Is it common for a nature conservation ranger to receive a state award — and not just any award, but the Hungarian Bronze Cross of Merit?

No, but I don’t say this to amplify my own merits. Rather, it highlights how the profession of nature conservation is less known and less recognized. Our profession does have its own award — the Pro Natura Commemorative Medal — which I received in 2020 from Agriculture Minister Dr. István Nagy for my educational work in conservation and for the way I capture the Hortobágy landscape and its wildlife through photography. A significant factor was that 2023 marked the 50th anniversary of the Hortobágy National Park, which brought considerable media attention, and I played a prominent role in that, both with my photos and presentations. That same year, in collaboration with the Hungarian National Bank, we issued a commemorative coin, and this probably helped bring my work into the spotlight.

What does a nature conservation ranger do?

People often think we spend all day out in the field admiring birds, counting wildlife, catching frogs, and so on. While that’s partially true, our work is much more varied. Often, we’re sitting at a computer or attending meetings and negotiations — not our favorite part, but it comes with the job.

Within the framework of laws, we determine which areas can be used for which type of land management, and when. This is active nature conservation. For example, when the great bustard starts nesting, we try to locate the nesting sites early in the season — not by finding the nest directly, but by observing the birds' behavior. When grazing begins in late April, we talk to the landowner and ask them not to use those specific hectares until the end of May — no livestock, no shepherd dogs allowed there. Or when an invasive plant species appears, we ask the farmer to increase grazing in that area so trampling and grazing can suppress the plant.

I was born here in Balmazújváros and never wanted to leave. When we played as kids, this wasn’t yet a national park, but we already recognized its value. We played football, tag, hide and seek, built forts on the outskirts of town — always close to nature. Around age 13 or 14, I met others who were interested in birds, and we began exploring the area around town — which remains one of Hungary’s most significant natural habitats. Those saline outskirts are now part of the national park, partly thanks to the monitoring work and studies we did as young people. At first, I thought the world around me was just naturally like this. Later, I realized what a treasure it was — not just rare in Hungary, but in all of Europe.

Why did you start photographing? Did you one day realize you'd like to capture what you see?

That's exactly what happened. Once we began birdwatching intentionally, we shared what we observed with childlike enthusiasm through the informal channels of the time. We sent data to the editorial office of the Birdwatching Bulletin — the first journal of the Hungarian Ornithological and Nature Conservation Society (MME), launched in 1977. When our reports were published half a year or a year later, people from other parts of the country congratulated us. It helped us put things in perspective, and our desire to document our observations grew. Nature is constantly changing, and that’s why documentation matters.

For example, there are many species in the Hortobágy that we didn’t see as children, or only regarded as extreme rarities, and today they are everyday sights. Like the pygmy cormorant — in 1991, seeing two in Balmazújváros was a local sensation; now they breed here in thousands of pairs. Or the ruddy shelduck, which was considered rare back then, now nests in hay storage areas near town. It’s great, but obviously tells us something. Climate change has winners and losers — and the same trends are evident in insects and mammals too.

I started photography with a Russian camera. My first bird photos were taken from a hide I built out of a cardboard box from a Hajdú washing machine, in our backyard at the bird feeder. Later, my brother bought me a 300 mm Russian lens, with which I could take decent-quality bird shots for the time. I got positive feedback that people appreciated and enjoyed the pictures. My first photos appeared in print in Búvár and various MME publications like Madártávlat and Túzok, and even in international journals. This affirmed that there’s a demand for what I do — and it seems I’m doing it well since people like it.

Has the reason you photograph ever changed?

No. I still want to show the wonders that surround me as part of my work and who I am. I’m more of a birder than a photographer, but I combine the two well — I’m patient, I have access, and I live in one of the most wonderful regions of Hungary — at least I see it that way.

People often ask if I enter competitions. I’ve never been much of a competitor — I don’t feel the urge to have my photos judged. So I rarely submit entries. But if I weren’t on the other side of the table, I might enter the Birdo. Still, I’ve had success — for instance, when I first entered the 'Hungary 365' photo contest, I won second place and a public vote award.

Do you photograph spontaneously, or do you prepare?

Both. In recent years, due to my age and workload, I need dedicated days where I decide I’ll go out to photograph. Often, events pull me away. Still, sometimes I plan something and it doesn’t happen, or an unmissable natural event occurs and I drop everything.

I’m in such a project right now — near our home, short-eared owls have started nesting. They haven’t done so in such numbers since 2013. I want to capture that. Another example is documenting and protecting black-tailed godwits. My conservation instincts are strong, so I don’t take photos at all costs. I assess the situation and, as much as possible, spend time observing the birds’ behavior.

Today I also shoot videos. I’ve developed a technique that lets me capture extremely close footage without disturbing the birds. These usually get a great response. I always carry my camera, and if something special arises — unique lighting, a rare combination of species, a buzzard sitting on a well sweep, or interesting behavior — I take the time for a photo.

Sometimes I get lost in the moment. Today, while looking through a scope at godwits and ducks, I saw two imperial eagles tearing into prey in beautiful, flat evening light. I lose track of time in moments like these.

What do you truly love about the Hortobágy?

Many have asked, and I don’t have a good answer. Just as others feel about their homeland, for me the love for Hortobágy stems from that origin — something inexplicable. There's surely something sacred in it.

I look out the window and see five kilometers of uninterrupted horizon. The green in 5–10 shades, the flight of crows and lapwings. It’s hard to put into words. I think in images. My gaze can travel freely. It gives me a sense of freedom. Or the silence — which isn’t truly silence in nature, but we call it that. After a few days away, I long to see my eyes meet nothing on the horizon.

Maybe that’s why I also love deserts alongside the plains. I’m more drawn to vast open desert habitats than, say, to rainforests. That’s part of why my trip to Mongolia was one of my greatest experiences. We traveled through landscapes very similar to Hortobágy.

We specifically sought out species and habitats that strongly resemble those in Hortobágy. We share many species — what’s rare here is common there. We also looked at which factors in Mongolian livestock farming still exist but are gone here, and we managed to identify many such relationships.

Hortobágy may be one of Hungary’s largest natural habitats, but in Europe, human impact is so strong that few untouched processes remain. Mongolia is much larger, with fewer people and less regulation. The landscape looks the same but on a much bigger scale.

The main difference: water isn’t regulated there. Water comes, stays, evaporates, or flows away naturally. Here? Water doesn’t arrive, because we forced it into channels. The climate is also much drier now than 30–40 years ago.

This realization led to something we’ve been saying for 30 years, and now even politics echoes it — we must retain water here, because there used to be water. Hortobágy’s flat landscape still has significant micro-relief. Just a few centimeters’ difference can affect massive wetland areas.

But humans flattened it, channeled it, closed it off — or opened it in the wrong places. Today, we try to restore it through nature conservation efforts — either through major international grants or with sandbags costing just a few hundred forints.

The Hortobágy gaze — locals always look far first, then near — picks out those tiny changes in surface. Now, technology helps us make millimeter-accurate surface models. We can say where, across hundreds of hectares, placing five sandbags can create a 10-hectare shallow wetland.

Have you photographed birds in Mongolia too?

Yes. I love cranes — Hortobágy and cranes belong together. I had a special anticipation to see the two Mongolian crane species: the white-naped crane and the demoiselle crane. I managed to see and photograph both. 

A highlight was seeing the white-naped cranes leading their chicks near me. I’ve never had such an experience with the common crane, since it doesn’t nest in our area.

You’ve judged multiple photo competitions. Do you always use the same criteria or does it vary?

If I may put it plainly: I judge based on whether I like the photo or not. Still, I can’t and don’t want to take off my nature conservation lens. I look at what the image conveys to laypeople. As I look, I already compose in my mind what I’d write about it, because that kind of storytelling is part of who I am.

Some photos serve this purpose excellently, others are simply beautiful. The world increasingly wants everything sharp, perfect, flawless in light and color. But I accept imperfection, since I myself can’t always work under ideal conditions.

There are cases where the subject outweighs the execution. So even if the image is slightly blurred but shows something fascinating, I might be more forgiving. On the other hand, I can be strict with photos that feel repetitive — like the 15th black-winged stilt or 26th bee-eater. By then, you start feeling saturated.

If that same photo had come ten entries earlier, it might’ve scored a few points higher. That’s just how it is — we’re human. Everyone has a personal sense of beauty.

Photos: Attila Szilágyi