Embers, Lenses and Tigers: Nick Moir’s Wild Eye

Nick Moir observed as the fires ignited spontaneously, popping up and rapidly consuming the dry grass across the Hillsville field. The flames moved unpredictably and sprinted across like a set of running athletes.

The Kundle/Moto Rural Fire Service roared on to the scene in their rugged Cat 7 fire brigade truck, its red-and-yellow stripes glowing through the thickening haze.

As the firefighters leapt into action, hoses were uncoiled, and powerful streams of water were shot into the blaze. Moir rushed out behind the firefighters with a camera strapped across his body, capturing every chaotic moment.

Through the viewfinder, Moir framed the chaos. In an orange haze, the smoke billowed like volcanic eruptions. The firefighters silhouetted against the inferno, battling a seemingly unstoppable force.

Snap.

Each picture was a display of nature's raw power and the struggle of those who stood against it.

The blaze surged forward, sending overwhelming waves of suffocating smoke toward the brigade. A wall of heat engulfed them, stealing all the breathable air and forcing them to retreat behind their truck.

Guarded by a blistering Cat 7, Nick continued to snap photos. The firefighter's attempt to reposition the nose proved too difficult. Nick captured the desperation of the struggling brigade.

The blaze proved too much for the brigade’s efforts, and eventually a call to retreat had to be made.

Moir left with not just striking images, but documentation and depiction of humanity's struggle to control and contain the ferocity of nature.

9:23am - “Hi mate. I have a job in the western suburbs after my 11:30 job. Did you want to come along? More time to chat.”

9:28am – “Hi, yeah absolutely. What time shall I meet you?”

9:43am – “I’ll be at 44 Botany Rd Alexandria from 11:30-12:30 so get there around 12:15-ish”

10:09am – “Sounds good, will see you then”

It had been a month since I sent an email contacting Nick Moir, chief photographer for the Sydney Morning Herald.

Famous for covering Australia’s brutal bushfire seasons such as Black Christmas 2001, Black Summer of 2019-2020, as well as being a storm chaser across the US, he’s a man who’s been through many intense situations and captured unbelievable moments.  

Anxious and sweaty palmed, I spent my train ride re-familiarising myself with his famous photos. I was struck by the wild lifestyle this man seemed to live. Not in a rockstar way, but in a “how is he still alive” kind of way.

Flames ripping through trees, a truck charging through fire, a colossal tornado forming in a field. These moments capture the visceral nature of our climate crisis and our struggles to manage it.

The last month contacting him has felt like chasing a tornado myself. A hard man to get a hold of.

I arrived in Redfern, waiting just outside FBI radio and the Sydney Improv Theatre. Awkwardly early of course.

After a short wait, a man emerged from the Sydney Improv Theatre, two Nikon DSLR cameras swinging from each shoulder, wheeling a hard case of gear.

“G’day,” Nick said. I followed him to his car.

He swung open the door of his four-wheel drive. A complete disarray of empty packets of chips, batteries, tripods, and cases across the backseat. The interior of the car felt reminiscent of a Mad Max vehicle, filled with various knick-knacks and gadgets. A vehicle fit for one man to take on the elements.

He flung his cameras onto the floor like a tradie would throw his hammer into a toolbox.
“Never broken a camera” Nick mentioned later in the day. I found it hard to believe.

“We’re heading to Casula. Just taking some drone footage, for a Herald article.” For Nick, today was a mundane day.

His passion for photography and journalism was palpable, showing immense insight into every aspect of the craft. We bonded over an appreciation for street photography, and spoke about News media.

I unfolded my crumpled paper of questions to formally begin the interview. Nick’s friendly and outgoing personality had eased my anxiety.

As we drove and we talked, I realised why it took so long to get in contact with him. Trains of thought were lost as he received a text message, followed by sudden tangents about the state of photojournalism in Australia. His focus was everywhere all at once.

“There were a number of photos that won awards after the fires, and it’s like. You didn't spend a single ****** day out there. You don't know what the **** you're talking about.”

To think that the man who spends his days chasing storms and extreme weather would be like an everyday nine-to-five guy would’ve been a naïve assumption.

Nick laughed, “Thank God you’re not recording this. I would be sued for slander.”

The discussion scattered across many topics, spanned several decades, and contained inklings of bigger stories that often remained unfinished.

As we arrived in Casula, I patiently sat in the front seat of the car as Nick fiddled with his phone.

“Training… Testing…,” he said reading out the drone settings. “I've got my ******* documentation, it's already there you prick.”

Unsure if I should laugh or help, I sat there. Amused that this is the same man who escapes deadly fires.

We moved to a nearby open field and Nick swiftly flew the drone up.

After two minutes of silent concentration, “Ok, all done.”

And before I knew it, we were on our way back.

I looked down at my remaining questions. By this point I had realised that any attempts to control the conversation would be thwarted.

Approaching my destination, my mind raced with fragments of stories. It felt as it I was trying to focus my lens on Nick in a haze of smoke, who felt impossible to control, and impossible to reach. My efforts were foiled, and stepping out of that car felt like a retreat.

“Nick was tough on me” Amanda said.

Amanda Parkinson is a freelance ABC investigative photojournalist. She began her journalism career alongside Moir, as a part of a cadetship at the Herald.

“He snatched my digital camera on my first day and made me shoot film.”

“He taught me to never ‘spray and pray.’ Image making is intentional, it is about what you feel, the thematics of a story. It’s about building relationships with everything in your frame.

With a camera slung over his shoulder, Nick wandered through Taronga Zoo, using his day off as a copyboy to practise his photography. Armed with a long lens, he spent time observing the tiger enclosure. Through the viewfinder, he saw the male prowling, muscles tensing, while the female stretched lazily, eyes half-lidded.

With a sudden lunge, the male was on the female. It wasn’t violent, but it was visceral, as he bit into her neck as a display of dominance.

Both tigers suddenly stared straight down the barrel of the lens. The yellow eyes pierced through Moir with a primal intensity. 

Staring down nature in the eye through his lens, he froze for a beat. He carefully framed the image and focused clearly.

Snap.

The moment frozen in time. A control of nature on film. A depiction of power, connection, and a wildness that couldn’t be tamed.