Remembering Craig
- Johan Siggesson
- 6 days ago
- 3 min read
There are animals that you photograph, and then there are animals that you photograph and they stay with you. Craig the super tusker was the second kind.
When the news came that Craig had passed away in Amboseli, it felt like losing a constant. For years, he had been part of the rhythm of that place. Not always visible, not always close, but always present in spirit. For many of us who have walked the dust of Amboseli with a camera in hand, Craig was more than an elephant. He was a symbol of Amboseli and the elephant you always tried to find. He was the one you always wanted. He was the one you wanted in front of the mighty Kilimanjaro. He was the one you could get close to, He was the one...
Amboseli National Park has a way of stripping things back to what matters. The light is harsh, the land is open, and the elephants move with quiet authority across the plains. Craig stood apart even among them. Maybe not the largest elephant but the size of his tusks was undeniable. His calm presence is what left the strongest impression. He did not rush. He did not posture. He simply was.
Meeting Craig for the First Time
My first experience of Craig was not the image I had imagined. He was deep in a bush and stayed there the entire time. I could see parts of him, enough to know it was him, but not enough to really photograph or understand his presence. Still, just knowing he was there was enough. I remember feeling a mix of frustration and excitement. I had finally encountered Craig, but not yet in a way that felt complete.
From that moment on, I could not wait for the chance to see him properly. Out in the open. Unobstructed. The way an elephant like Craig deserved to be seen.
That moment came later.
Over the years, I photographed Craig several times. Each encounter felt measured and calm. You paid attention, waited for the moment to settle, and worked within whatever he gave you. There was no sense of chasing a photograph. Just being present and responding to what unfolded.
An Elephant Who Defined a Place
Craig became inseparable from Amboseli itself. Mention one and the other followed naturally. His tusks showed a life lived through a period when many elephants like him did not survive. He stood for something that has become rare and very precious.
Now that Craig is gone, there will be no new photographs of him. No second chances. No different light or angle waiting another day. What exists now are the images already made, fixed in time. This is, in many ways, the core of photography. A moment recorded that will never happen again. In Craig’s case, it truly never will.
This is where fine art wildlife prints matter most to me. Not as decoration, but as a way of holding onto something real that no longer exists as it once did. It is still difficult to take in that I will never be able to photograph Craig again. ' In that sense, his prints now carry a finality that did not exist before. They are complete. Finished. Timeless.
Personal Loss, Shared Grief
Although I do not claim to have known Craig in the way researchers or long term rangers did, his loss still feels somewhat personal. Anyone who has returned to the same wild place year after year understands this feeling. Certain animals become landmarks. You look for them without realising you are doing it. And when they are gone, it doesn't feel the same anymore.
Craig’s death is a reminder to me why I photograph wildlife in the first place. Not to collect images, but to honour these amazing creatures and to remember.
Thank You, Craig
Thank you, Craig, for the moments you gave me. For the calm you carried. For the lessons in patience and presence. Amboseli will continue, as it always has, but it will never be quite the same without you.
And for those of us who were lucky enough to stand in your presence, camera lowered, heart racing, your story will live on. In memory. In photograps and prints. And in the quiet understanding that some encounters are once in a lifetime.
Rest well, old giant.
