I have always been captivated by the beauty of super macro images—those close-up shots that unveil intricate details invisible to the naked eye. Whether in magazines or photography contests, these images felt like windows into another world. As I planned my dive trip to Papua New Guinea—often affectionately referred to as “PNG”—I made a bold decision: I would invest in new gear and immerse myself in the art of super macro photography.
Gearing Up for the Challenge
With little experience in super macro shooting, I began researching what equipment I would need to get started. My current setup included a Nikon D300 DSLR with a 105mm VR lens housed in a Sea & Sea housing. I needed an affordable and effective way to enhance magnification, so I looked into options like wet diopters. After careful consideration and some helpful conversations with the team at Bluewater Photo, I settled on the SubSee +5 Wet Diopter with a custom adapter. I chose the +5 instead of the +10 to benefit from a slightly larger depth of field, making the initial learning curve less steep and reducing the frustration I had heard many beginners experience.
The Sea & Sea macro port required a custom adapter from ReefNet, which took a week to manufacture and deliver. I read several technical articles to get comfortable with the new gear. This included informative pieces on how to use the SubSee diopter and adapter effectively. These resources gave me the confidence to understand the mechanics before heading into the ocean.
Testing the Setup Above Water
Before departing for Papua New Guinea, I dedicated time to practicing above water. It proved to be an invaluable investment. Shooting super macro requires tremendous precision, and learning to handle the limited depth of field takes patience. I started by shooting subjects at 1:1 magnification without the diopter, keeping a distance of around five inches. Using autofocus, I determined the minimum focusing distance and then switched to manual focus for better control. Once I flipped on the diopter, I was able to get within three to four inches of the subject, achieving roughly 50% additional magnification.
Lighting was another learning curve. I had to position my strobes very close to the subject and use smaller apertures—often as small as F45—to get everything in crisp detail. After multiple test shots, I began to understand how to balance light and focus. The shots I took using my Nikon 105mm lens, both with and without the +5 diopter, clearly demonstrated the diopter’s impact on detail and depth.
Field Trials with Tiny Subjects
To illustrate the difference, I took three comparative shots of a miniature turtle figurine. The first was taken at the standard minimum focal distance without the diopter. The second shot, also without the diopter, was taken using a smaller aperture for increased depth. The third was taken with the +5 diopter, getting even closer and highlighting the difference in clarity and magnification. Interestingly, even a slight misalignment—such as the subject’s eye not being in the focal plane—can make part of the image appear out of focus.
These trials helped me understand that shooting super macro is more than just getting close; it’s about understanding your equipment, lighting, and environmental variables. With this newfound knowledge, I felt ready to tackle real-world conditions in the depths of Papua New Guinea.
Arriving in Paradise
After a long journey involving multiple flights and layovers, I finally arrived at the docks of Walindi Resort on Kimbe Bay in New Britain, Papua New Guinea. Awaiting me was the boutique liveaboard vessel, MV Febrina. As soon as I stepped aboard, the crew helped load my bags, and within minutes, we were sailing out into the blue. After a quick orientation, I unpacked my gear and began assembling my setup. For this experience, my focus was entirely on super macro, though I planned to write a separate report on the MV Febrina’s amenities, dive itineraries, and other photographic highlights.
Onboard, I was equipped with my Nikon D300 inside a Sea & Sea MDX300 housing, featuring a 45-degree 1.2x magnification viewfinder. I used the Nikon 105mm VR lens, the SubSee +5 diopter with its adapter, dual Sea & Sea YS250 strobes, and a Light and Motion Sola 800 focus light. With everything in place, I was ready to explore.
First Dive: South Emma
By the third dive of the trip, we reached a dive site called South Emma. I decided it was finally time to get my diopter wet. I began with some easy macro subjects—nudibranchs, coral polyps—and then my dive master, Digger, signaled that he had spotted something special. He pointed to a tiny cowrie nestled on a red soft coral at a depth of about 80 feet. I flipped down the diopter and peered through my viewfinder, only to see a blurry mess of reds and oranges. I couldn’t find the cowrie at all. Frustrated, I peeked over the housing for a visual reference, then tried again. Still nothing.
Digger, sensing my struggle, pointed his finger directly beside the cowrie. That gave me a target. I found his finger, followed it down to his nail, and finally saw the tiny shell. I locked focus on the fingertip using autofocus, then switched to manual, moved slightly in and out until the cowrie came into view, and took a few shots.
Unfortunately, the results were underwhelming. The images were severely underexposed. My strobes weren’t close enough or powerful enough, and my aperture setting of F32 was too small for the available light. I adjusted the strobes, dialed the aperture to F22, and after 30 more seconds of searching for the tiny subject again, I fired off another round of shots. This time, the results were much improved.
We ended up diving South Emma three times, and each time Digger found incredible subjects for me: transparent shrimp, blennies, soft coral crabs, and even a crinoid shrimp. With every dive, I refined my technique, becoming more confident and competent with each tiny discovery.
Early Successes and Learning Moments
On those initial dives, I learned some important lessons. Even with a high-end setup, success in super macro comes down to patience, positioning, and adapting on the fly. Lighting needs to be adjusted constantly. Focus is incredibly tricky. And sometimes you’ll spend a full minute trying to find something smaller than a grain of rice through a quarter-inch depth of field. But the reward is immense—seeing and capturing creatures few have ever noticed, and preserving their beauty in full frame with no cropping.
Super Macro Photography: Lessons from the Deep
Getting Into the Flow
By the fourth and fifth dives, I began to feel more comfortable with my camera setup and the intricacies of super macro shooting. The combination of my Nikon D300, the 105mm VR lens, and the +5 SubSee diopter had started to feel natural in my hands. More importantly, I was learning how to move deliberately underwater. Unlike wide-angle or standard macro photography, super macro forces you to slow down, hold position perfectly, and think critically about every small adjustment.
Buoyancy control was more important than ever. Even the smallest flutter of a fin could blow away the subject or stir up sediment, ruining a shot. I focused on steady breathing, using my lungs to make minor depth adjustments, and bracing gently against coral-free rocks or sandy patches when necessary. I began anticipating subject behavior—how a shrimp might shift when I got too close or how the angle of the coral polyps would change depending on the water current. I wasn’t just taking pictures anymore; I was immersed in a micro world that demanded mindfulness and intention.
Finding the Tiny Subjects
At first, I relied entirely on Digger to find subjects. His eyes were trained from years of experience, able to pick out life the size of a grain of rice hiding among colorful coral branches or inside feather stars. But after a few dives, I began to develop my eye for spotting super macro subjects. I learned to look closely at seemingly featureless surfaces—sponge textures, gorgonian fans, crinoids—and notice tiny dots of movement or subtle color variations.
On one dive at Vanessa’s Reef, I was scanning a patch of soft coral when I saw a tiny flicker of translucent movement. It turned out to be a shrimp so transparent that you could see its internal organs. I hovered, brought my camera in slowly, adjusted strobe angles to avoid backscatter, and captured it mid-motion as it floated just above the coral. This single image felt like a milestone. It proved I could find and shoot without needing someone else to guide me.
Challenges Beneath the Surface
Super macro photography is as much a mental challenge as a technical one. Every dive brought new hurdles. Sometimes my shots were too dark, even with the strobes maxed out. Other times, the subject moved slightly, resulting in a completely unusable image. The quarter-inch depth of field meant that even a fraction of an inch could shift the focus from a nudibranch’s rhinophores to the background, making the image feel soft and unfocused.
One particularly difficult dive took place at Inglis Shoal, a seamount in the open ocean with strong currents. The site was rich with marine life, but the surge and flow made it nearly impossible to keep still. I found a tiny squat lobster nestled inside a crinoid arm, and every time I positioned my camera, the current would shove me slightly off course. My first ten shots were completely out of focus. I had to time my shots between the surges, using my body like a spring to move in and out of the frame rhythmically. Eventually, I nailed the shot—but only after a dozen failed attempts and an exhausting mental game of patience and positioning.
Creative Choices and Artistic Expression
Super macro photography isn't just about capturing detail; it's about telling a story in a space barely larger than a fingernail. Once I became comfortable with my setup and shooting process, I began experimenting with angles, lighting, and composition. I tilted my housing slightly to catch light coming through the tentacles of coral polyps. I tried backlighting techniques by positioning my strobes behind soft coral to illuminate translucent creatures hiding inside. I even experimented with negative space by shooting into open water to isolate a subject from its background.
At Dinah’s Delight, a dive site rich in sponges and gorgonians, I found a minuscule pygmy goby perched on a red sponge wall. Instead of shooting head-on, I rotated slightly and used only one strobe at a low setting to create dramatic shadows. The resulting image was less clinical and more artistic, conveying mood and mystery. This is where super macro becomes more than a technical challenge—it becomes a creative expression. With such a limited frame, every line, shape, and color matters.
Lighting for Super Macro
Lighting is one of the most complex elements of underwater photography, and it becomes exponentially more critical when shooting super macro. I learned early on that the placement of strobes needs to be precise, often within just a few inches of the subject. Diffusers are essential to soften shadows and reduce harsh reflections. I used dual Sea & Sea YS250 strobes and learned to position them differently for each shot, depending on the surface texture and subject position.
I often experimented with side lighting, top lighting, and even backlighting. Coral polyps, for instance, respond beautifully to backlighting, which gives their tentacles a glowing translucence. Crinoid shrimp and soft coral crabs benefit from side lighting that highlights texture and detail. Occasionally, I turned off one strobe to cast dramatic directional light, adding depth and emotion to the frame.
My focus light—a Sola 800—also became an indispensable tool. It helped me locate and track subjects in low-light conditions and offered a constant beam to assist with focusing. Still, the beam had to be carefully managed to avoid spooking delicate creatures or creating unnatural shadows.
Tackling Post-Processing
Though my goal was to capture full-frame images in-camera with no cropping, post-processing remained an important part of the workflow. After each dive day, I downloaded my RAW files and began reviewing the shots. I looked closely at sharpness, lighting balance, exposure levels, and composition.
The most common issue was slight softness around the edges due to the extremely shallow depth of field. I corrected this with minor sharpening in Lightroom and some contrast adjustments to make the details pop. White balance was occasionally off due to mixed lighting, especially when shooting at depth. I used temperature sliders to adjust blues and greens while keeping skin tones or soft coral colors natural. Noise reduction was minimal since I typically shot at ISO 200, but careful adjustments kept the fine details intact.
Most importantly, I didn’t over-process. Super macro images are already visually striking due to their detail and intimacy. The goal was to enhance clarity, not distort reality.
The Magic of Tiny Moments
Each subject taught me something new. A 2-millimeter nudibranch perched on a hydroid taught me the importance of background contrast. A pair of mating shrimp hidden inside a tunicate reinforced the value of patience. A larval fish no larger than a sesame seed taught me to look even closer than I thought possible.
One of the most memorable moments occurred at the Hanging Gardens dive site. I was photographing a soft coral crab when suddenly, a translucent amphipod leapt into the frame. At first, I thought it would ruin the shot. But when I reviewed the image later, the unexpected visitor added scale and narrative. The photo told a story of interaction, of a shared space beneath the coral canopy. It reminded me that no matter how much control I try to have over each frame, the ocean always has its surprises.
Improving with Every Dive
By the end of the week, I had completed over 20 dives focused exclusively on super macro. My confidence grew with each one. I moved faster through setups, responded more fluidly to lighting challenges, and began to anticipate moments before they happened. I learned how to shoot in currents, how to deal with low visibility, how to judge the perfect aperture for a subject’s size and depth, and how to adapt instantly when the unexpected occurred.
Even more than the technical improvements, I found myself falling in love with a new way of seeing the ocean. These creatures, so easily missed or overlooked, revealed themselves as works of art in miniature. Their textures, patterns, and colors felt like something out of a dream.
The Art and Intimacy of Super Macro Photography
Developing an Intimate Perspective
As the days passed on the MV Febrina, something profound began to shift in how I approached underwater photography. What had started as a technical challenge was now transforming into an intimate exploration. Super macro shooting demands patience, discipline, and close attention, but it also invites a level of connection that is deeply personal. Every dive began to feel less like a hunt for subjects and more like an opportunity to slow down and observe marine life on its terms.
Instead of rushing to cover an entire reef or pinnacle, I would find a small patch of coral or sponge and stay there for ten, sometimes fifteen minutes. The longer I hovered in one place, the more life would reveal itself—microscopic crustaceans moving along the surface, hydroids slowly swaying with the surge, eggs tucked beneath a nudibranch’s mantle. I began to understand the rhythm of their movements and the timing of their interactions.
This stillness allowed me to not only improve my images but to feel like a silent participant in a world that rarely sees visitors. With super macro, you’re not just taking a photograph—you’re bearing witness.
Earning the Shot
Some of my favorite images from the trip weren’t the ones that came easily. They were the ones I had to earn. One dive at Bradford Shoals comes to mind. I had been briefed that the site was rich in soft coral crabs, and I was excited to get a clean, front-facing shot of one with claws extended. Upon descending, the current was light, and visibility was excellent.
After about twenty minutes of searching, I found the perfect subject. The crab was nestled deep in a cluster of red dendronephthya coral, positioned just so, with both claws visible and a strong color contrast against the background. I knew I needed everything to line up—lighting, composition, focus—all within a narrow depth of field. But with the surge pulling me ever so slightly side to side, it took me multiple passes to align everything.
Eventually, I held steady long enough to snap off five frames. Only one of them had both claws fully in focus. That image ended up being one of the most compelling photos of the entire trip. It reminded me that great photography isn’t about luck—it’s about persistence, patience, and presence.
Encountering Rare and Hidden Subjects
One of the most rewarding aspects of super macro in Papua New Guinea is the sheer variety of rare and cryptic marine life. Throughout my dives, I encountered a staggering number of species I had never seen before—some I couldn’t even identify with certainty until researching back on land.
A standout moment occurred at a site called Otto’s Point, where my dive guide found a tiny Xeno crab nestled between the arms of a pink whip coral. Its body was so well camouflaged that even with my mask pressed to the viewfinder, I could barely make it out. I took multiple shots, each time inching closer, adjusting my lighting to avoid overexposing the delicate pinks and oranges. The result was an image that felt like a discovery—not just because of the subject’s rarity, but because of how it emerged from the scene through patience and careful observation.
Another unexpected find was a juvenile filefish, no larger than a grain of rice, swimming just above a sponge-encrusted rock. Its colors shifted subtly with the background, and it darted in and out of view with nervous energy. Capturing it required a very quick manual focus adjustment and a steady trigger finger. I only got one frame worth keeping—but it was enough to make the entire dive unforgettable.
Refining Technique Through Repetition
Super macro, more than any other style of underwater photography, benefits from repetition. Every dive allowed me to test and refine a different aspect of the craft. One dive might focus on improving lighting angles; another might emphasize background clarity or subject framing. I began to think like a scientist and an artist at once—experimenting with settings, taking notes, analyzing results, and then trying again with small changes.
By the second week, I had built muscle memory around certain movements: the way I angled my housing to reduce reflections, the exact distance to keep between my lens and the subject, the subtle twist of the manual focus ring to sharpen an eye or claw. This familiarity allowed me to react more quickly when subjects were in motion or when conditions changed mid-dive.
I also became more aware of how different subjects responded to my presence. Some, like gobies or shrimp, tolerated my approach if I moved slowly and avoided sudden strobes. Others, like juvenile cephalopods or pipefish, were more skittish and required a stealthier technique. Understanding their behavior allowed me to plan my shots more effectively and avoid stressing the marine life.
Building a Portfolio
As the number of successful shots grew, I began organizing them into themes. I grouped images by subject type—shrimp, crabs, nudibranchs, polyps—and by color palette or mood. My goal was to create a visual story of what it’s like to see the ocean at its smallest scale. Each image wasn’t just a technical achievement but a narrative slice, a moment suspended in time that could speak to both fellow photographers and those unfamiliar with the underwater world.
What struck me most as I reviewed the images was the diversity of life. No two subjects were alike. Even among similar species, the variety in texture, color, and form was astonishing. This reinforced the idea that the ocean is not just a blue expanse filled with big animals and coral—it’s a complex, layered ecosystem brimming with beauty at every scale.
I began to see the potential for this work to educate and inspire others. Super macro photography can do more than impress with technical skill; it can reveal hidden ecosystems, tell untold stories, and foster a deeper appreciation for the fragility of marine life.
Emotional Connection and Personal Growth
One evening, after reviewing images from a long dive day, I sat on the deck of the MV Febrina with a sense of quiet awe. The horizon glowed with the last light of sunset, and the sea was calm. I realized that this trip had changed not only how I shoot but how I see.
Underwater photography had always been a passion, but super macro taught me how to be still, how to notice, how to wait. It reminded me that the smallest subjects often hold the most wonder. That beauty isn’t always obvious; sometimes it requires effort to uncover.
Emotionally, the practice became almost meditative. During those long moments of holding still underwater, I found myself more present than I had been in months. Each breath, each heartbeat, was part of a slow rhythm that mirrored the ebb and flow of the reef. In those moments, there was no stress, no noise—just the quiet challenge of seeing clearly and the reward of capturing something rare.
Honing Mastery in the Final Days
By the final days of the trip, I revisited some of the original dive sites with a completely different perspective. Sites like South Emma, Vanessa’s Reef, and Inglis Shoal now held a personal familiarity. I no longer needed my guide to point out the best vantage points or the tiny critters I had previously missed. My eye had been trained, my confidence had grown, and I approached each dive with the eagerness of a student who had become fluent in the silent language of the sea.
This return to familiar places allowed me to improve compositions I had struggled with earlier. I remembered the position of a nudibranch I’d fumbled to shoot, the spot where a blenny darted into a crevice, or the soft coral crab that had once eluded a focused frame. I brought new strobe angles, different aperture settings, and a more refined touch. I was no longer guessing—I was creating deliberately.
These repeat dives became a series of second chances. I could now fully appreciate how much progress I had made—not just in the final images but in the smoothness of each movement, the stillness of each approach, and the intuition guiding my creative decisions.
Mentorship and Community Aboard the Boat
Back on the MV Febrina, I found myself sharing more than just camera gear. Other photographers aboard began asking about my setup, my lighting techniques, and how I achieved such sharp focus with the diopter. What started as a solo learning journey gradually became a shared experience.
During late-night image reviews in the lounge, we traded tips and observations. I learned tricks for reducing backscatter in super macro shots, how to shoot through narrow coral branches without casting shadows, and how others approached focusing in surge. One diver introduced me to a technique of slowly “rocking” the housing forward and backward to lock in the perfect sharpness in manual mode—a technique I now use on every shoot.
These exchanges reminded me that photography, while deeply personal, also thrives in community. We learn faster when we share. And underwater photography, especially at this microscopic level, is enriched by collective wisdom passed among those who know the ocean’s smallest secrets.
A Few Final Masterpieces
During one of our last dives at Restorf Island, I was rewarded with a once-in-a-lifetime subject: a pair of mating soft coral crabs clinging to a delicate pink coral branch, their claws interlocked in a moment of stillness. The lighting was perfect, the current gentle, and the surrounding coral clean and vibrant. I spent nearly the entire dive shooting that one subject.
With every frame, I adjusted my lighting slightly, changed the angle by just a few degrees, or shifted focus to catch both crab eyes perfectly. That series ended up being one of the strongest in my entire portfolio—clear, dramatic, full of emotion and detail.
Later that day, I found a nearly transparent amphipod clinging to a tunicate and used backlighting to silhouette it against the deep blue behind. These final masterpieces were more than beautiful images—they were a culmination of every skill I had built across the trip.
Technical Lessons Cemented
The last few dives allowed me to test my full range of technical understanding:
-
Focus mastery: I became comfortable switching quickly between auto and manual, understanding when each was appropriate based on subject movement and size.
-
Lighting nuance: I learned how to create drama with side lighting, reveal translucency with backlighting, and soften shadows with precise strobe placement.
-
Stability and patience: I stopped reacting to movement and started anticipating it. This made my images sharper and my shooting more intentional.
-
Subject behavior: I could now read the cues of nervous gobies, territorial blennies, and dancing shrimp to time my shots more effectively.
By now, every photo I took had behind it not only artistry, but a deep understanding of the ecosystem and how my presence affected it.
Conclusion:
Before this journey, I thought underwater photography was about capturing beauty—colorful coral, graceful fish, majestic wrecks. But super macro photography in Papua New Guinea taught me that true beauty often lies in the smallest places. The detail inside a shrimp’s eye, the texture of a nudibranch’s skin, the shy movement of a crab’s claw—these are the moments that changed how I see the ocean.
What I learned wasn’t just technical. Yes, I can now handle a diopter, adjust for exposure, and position strobes with precision. But more importantly, I learned to look deeper. To pause. To appreciate scale and detail. I now carry this way of seeing with me, not just underwater but into my everyday life.