Wild by Nature: Mike Fender Frames the Soul of the Coast

By Susan Gunn • Photos by Mike Fender

It seems like you'd have to live several lifetimes to experience all that photographer Mike Fender has in just over five decades.

Born in Georgia and raised in Ohio, the veteran photojournalist has spent decades capturing life through a lens. The eldest of three siblings and a father of three, he started out working for newspapers across the country. At 22, he left Ohio for a staff job in California, and four years later moved to Indianapolis to become chief photographer at The Indianapolis News.

A graduate of Wright State University and the University of Dayton, with formal training in technical photography, Fender brings a sharp eye for visual storytelling. He's covered Super Bowls, NBA Finals, over thirty Indy 500s, and quiet moments of coastal wildlife. His lens has seen it all. He also served two terms as president of the Associated Press Photo Managers' Organization.

A young alligator half-hidden in duckweed, one eye catching the afternoon light — Hidden in the reeds, a young alligator catches afternoon light just so. You have to walk slow, look harder, and let the swamp reveal itself.

After decades focused on human stories, a personal loss turned his attention toward nature. Now based in Mexico Beach, he's a freelance writer and photographer, channeling his late mother's love of nature into every frame. Fender's humility contrasts with the remarkable scope of his career. I recently sat down with him to learn more about this next chapter.

How would you describe your photography style?

If I had to describe my style, it always comes back to storytelling. No matter what I shoot, I want people to feel like they were there with me. I aim for clean, well-composed images with simple backgrounds. I look for emotion or action that elevates the image beyond documentation. With wildlife, I try to show behavior or personality — that's where the story lives.

Two great horned owlets facing each other on a pine branch — Fresh from the nest, two great horned owlets test the world, and each other. In the hush of early freedom, they find flight, play, and their place in the wild.

What draws you to wildlife, and how does it compare to photographing people?

Most of my career has been about people. Sports photography was always the most challenging. I've covered the Super Bowl, NBA Finals, the Indy 500, and even traveled to Africa for adoption stories. I approached every assignment with a storytelling mindset.

But when my mom passed away in October 2023, everything changed. She lived on a 100-acre nature preserve and loved the outdoors. I used to visit and take nature photos just to share with her. She was my biggest fan and a huge influence. After she passed, I felt drawn more and more to wildlife.

Two bald eagles perched beak to beak on a bare branch on a rainy day — A rainy day yields a rare moment — two eagles locked in a quiet stare. Nature doesn't cancel for weather, and neither should we.

It's like a hunt. I enjoy the quiet chase — waiting, watching, being patient. I'm a hunter, but with a camera. There's something primal about tracking an animal and being ready when the moment arrives. I hadn't really captured a great eagle photo until about a year ago. Now I have dozens. That comes from patience, time in the field, and openness to what nature offers.

Wildlife photography also teaches humility. There's always some luck involved. When luck and skill meet, it's an incredible feeling. It really is a sport of its own.

A ghost crab frozen mid-step on pale sand with surf behind — A ghost crab freezes mid-step, nearly invisible against the sand.

Four young deer wading through shallow blue water — Wading where sea meets sky, four young deer cross through the quiet water.

Your images often explore the relationship between people and nature. What's your take on our role in protecting the wild?

For me, it's all about connection. When I walk a deserted beach and find a ghost crab or a hunting eagle, it feels personal. I'll sit for hours, just observing, photographing quietly with no one around. That kind of solitude is rare — and this area still offers it.

An osprey in flight carrying a silver fish in its talons — An osprey climbs high with its prize, a silver catch glinting in the air. I could watch these birds all day: calm above, chaos below.

People miss out on that when they chase the crowds. I was in the Smokies recently and saw cars lined up through Cades Cove, everyone hoping to glimpse wildlife. When something appeared, the crowds swarmed. It didn't feel respectful.

My best advice: go where others don't. Don't follow the crowd. Florida's Wildlife Corridor is an incredible example — 10 million acres of protected land. There's space for nature to breathe. We all need to do more to protect our wild places. Sometimes, that just means stepping back and letting nature be.

A dockside pelican flipping a fish into the air above its open pouch — This scrappy dockside pelican works the fishermen like a pro. No need to wander far; some of the best wildlife stories happen just across the street.

How has coastal life influenced your photography?

I spent most of my life in Ohio and Indiana, photographing people in cities and small towns. I loved the variety — Amish communities, farmers, urban life. It was rich ground for photojournalism.

But the coast is something else. It's old Florida, the kind that existed before theme parks and crowds. Every time I vacationed here, I never wanted to leave. Now I live in Mexico Beach, five minutes from the shore. Every day I wake up to a landscape that still feels wild and untouched in places. It's quiet, ancient, and full of character — that "Forgotten Coast."

An aerial view of a capsized boat with two kayakers passing alongside — A storm-tossed boat lies capsized near Gulf Coast State College. From the air, its story changes as disruption becomes geometry and ruin becomes reflection.

Fireworks bursting in green and pink above the Panama City Beach skyline — On the Fourth of July, the whole coast becomes a canvas. From St. Andrews to Inlet Beach, 27 miles of color light up the sky in one long, glowing breath.

A sea turtle resting on the sand at the waterline facing a Gulf sunset — An elder sea turtle, lifeless on the sand, faces the Gulf one last time. I like to think it came for the sunset, just one more before the tide carried it home.

The contrast between where I came from and where I am now is fueling a whole new chapter of my work. I've never felt more at peace behind the camera. It's a new kind of passion, and it feels like I'm just getting started.

Originally published in Beach Happy Magazine, Volume 21 (Summer 2025). Interview by Susan Gunn. All photographs by Mike Fender. View more of his coastal captures at mikefender.com or follow @mike_fender_photography on Instagram.