It was Feb. 22, 2011, my birthday, and I was in the Bahamas. My beautiful wife Susan and I were relaxing on beach chairs on a small coral island called Great Stirrup Cay. This was as far south as I had been since my honeymoon in 2004, and I was once again gazing upon that gorgeous turquoise water of the Caribbean. The only thing that made me stand out from any of the other visitors was the huge lens on the camera lying in my lap. I was relaxing and enjoying myself tremendously, but I was also working.
Reclining in comfort, I was able to scan the sky with little more effort than simply opening my eyes and it was in this particular setting that I happened to notice a familiar shape in the air above the water. The long, tapered wings and the forked tail were absolutely unmistakable, and I instantly knew what I was seeing although I had never actually seen it before. It was an adult female magnificent frigatebird (Fregata magnificens) and it was more wonderful than the nature documentaries had suggested. Up came the camera — and click — I got the photo. But the bird never came back.
This left me with a nagging feeling of having an unresolved quest. The magnificent frigatebird was definitely a species on my wish list, and I had most certainly seen one, but the bird passed over so quickly that I didn’t really get an opportunity to admire it for long. Also, from a photographer’s point of view, the photo was adequate, but not top-shelf. So, as if often the case, the fulfillment of one quest creates the foundation for the next. Now, I needed a better photo of a frigatebird.
Fast forward to February of 2026 and the situation had changed beyond my wildest dreams. Sitting in the same sort of comfortable lounge chairs at the side of a private swimming pool, Susan and I could bask in the sun and listen to the waves breaking on the coral reef offshore. There were palm trees swaying in the steady and ever-present breeze coming from the east and every morning, at about 10 a.m., an adult female frigatebird would glide past us on wings so elegantly shaped by evolution that flight appeared to be effortless. The photos I took were tremendous, but now I wanted to see an adult male.
The Magnificent Frigatebird has one of those physical characteristics that you simply don’t see in other birds. The adult male has a bladder of bright red skin on his throat and during the breeding season, he can inflate this bladder like a balloon. Female frigatebirds find this feature irresistible, which is the only explanation for such a ridiculous feature to evolve in the first place. Males will advertise nesting sites by landing, inflating their bladders, and singing up a storm. They will even attempt to puncture, rip, and tear the bladders of competing males. Love can be a dirty business.
While visiting Grand Cayman Island I knew that there was simply no way that I would be able to see a breeding male in full breeding mode, but I really did hope to catch a glimpse of that remarkable physical feature. Day after day I was able to get wonderful views of adult females, but there wasn’t a male to be seen. Then we got word of a particular restaurant on the island’s East End that might hold the key to the success of my quest. Every evening, at 5 p.m., the staff hosted a “Feed the Frigatebirds” event that was sure to attract more than just one or two birds. Susan reserved us a table, and off we went.
Now, as photo locations go, this was about as comfortable as you can get. We were seated on the covered porch of a restaurant that was just a few feet from the water’s edge. I saw a few frigatebirds loitering in the area, but I wasn’t particularly impressed. One of the restaurant employees carried a large tub full of squid out onto a long pier and people began to gather, but I still wasn’t too optimistic. Then someone rang a large bell (think of a brass school bell) and everything changed.
Suddenly the air was filled with frigatebirds and they were all jostling for position over the crowd. The person with the squid was holding an open-palmed and gloved hand out at his eye level and the frigatebirds would swoop down and snag a free meal. It was only then that I really appreciated how big these birds were. With a wingspan of 7-8 feet, they seemed as big as the people that had gathered to feed them. I was initially concerned that it seemed to be nothing but adult females, with their white throats, but then I caught sight of an immature frigatebird with a completely white head. The conditions couldn’t have been more perfect and the photos were amazing, but I still wanted to see a male.
Then, as if they were waiting for their stage cue, the males appeared. The red bladders on their throats were deflated for flying, but they were impossible to miss. Time and time again there was one particular male that would make the same maneuver in exactly the same place, which gave me a wonderful chance to predict exactly where he would make a particular turn.
Even with this knowledge it was a challenge to photograph a moving target, but then lightning struck. With wings fixed, and with the evening sun shining on his black feathers that glowed with iridescence, the male frigatebird paused during a turn and — click! — mission accomplished. Beaming with a sense of accomplishment, I set down my camera, looked upon the tanned, smiling face of my beloved, and we toasted my success with a delicious rum punch. It doesn’t really get much better than that.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.