Marlin and Diver

The story behind the image

這不是一張「傳統廣角」的照片

在 Magdalena Bay 拍攝 Bait Ball 的經驗，對我來說既像傳統廣角，又和以往的廣角題材本質上不同。

相同之處，在於對硬技術的要求依然極高：拍攝對象速度快、距離不固定、無法使用閃光燈，只能完全依賴自然光。在極短時間內，精準平衡快門、光圈與 ISO，本身就是一場高風險的賭局。

不同的是，這場賭局並不是運氣，而是技術與經驗的兌現。

為什麼在 Bait Ball 前，距離反而變成禁忌？

水下攝影有一個通則：越近越好。距離一拉遠，中間隔著太多水，影像品質自然會下降。

但在拍攝 Bait Ball 的掠食場景時，這個原則卻經常失效——因為靠得太近，反而會讓畫面消失。

這並不是因為害怕被條紋馬林魚刺傷。真正的風險在於：馬林魚與海獅之間，似乎存在一種微妙的「社會默契」。當有其他大型生物明顯介入、也表現出「想要這顆魚球」的意圖時，掠食者有時會選擇退讓，把整顆餌球讓出去。

對潛水員而言，靠得太近，反而可能成為那個「被禮讓的對象」——結果就是，馬林魚與海獅消失了，整個掠食場景瞬間瓦解。

但距離也不完全由攝影師決定

更複雜的是，Bait Ball 本身是一群正在被追殺的小型魚類。在求生本能下，牠們經常會主動向潛水員靠近，甚至把人整個包圍起來。

在那一刻，即使你理性上相信馬林魚不會刻意衝撞人類，面對四面八方高速旋轉的魚群，以及隨時可能切入的掠食者，依然會感到極大的壓迫與不確定性。

這也意味著：拍攝馬林魚獵食 Bait Ball，不存在一套固定公式。每天的距離、節奏、風險邊界，都可能完全不同，例外反而成為常態。

作為具神經科學背景的攝影師，我也很清楚條紋馬林魚擁有一項人類無法比擬的優勢：牠們能主動加熱眼睛與大腦，進而大幅提升臨界閃爍融合頻率（CFF）。

當眼前的沙丁魚球，對我來說只是高速旋轉的混亂殘影時，在馬林魚的視覺系統裡，這一切可能更接近慢動作播放。牠們並非盲目衝刺，而是在一個我無法企及的時間解析度下，進行精準獵殺。

這讓我意識到，自己必須去預判的，不只是位置，而是一種處理現實速度比我更快的生物。

我的解法：在不確定中維持連續判斷

因此，我採取的不是等待單一瞬間，而是把拍照調整成接近「錄影」的狀態。

我使用能承受的最大尺寸外接螢幕，全神貫注地盯著畫面，在甩動相機、連續構圖的同時，也持續預測馬林魚與海獅可能的運動方向。這不是純粹的盲拍，而是一種結合判斷、預測與賭注的即時嘗試。

這樣的工作方式，結合了我過去在樂團即興演奏時的即時反應能力，以及近年為新北市水利局拍攝毛蟹上溯生態紀錄、長時間拍攝高速移動個體所累積的動態影像訓練。

在 Magdalena Bay，那些長期累積的經驗得到了兌現。

當 Bait Ball 在開闊水域中高速移動時，我並不是在等待幸運，而是在不斷的判斷、修正與構圖中，讓那一瞬間自然浮現。

這張作品對我而言，並非偶然的成功，而是一種拍攝方法與視覺思維的結果。更重要的是，我非常享受那個過程——那幾個小時，可能是我此生中最輕鬆、也最沒有壓力的拍攝時刻之一。在這樣高度隨機、又充滿強度的拍攝條件下，能夠同時拍到條紋馬林魚的掠食瞬間，以及我妻子身處其中的畫面，對我而言是一種額外的幸運。

This Is Not a Traditional Wide-Angle Photograph

Photographing bait balls in Magdalena Bay felt both familiar and fundamentally different from any wide-angle work I’d done before.

The similarities lie in the unforgiving technical demands: fast-moving subjects, unpredictable distances, no flash — only natural light. Balancing shutter speed, aperture, and ISO within split seconds is always a high-stakes gamble.

The difference? This gamble isn’t about luck. It’s about cashing in on technique and experience.

Why Distance Becomes Forbidden in Front of a Bait Ball

There’s a universal rule in underwater photography: the closer, the better. More distance means more water between you and your subject, which inevitably degrades image quality.

But when photographing bait ball predation, this principle often breaks down — because getting too close can make the entire scene vanish.

It’s not about fearing a striped marlin’s bill. The real risk lies elsewhere: marlins and sea lions seem to share an unspoken social agreement. When another large creature clearly intrudes and signals intent toward the bait ball, the predators sometimes yield — surrendering the entire school.

For divers, getting too close can turn you into “the one being deferred to.” The result? The marlins and sea lions disappear, and the entire predation scene collapses in an instant.

But Distance Isn’t Entirely Up to the Photographer

To complicate matters further, a bait ball is a mass of small fish fighting for survival. Driven by self-preservation, they often actively approach divers — sometimes engulfing you entirely.

In that moment, even if you rationally trust that marlins won’t deliberately ram into humans, the pressure is immense: fish swirling at high speed from every direction, predators potentially slicing through at any second. The uncertainty is overwhelming.

This means: there’s no fixed formula for photographing marlin hunting bait balls. Distance, rhythm, and risk boundaries can shift completely from day to day. The exception becomes the norm.

A Neuroscientist’s Perspective on Marlin Vision

As a photographer with a background in neuroscience, I’m acutely aware of one advantage striped marlins possess that humans simply cannot match: they can actively heat their eyes and brain, dramatically increasing their Critical Flicker Fusion frequency (CFF).

When the sardine ball appears to me as nothing but a chaotic, high-speed blur, the marlin’s visual system likely processes it closer to slow motion. They’re not charging blindly — they’re executing precision kills at a temporal resolution I cannot access.

This made me realize: what I needed to anticipate wasn’t just position, but the behavior of a creature that processes reality faster than I ever could.

My Solution: Maintaining Continuous Judgment Amid Uncertainty

Rather than waiting for a single decisive moment, I shifted my shooting approach to something closer to filming.

I used the largest external monitor I could manage, maintaining intense focus on the screen while swinging the camera and continuously recomposing. Simultaneously, I kept predicting the likely trajectories of the marlins and sea lions.

This wasn’t pure blind shooting. It was a real-time synthesis of judgment, prediction, and calculated risk.

This working method drew from two distinct areas of my background: the real-time improvisation skills I developed as a musician performing with bands, and the dynamic imaging training I accumulated over recent years documenting mitten crab migrations for the New Taipei City Water Resources Department — hours upon hours of tracking fast-moving individuals.

When Experience Finally Pays Off

In Magdalena Bay, those years of accumulated experience found their moment.

As the bait ball surged through open water at high speed, I wasn’t waiting for luck. I was constantly judging, adjusting, and composing — allowing that decisive instant to emerge naturally from the process.

For me, this image isn’t a lucky accident. It’s the result of a shooting methodology and a way of seeing.

More importantly, I genuinely enjoyed every moment of it. Those few hours may have been among the most relaxed and pressure-free shooting experiences of my life. Under such highly unpredictable, intensely demanding conditions, to capture both the marlin’s predatory strike and my wife within the same frame — that felt like an extra stroke of fortune.