussed the choice of equipment. For wide-angle photography, she used a full-frame DSLR camera with a large dome port to reduce distortion. The dome allows a wider field of view and improves optical performance underwater, especially when the photographer is only inches away from the subject. Lens selection is equally critical. Most prefer a fisheye lens or a rectilinear wide-angle lens that allows you to get as close as possible while still capturing a broad scene.
Lighting is another concern. Unlike macro photography, where strobes are essential, wide-angle photography of whales relies mostly on natural light. Artificial lighting is impractical at that distance and scale. The key is to understand how light behaves underwater. At certain depths, color fades quickly, leaving only blues and greens. Knowing when and where sunlight filters through is crucial for achieving clear, vibrant shots.
Theresa and Peter both emphasize the importance of respecting the subject. Chasing or cornering whales is unethical and dangerous—for both the animal and the diver. They rely heavily on expert local guides who understand whale movement and avoid stressing the animals. Encounters are brief, and they prioritize the whale’s comfort over the perfect shot. This mutual respect forms the cornerstone of responsible underwater photography.
Peter noted that not every dive results in a usable image. Out of hundreds of dives, only a handful might yield quality photos. But every dive contributes to the learning process. The whale might swim deeper than expected or appear in a different direction, teaching the photographer to adapt and remain open to surprise.
Robert Bailey asked if there were any particularly memorable moments during their sessions in Sri Lanka. Peter recalled one instance when a blue whale swam directly beneath him, its massive shape slowly emerging from the deep like a submarine. The visibility was near perfect, and for a moment, he and the whale locked eyes. That silent exchange, more than any photo, stayed with him. Theresa recounted the thrill of seeing not just one but a pod of pygmy blue whales. She had time to line up her shots, frame the dorsal fin, and even capture a tail fluke. It was a dream sequence, lit by the equatorial sun beaming down into the blue.
Both photographers admitted that adrenaline often overrides fear. But they always operate within personal safety boundaries. Communication between the boat crew and divers is essential. There are constant checks on wind, current, and visibility. Everyone wears safety floats and fins. The ocean is not a controlled studio—it’s alive, unpredictable, and humbling.
Robert asked whether they ever felt disheartened by missed opportunities. Peter replied that underwater photography teaches patience and humility. You cannot control nature. Sometimes the best images come when you stop chasing perfection and just observe. Theresa agreed, stating that each dive has value beyond photography. Watching a whale breach, hearing its exhale, or simply floating in its presence is transformative, regardless of whether you take a photo.
This section concluded with a discussion of how these field experiences enhance their understanding of marine ecosystems. Photography has made them better observers, better storytellers, and more conscious of the ocean’s fragility. Each encounter is a privilege, not a guarantee. And with each shutter click, they carry a responsibility—to educate, to protect, and to inspire.
The Intersection of Science, Advocacy, and Storytelling
In the third section of the conversation, Robert Bailey delves deeper into the broader impact of Theresa and Peter’s work. Photography is the medium, but their mission transcends visuals. It is about merging science, storytelling, and advocacy to foster a more informed and empathetic public.
Theresa Guise, a physician-scientist, brings a unique analytical lens to her photography. She views the marine environment through a scientific framework, drawing parallels between her cancer research and oceanic processes. Just as tumors create hostile microenvironments in the body, pollution disrupts the equilibrium of ocean ecosystems. Her photographs are not just snapshots—they are visual metaphors. A turtle ensnared in a ghost net represents not just individual suffering but systemic imbalance. Through this lens, conservation is no longer just an environmental issue but a biological and ethical one.
Peter de Maagt’s background in physics and satellite communication also informs his photography. He understands how electromagnetic waves travel, how optics function, and how data from satellites can be used to map environmental damage. He explained how satellite imaging could be used to track the movement of marine litter. Though early in development, such technology could revolutionize how we address ocean pollution. For Peter, photographing a whale is not separate from designing space-based antenna systems. Both activities are rooted in understanding and capturing invisible systems—be it light, data, or life itself.
Robert asked how they transition from fieldwork to public engagement. Theresa mentioned that social media remains a key tool. She uses platforms like Instagram and Facebook to share her images and short educational captions. Though she doesn’t maintain a professional website, her posts often spark conversations and questions, especially from younger audiences. She believes in simplifying complex ideas without diluting scientific accuracy. If a photograph of a whale can make someone Google "pygmy blue whale," then it has achieved its purpose.
Peter emphasized the value of public talks and photography clubs. He often presents his work at events in Europe, particularly in the Netherlands. His goal is not to impress but to provoke thought. He integrates maps, statistics, and time-lapse sequences into his presentations. People remember stories, not just facts. If they walk away with a new understanding of whale migration or plastic pollution, then he considers the talk a success.
They also contribute to print publications. Over the past few years, Peter and Theresa have co-authored several articles for international dive and photography magazines. These articles combine high-quality images with in-depth text. They include trip reports, conservation editorials, and equipment reviews. Their writing process is collaborative—Peter often drafts the outline, and Theresa refines the language and provides scientific context.
Robert asked whether they see themselves as activists. Both hesitated at the label. Theresa said she prefers to think of herself as a communicator. Her job is not to protest but to inform. She believes in empathy-driven conservation, where people are drawn in by beauty before they are confronted by urgency. Peter agreed, saying that activism comes in many forms. For him, showing a haunting image of a turtle skeleton in a net is more effective than shouting statistics. It appeals to the heart, not just the mind.
One particularly impactful project involved printing a series of images on large-scale banners displayed at a marine conservation festival. The display included both majestic whale portraits and disturbing scenes of marine debris. The juxtaposition sparked emotional responses from viewers. Parents brought children. Divers brought questions. Some visitors left in tears. Others signed petitions. The photographers had done their job—not by preaching, but by presenting truth with clarity and compassion.
Robert then shifted the discussion to the future. What are their goals moving forward?
Theresa mentioned expanding her reach through educational partnerships. She’s exploring ways to integrate her photos into school curricula, particularly in biology and environmental science classes. She’s also considering publishing a photo book focused on marine conservation stories from a medical perspective. The working title she has in mind is "Oceans and Organisms: A Parallel Story."
Peter is looking into using artificial intelligence to analyze patterns in marine debris images. He believes AI could help classify types of plastics, identify repeat patterns, and even predict ocean currents that carry waste. He’s collaborating with data scientists and hopes to launch a pilot project within the next year. He’s also training a younger generation of photographers through mentorship programs, helping them understand that photography is not just art—it’s a tool for change.
Robert concluded this part by asking what advice they would give to aspiring underwater photographers. Theresa said, “Don’t just shoot what you see. Learn why it’s there. Understand the ecosystem. Understand the animal. The better you understand, the more meaningful your photography becomes.” Peter added, “Start small. You don’t need the best gear. You need curiosity, patience, and respect. If you can float quietly, observe, and care deeply, you’ll take better pictures than any expensive camera ever could.”
Their insights were clear, humble, and inspiring. Through science, storytelling, and relentless curiosity, Theresa Guise and Peter de Maagt are not just documenting the ocean—they are fighting for it, one image at a time.
Reflecting on Impact, Responsibility, and the Future of Ocean Storytelling
After sharing in-depth stories of photographing blue whales and facing the sobering reality of marine litter, Robert Bailey directed the conversation toward reflection. What has all this meant for them? How do Theresa Guise and Peter de Maagt view their role in the broader conversation on environmental responsibility, scientific literacy, and global change?
Both Theresa and Peter admitted that they never anticipated how deeply their photographic journeys would evolve into something greater than a hobby or creative pursuit. Initially, diving was a form of relaxation. Photography added a new layer of purpose. Over time, as they encountered the struggles of ocean wildlife firsthand and connected with communities passionate about conservation, it became clear that their images could serve as powerful instruments for change.
Theresa described one defining moment when she presented her whale images during a community event in her hometown. She had expected polite applause, but was moved when an audience member approached her afterward in tears. The person explained that seeing a photo of a blue whale calf swimming beside its mother reminded her of her child—and suddenly, the plight of marine life became personal. That moment reinforced Theresa’s belief that emotion drives action. Facts inform. But feelings inspire.
Peter experienced a similar shift when he published a photo series on marine litter and ghost nets. One of his images—showing the desolate eye of a decomposed turtle caught in fishing line—was picked up by a conservation group and went viral on social media. The image reached thousands across Europe, was featured in environmental forums, and even used in a campaign for better regulation of fishing equipment. What began as a tragic encounter at sea became a catalyst for public conversation.
This led Robert to ask a central question: how do they define impact? Is it media coverage, public response, policy change, or something else?
Theresa responded that impact isn’t always something you can measure immediately. Sometimes it’s a quiet shift in perspective. Someone who sees your image may recycle more diligently, reduce plastic use, or support marine conservation charities. That ripple effect might not be traceable, but it’s real. She also pointed out that change is cumulative. The more images, voices, and stories that emerge from the ocean, the harder it becomes to ignore the call to protect it.
Peter emphasized that impact is about creating awareness in unlikely places. He recalled presenting to an engineering conference—not a typical conservation audience—and watching technical professionals become genuinely curious about ocean systems. Engineers began asking about microplastic tracking and satellite imaging to detect surface waste. Conversations moved from photography to problem-solving. That kind of interdisciplinary dialogue, he believes, is where true innovation begins.
Another topic that emerged was the complexity of storytelling in the age of environmental fatigue. Robert asked how they avoid overwhelming people with messages of doom.
Theresa acknowledged that it’s a challenge. Audiences today are bombarded with crises—from climate change to biodiversity loss. Piling more guilt onto already anxious minds rarely works. Her approach is to blend wonder with concern. A breathtaking photo of a whale breaching can be accompanied by a quiet reminder of the threats that species faces. Hope and warning are not mutually exclusive. She always aims to leave viewers with both a sense of awe and a sense of responsibility.
Peter added that beauty is a powerful messenger. While disturbing images can be necessary, he prefers to show the magnificence of what’s at stake. People protect what they love. By celebrating the elegance, grace, and intelligence of marine animals, he hopes to foster admiration. Once that emotional bond is established, audiences are more receptive to understanding the dangers those animals face.
Robert asked about their collaboration with scientists, educators, and conservationists. Theresa said she has worked with biology teachers to include ocean-related content in lesson plans. She provides images and basic explanations that can be used in classrooms. For her, early education is critical. Children are naturally curious and empathetic. When they learn about whales or sea turtles as living beings with families and habitats, they grow into adults who value environmental stewardship.
Peter has been more involved in technological collaborations. He’s currently advising a team of data analysts who are developing AI tools to automatically detect marine debris in satellite images. His photos of real-world examples are being used to train machine learning models. The goal is to create a global map of ocean plastic movement—something that could revolutionize how cleanup efforts are planned.
Both emphasized that storytelling is most powerful when it crosses disciplines. Art, science, engineering, and education each contribute unique tools. The ocean is too complex, too vast, to be understood or protected by one field alone.
They also discussed the ethics of wildlife photography. Robert posed a difficult question: Where is the line between capturing beauty and disturbing nature?
Theresa answered that ethical photography requires humility. If a whale changes its behavior because of your presence, you’ve already gone too far. The priority should always be the welfare of the animal. That may mean missing a shot. It may mean staying on the boat. The image is never more important than the subject.
Peter agreed and added that being respectful enhances the experience. When animals feel safe, they behave naturally. That’s when the most powerful images happen—when trust exists, however briefly, between species. He believes photographers have a responsibility not just to their subjects but also to the public. Images can mislead. An unethical image can glorify harmful behavior. Photographers must be honest about how their images were captured.
This section ended with a hopeful tone. Both Theresa and Peter feel that public awareness of ocean conservation is growing. More people are asking questions. More communities are organizing beach cleanups. More governments are banning harmful plastics. While the problems are immense, the momentum is real. They see photography not as the solution, but as a spark—one that ignites broader efforts in education, activism, and policy.
Conclusion:
As the interview drew to a close, Robert Bailey asked Theresa Guise and Peter de Maagt to reflect on what they hope their legacy will be. What do they want people to remember about their work?
Theresa paused, then spoke with quiet conviction. She said that if even one person looks at her photo and feels a connection to the ocean, she has done her job. If a child dreams of becoming a marine biologist because of a whale portrait, or if a parent talks to their kids about plastic waste after seeing a sea turtle entangled in netting, then her images have purpose. Her goal is not fame or recognition. It’s relevance. She wants her photography to matter.