Go to the East Sea to hunt for flight routes

To capture skillful flight paths, photographers sometimes have to sit quietly for hours, even the whole day on the deck of a ship, just to wait for a fragile moment like the flight path of a flying fish.

No device is smart enough, modern enough to replace the feeling. That sudden feeling that rises in the chest, a premonition that somewhere, the water surface, is moving, about to perform a secret dance. And then, "whoosh!" - a soft arc from the bottom of the wave rises to the surface of the sea, spreading a shimmering streak of water like silver thread. People don't call it a flying fish swimming, but flying!

The beautiful soaring of the flying fish.

Survival instincts give flying fish pectoral fins like bird wings, not to keep them flying forever, but sometimes just enough to escape death by a hair's breadth. When danger lurks below the water's surface, the tiny fish's body vibrates, flapping its fins up to 60 times per second, gathering strength to launch itself into the air.

The flying fish’s fins spread wide, shimmering in a light but decisive dive, reaching hundreds of meters. When they were about to hit the water, they used their last strength, flapping again, hoping to extend their flight a few more beats, avoiding the waiting predators. That moment of thirst for life was heartbreakingly beautiful.

Flying fish can flap their fins 60 times per second.

But the ocean is not the only place that holds danger. When flying fish soar to the surface, thinking they have escaped their predators, they find themselves in the crosshairs of another threat from the sky: the osprey. This apex predator, with its razor-sharp eyes and precise navigational abilities, silently watches the vast expanse of space.

Just one arrow-like dive, capturing the fragile and brilliant flight of the flying fish, and the ending can make the photographer tremble. Survival and aesthetics are forever intertwined, inseparable.

When soaring above the water, flying fish look like a bird.

Amidst the stressful hunts and escapes, the sea is not without its joyful moments. There, dolphins appear like naughty children, leaping over the waves just to have fun with the wind and waves, and with people. They swim in groups, rhythmically, sometimes close to the side of the ship, circle and suddenly jump up like impromptu circus performers.

Dolphins "float" freely after their jumps.

A pair of dolphins suddenly burst out of the water at the same time, like a pair of actors in perfect harmony on an ocean stage. They arched their bodies in a bow shape, their skin glistening with silver. The double leap was instinctive, full of excitement. When the pair landed, the water erupted in white foam. A beat later, they reappeared, side by side gliding over the side of the ship, leaving behind a silky wake.

Sea eagles are always waiting to hunt the "flight path" of fish.

During the trips to Truong Sa, every time a dolphin appeared, the whole deck was bustling. Some crew members were even attentive, announcing over the loudspeaker system: "Dolphins are swimming near the ship, we invite delegates to come out and see", the position on the port side, starboard side, stern, and bow were all specifically announced.

The chase was short.

Everyone understands that the crew on the ship is always busy with many important tasks, their faces are sunburned, their hands are calloused... but in the midst of that hustle and bustle, they never neglect the happy moments of the journey. That is the silent spiritual gift that the marines give to everyone, so that everyone can have moments to admire the pure beauty of their Fatherland's sea. Having experienced the storms, the soldiers seem to understand most deeply that in the midst of hardship, sometimes just a flight of a flying fish, a jump of a dolphin is enough to calm people's hearts...

The unexpected moment.

Hunting for the flight of birds and fish at sea is unlike any other shooting on land. There is no staged framing, no active lighting, or a subject standing still waiting. In the vastness of the sea and sky, the photographer must find moments that appear in a split second: a flying fish, a dolphin's undulation, or the shadow of a sea eagle swooping down like a streak of lightning.

Osprey hunting flying fish at sunset.

Technique is of course indispensable. You must have a firm grasp of speed, aperture, focal length, and be able to flexibly rotate the camera to follow the movements of waves, light, creatures, and even very vague premonitions. But above all, what is needed is a deep sensitivity in intuition.

The bow or stern of a ship is an ideal hunting position.

Sometimes, beautiful photos do not come from calculation but from feeling and emotion. With flying fish, a split second late is lost. With dolphins, missing an angle is a miss. With ospreys, if you do not choose the right moment to swoop down, all that is left is a cold empty sky. Each time you press the shutter, it is like a bet with time, light and movement. No two shots are the same, no two shots are the same.

Thought-provoking survival story.

When the flight path photos appear clear, vivid, sparkling like a part of the sea that is preserved, that is the moment when the feeling bursts out that is not easy to describe. It is not necessarily the joy of beautiful photos, but the satisfaction of an emotional journey that has sublimated and reached its climax. Behind each frame are hours of sitting silently, eyes straining in the harsh sunlight, hands tightly holding the ship's railing in the midst of big waves and an infinite love for the sea, for wild, free life.

Dolphins bring a cheerful, playful rhythm.

In fact, the fragile flight paths of living creatures are only a very small part of the vast, deep picture of the marine ecosystem. Under the deep water surface, countless lives are operating, the endless circulation between survival and sacrifice. The ocean embraces the good, the beautiful, and also embraces many losses, layers of silent memories of people who have transformed into the waves. Perhaps, marine creatures, by some mysterious instinct, can also feel it.

Dolphins jump very gracefully.

On most voyages to Truong Sa, the moment the ship anchors near Co Lin Island to hold a memorial service for the heroic martyrs who sacrificed their lives for the sovereignty of the sea and islands, everyone will feel that touching story more clearly. The purple-red afternoon sky, the scent of flowers, the paper cranes gently drifting down to the water surface with the wind, the whole ship falls silent in a sacred moment.

A quiet yet beautiful moment of flying fish.

At this moment, the flying fish did not soar as usual. They gathered in flocks, circling in soft lines, their fins spread wide like two gentle arms, silently embracing the ship. It seemed as if the ocean bowed its head and the tiny creatures living in the storm were sending a loving embrace to humans on behalf of the ocean.

The sea and islands bring many priceless gifts.

Going to the East Sea, hunting for flight paths, conquering the beauty of nature, is also finding oneself in each brilliant soaring. Each flight path is a fierce survival instinct, a desire to overcome even in an extremely short moment. That makes the photographer and the viewer feel life at the deepest level. Each captured flight path is a time when the heart vibrates with the meaning of existence, in the awareness of the opportunity to live, shine and sacrifice.

Source: https://nhandan.vn/ra-bien-dong-san-nhung-duong-bay-post879301.html