How a 25% discount at Fox Moto turned into a 25-hour VSSL photo project on Cole Island.

I met Rachael Faith at a birthday party.

A birthday party I volunteered to photograph for free.

Twenty years into my career, I do a lot less free work than I used to. And birthdays? Birthdays have been a hard no for me since day one. Every photographer has boundaries. I no longer “work with” babies (because they’re terrible at taking direction) or people wearing pointy hats blowing out candles.

But when Lauren Peterson — aka Miss British Columbia 2025 — posted the following to Creators Victoria, she caught my attention:

But this isn’t really about a birthday party.

PHOTOGRAPHER / VIDEOGRAPHER CALL 🖤

Hello again!

We are looking for 1–2 TFP style photographers & 1 videographer to capture moments at my Birthday Event, this Friday December 19th in downtown Bastion Square.

This is now covered by a local / highly established magazine, as a VIP Black Tie Celebration 🎉

I know MANY of you are attending, however if you want to throw in your camera or do some video, this would be an awesome opportunity and wouldn’t hurt!!

(DM myself, or Rachel Lena Alderson to confirm).

– You would be taking photos of the designed food, special guests, sponsored donations, etc!

She framed it as more than cakes and candles. It sounded curated. Elevated. A networking opportunity disguised as a party.

As I get older — and in a time where we are increasingly isolated by technology, DoorDash, and AI responses — I remind myself that in-person connection and good old-fashioned networking might be more impactful than ever. I’ve also been leaning into this idea that stepping out, taking small risks, and trusting that momentum creates opportunity tends to pay off.

For five years now I’ve done biannual work trips to South Korea. There have been times I’ve left with barely enough bookings to cover airfare, and every single time work has appeared to make the trip worthwhile. Movement creates momentum.

Early in my career, I built a simple framework for deciding whether to take a job:

Does it excite or educate me?
Does it build my portfolio?
Does it expand my network in a meaningful way?
Does it fill my bank account?

If I can check off at least two of those, I usually say yes. And though it’s not officially on the list, free food and drink has a surprising amount of pull. For some reason, free food just tastes better.

Lauren’s birthday checked two boxes. It intrigued me. It promised new connections. And yes, there would be free drinks.

So I went.

Lauren’s Birthday

Let me tell you, it’s a good thing I had my four-criteria rule in mind because the evening unfolded in a way I did not expect.

Before the event, Lauren mentioned in the group chat that another photographer would be attending — an editorial photographer named Rachael Faith. I looked up her Instagram. She billed herself as a Victoria and Vancouver Island editorial photographer. The work was good. Moody. Intentional. There was something about her aesthetic that stuck with me — a mix of West Coast adventure and cinematic softness. I remember a van-life-style image in particular, light pouring down over her face beside an old van somewhere that looked like desert country. It had that effortless, aspirational vibe. You wanted to be there.

So I was genuinely looking forward to meeting her.

When I arrived at the venue in Bastion Square, Rachael and I hit it off almost immediately. She was warm, charismatic funny and allergic to peanuts. We photographed arrivals as a stretched limo attempted what can only be described as a three-point ballet into Bastion Square. Flash popped. Dresses swayed. Lots of posing. The energy was unapologetically big.

And then the night got… interesting.

It wasn’t quite what I’d imagined when I read the call-out. I had pictured something intimate and cohesive — a room with a single heartbeat. Instead, it felt more layered than that. Different circles orbiting different conversations. Glamour in one corner. Long-time friends in another. Energy everywhere, just not always pointed in the same direction.

At some point I found myself stationed at a makeshift photo wall, doing a steady stream of portraits that weren’t exactly what I’d envisioned when I said yes.

Rachael and I exchanged one of those subtle photographer glances — the kind that says, “Well… here we are.”

And honestly, that shared understanding made the night better. We floated between rooms. We laughed. We adapted. Because that’s the job. I remember her nut allergy. I remember teasing her with a paraphrased Louis C.K. bit about Darwin and peanuts (which, in hindsight, was probably a risky move on first meeting). She didn’t block me afterward, so I guess it landed okay.

I even remember grabbing her a cotton candy sucker on the way out.

Nothing about that night screamed “life-changing moment.” But it planted something.

Enter Todd, Fox Moto, and a Cup I Didn’t Need

A few days later, I walked into Fox Moto Rent to look at a sleeping bag… and walked out with a 25% discount and a problem.

Todd Rayner’s shop is chaos in the best possible way. It’s like if a well-traveled mountain man and a design nerd had a retail baby. Camping gear, sunglasses, moto gear, apparel — and on this particular day, a guy sorting through what looked like 400 pounds of gourmet spices.

I asked Todd if he’d pivoted into the spice industry.

“No,” he said. “The company went under.”

Of course they did. And of course Todd bought the entire inventory at some absurd deal because that’s exactly what Todd does. He curates what he likes. If he likes it, it ends up in the shop.

I was there for a sleeping bag. A Sea to Summit down bag that compresses about 33% smaller than my synthetic Nemo. I wanted less bulk in the saddlebag. That was the justification. Practical. Sensible. Mature.

Then Todd handed me a VSSL cup.

My wife has a weakness for Yeti, so our cupboards are basically a stainless steel shrine to insulated hydration. I did not need another cup.

But Todd has a gift. He doesn’t sell you a product. He sells you a scenario.

“You can throw this in your bag,” he says, flipping the lid upside down. “Won’t spill.”

Suddenly I’m imagining a life I’ve never once lived — hucking coffee mugs into backpacks while sprinting toward adventure — and feeling like I’ve been deprived.

It was forest green. Matte. Beautiful typography. That subtle orangey non-scratch base that felt vaguely KTM-coded. It locked with a satisfying click. It felt engineered. Intentional.

I asked the price. Forty-something dollars. Maybe forty-nine.

I hesitated.

Todd offered 25% off everything if I’d post about the shop.

We didn’t shake hands. I hugged him. That’s somehow worse.

I left with a down sleeping bag, a sleep mask I didn’t know I needed, and a coffee cup that had no business changing my week.

On the drive home, the cup sat in the passenger tray while I quietly abandoned practical thoughts and started drafting a shot list in my head.

And that’s when it hit me.

A phone photo wasn’t going to cut it.

VSSL’s branding is too strong. Their promo book — which Todd had shown me months earlier — was basically a photography flex disguised as marketing. West Coast mood. Adventure restraint. Pages without products. Just atmosphere.

You don’t answer that with an iPhone shot in your kitchen.

You answer it properly.

And just like that, I had a subject.

The Cole Island Concept

I wanted mist. Fog. Moody winter Victoria light — the kind that makes everything feel cinematic, even if you’re just walking the dog in a damp hoodie.

I’d also been fixated on Cole Island. It’s this tiny little speck in Esquimalt Harbour, about 0.6 hectares — basically a football-field-sized island that somehow managed to play a very serious role in Canadian naval history.

From 1859 to 1938, Cole Island was used for storing black powder, cartridges, shells, mines, rockets, and small arms ammunition — and it was placed there on purpose, away from the dockyards, because nobody wanted the “oops” version of explosives storage happening on the mainland.

Today it’s protected as part of the Esquimalt Naval Sites National Historic Site (designated in 2006) — with a handful of the original brick magazines still standing, the kind of structures that look like they were built to quietly survive forever.

And then there’s Charles — the caretaker. A lighthouse-house, white walls, sea light pouring in, guitar on the wall, wool sweater energy. He’s as much a part of the island’s pull as the history is.

Best way to get there? Paddleboard. Because if you’re going to do a West Coast lifestyle shoot in winter, you might as well earn it.

The story formed quickly:

Blue hour morning.

We chose tea over coffee.

(Rachael doesn’t drink coffee — another one of her quirks — and while hot chocolate is technically her daily breakfast beverage, we decided to steer this campaign slightly north of playground demographics.)

Camper van transition.

Beach launch.

Board pump-up.

Locking lid hero moment.

Backpack toss.

Paddle across to Cole Island.

Organic lifestyle product photography. Not forced. Not staged to death. Something Vessel might actually use.

I posted the concept in Creators Victoria. But truthfully, I already knew who I wanted.

Rachael fit the vibe.

So I reached out directly.

She said yes immediately.

The Shoot That Refused to Be Moody

We started at 6 a.m. Blue hour in the kitchen. Tea brewing. Cold light through windows. Camper van (an ’89 Chevy G20, infinitely cooler than my Prius). It was coming together.

And then Victoria did the one thing I didn’t ask for.

It gave us the most beautiful sunny day of the winter.

And wind.

Relentless wind.

Shooting from one paddleboard while your subject is on another paddleboard is hard enough in still water. Add chop and headwind and it becomes a workout. Every “one more time” meant Rachael paddling 30–50 metres back into the wind so I could try again.

I eventually climbed onto a dock just to eliminate one moving variable.

The DJI Mini 5 Pro came out for wide shots. Useful. Convenient. But noticeably less magic than Sigma glass.

We made it to Cole Island. The tide was the highest I’ve ever seen it. Even seasoned winter swimmers said they’d never seen it that high. The ammunition bunkers were nearly flooded. Getting out without soaking gear was an exercise.

Rachael was a trooper. Wind. Cold. Wet. Four hours in.

We were both chilled.

So we did what lizards do.

We sat against the caretaker’s house on the sunny side and absorbed heat.

Charles

Charles eventually came out.

White beard. Wool sweater. Stories he’s told me before — and I still love hearing them. He invited us in for tea and biscuits. The light inside his home is cinematic. Sea light bouncing off white walls. A mariner’s museum of odds and ends.

I asked if he’d pour tea into the Vessel. He obliged.

He even gave me one of his harmonicas after I told him I’d lost mine years ago.

He claims he hates having his portrait taken, but once you crack that shell, he poses like he’s been waiting for it all week.

That part of the day had nothing to do with product photography.

And everything to do with why I do this.

The Crash

We paddled back with the wind behind us.

By the time Rachael left, the adrenaline faded and I realized how exhausted I was. Ten hours on the water. Shooting since 6 a.m. Cold wind fatigue. Social energy. Creative pressure.

I ate everything in sight, put on eight layers, and fell asleep on the couch almost instantly.

The Point

This started with a 25% discount on a coffee cup.

It turned into:

– A portfolio-building lifestyle brand shoot in Victoria

– A renewed connection with a fellow creative

– A full redesign of my shot list template

– A day on Cole Island

– Tea with Charles

– A harmonica in my pocket

Movement creates momentum.

Volunteering created a connection.

Connection created collaboration.

Collaboration created a project.

A project created new work.

I’m excited to share these images with Rachael first — because this was as much her day as mine. Then with Todd at Fox Moto Rent, who trusted me enough to give me that discount. Then with Charles. And finally, with VSSL — to see if they spot something useful inside this windy, sun-soaked, tea-fueled West Coast adventure.

If nothing else, I got a great cup out of it.

And a reminder that saying yes — even to birthdays — sometimes pays off in ways you can’t predict.

I Didn’t Need the Cup. I Needed a Vessel.