The Captain’s Log
Aerial stories, father–son adventures, and life on the edge of the Pacific.
James Bay Athletic Association: A Place That Formed Me
A high-angle aerial photograph of the James Bay Athletic Association field and clubhouse.
There are places you visit, and then there are places that quietly become part of who you are.
James Bay was never just a rugby club for me — it was a backdrop to my youth, and later, a cornerstone of my adult life.
I never played here.
Not once.
In high school and my early twenties, I was just one of the guys who hung around — watching games, having beers, shooting pool, and soaking up the atmosphere. It was a social hub, a place you drifted into without planning to.
Then in my late twenties, I came back to help out for what I thought would be one season.
One year managing the men’s first division team.
Straightforward. Temporary.
Fifteen years later, I was still there.
That’s how clubs like this work. You think you’re stepping in lightly, and suddenly it’s become part of your identity.
lot happens in fifteen years.
We won championships.
We toured.
We survived some legendary road trips.
We built friendships that outlasted seasons, jobs, even eras of our lives.
Some of the best moments of my life happened through this club.
Some of the hardest ones did too.
We lost people we loved — far too young, far too soon.
Those losses stay with you.
You feel them every time you walk through the clubhouse or see an old team photo.
And not every moment was glory.
Tuesday and Thursday practices at Beacon Hill Park were brutal — freezing wind, sideways rain, hands numb.
But the connections forged in that cold are still some of the strongest in my life.
This place isn’t just part of my story.
It is a piece of me.
My wedding reception was held in the Hall — just a simple fact, but it says plenty about how deep the roots go.
JBAA was founded in 1886, and somehow still feels like one of Victoria’s beating hearts.
Community-first.
Generational.
A place that’s kept kids, families, and rugby culture intertwined for nearly 140 years.
And now my four-year-old son plays here.
Nothing prepares you for how that feels — seeing your kid on the same field where you spent so many years managing, organizing, freezing, celebrating, grieving, laughing.
It’s surreal in the best way.
A quiet full-circle moment.
That’s why I wanted to film it.
I’ve flown over beaches, forests, coastlines, harbors — but this was different.
This was personal.
Seeing James Bay from above transformed it.
A place that once felt massive and chaotic suddenly looked calm, small, familiar, almost tender.
Time and perspective do that.
This film isn’t about rugby.
It’s about a place that helped form me — a place that shaped a significant chapter of my life and is now becoming part of my son’s.
A place full of friendships, stories, victories, heartbreaks, cold nights, warm gatherings, and memories I’ll carry forever.
Here’s the aerial perspective of a field and a Hall that have meant more to me than I ever expected — and hopefully a place my son will grow into just as deeply.
Thanks, JBAA.
Why Vancouver Island Is Perfect for Quiet, Cinematic Aerial Stories
If you’ve watched any of my videos, you’ve probably noticed something about the locations: nothing is flashy. There are no neon skylines, no drone fly-throughs of city towers, no big cinematic set pieces. Just beaches. Heritage sites. Driftwood. Fog. Little pockets of the Island that most people drive past without a second thought.
That’s all on purpose.
Vancouver Island has a way of telling its own story — quietly, patiently, without needing you to force anything. And that’s exactly why it has become the heart of every cinematic piece I make.
Here’s what makes this place so naturally perfect for aerial storytelling.
1. The Island doesn’t rush
Some landscapes demand energy.
Vancouver Island invites you to slow down.
Whether I’m flying over Coal Island, walking onto Willows Beach before the day begins, or standing on damp sand in Parksville with the sun barely awake, the Island sets the pace. The shots come from being present rather than pushing for something dramatic.
That slower rhythm shows up directly in the footage.
It’s why my videos aren’t filled with fast cuts — the locations don’t ask for them.
2. Small places carry big stories
Most people think aerial cinematics are all about grand vistas.
Mountains. Skyscrapers. Waterfalls.
But some of the most meaningful shots I’ve ever taken have come from places you could miss if you blinked:
an old jetty half-covered in moss
a derelict building on a tiny island
a stretch of shoreline that only locals really know
the worn footpaths around Cattle Point
the quiet curve of a Westshore beach at sunrise
These aren’t the kind of places that end up in tourism commercials.
They’re lived-in. Familiar.
Real.
That’s where the good stories hide.
3. The weather creates its own atmosphere
On Vancouver Island, the weather is the cinematographer half the time.
Fog rolls in out of nowhere.
A calm sea suddenly starts to breathe.
Light hits the water in a way you couldn’t plan even if you tried.
Some mornings you get color.
Some mornings you get cloud.
Some mornings you get nothing but grey — and somehow that still works.
You don’t control the look.
You accept what the Island gives you.
That honesty is a big part of the aesthetic.
4. The Island is full of places people think they already know
Willows Beach.
Esquimalt Lagoon.
Dallas Road.
Cadboro Bay.
Saxe Point.
The Inner Harbor.
Everyone here has been to these places.
Everyone has a memory tucked into them somewhere — childhood beach days, family picnics, walks with friends, first dates, foggy dog walks, early-morning coffee runs.
Aerial footage doesn’t change those places.
It just lets people see them again, from a different angle — familiar, but new.
That’s why these spots resonate so strongly when you film them the right way.
5. Aerial storytelling fits the West Coast personality
People on Vancouver Island don’t respond to hype.
They respond to things that feel real.
Big dramatic drone moves and over-edited sequences don’t match the tone of the Island. The place itself is the story. The drone is just the tool that lets me share it.
The quiet drift of the Air 3S, the colour grading that leans toward natural, and the slow voiceovers all come from trying to match the character of the landscape — not overpower it.
When the footage feels calm, it feels like home.
6. I fly here because it feels like the right way to show the Island
There are days when I wish I had mountains or deserts or neon cities to film. But then I watch a sunrise at Willows or a fog bank creep over the Lagoon and I remember:
This is enough.
More than enough.
The Island gives you the kind of moments that don’t need explaining — they just need someone to show up with a drone, fly safely, and press record at the right time.
That’s the work I want to keep doing.
7. This is the direction going forward
Quiet, honest, cinematic pieces.
Father–son mornings.
Local history tucked into visual stories.
Heritage sites. Beaches. Lagoons.
Little places with big atmosphere.
No gimmicks.
No hype.
Just Vancouver Island — seen from above, but told from the ground.
If that’s your kind of thing, there will always be more on the way.
More From Vancouver Island Drones
Aerial Photography & Video in Victoria — Why Everything Starts With a Conversation
A look at how we approach real, human, conversation-first aerial work in Greater Victoria.
Aerial Photographer in Victoria — What to Know Before Hiring One
Key things locals should look for when choosing a drone photographer who’s compliant, safe, and storytelling-minded.
Aerial Videographer in Victoria — What Makes Footage Stand Out
A breakdown of what separates cinematic, meaningful aerial video from basic flyovers.
A Quiet Farewell to the Goldstream Inn (Ma Miller’s)
Ma Miller’s
Even if you didn’t grow up in the West Shore, chances are you still know this building. Anyone who’s lived around Greater Victoria long enough has driven past it, stopped in for a pint, or heard stories from someone who did. The Goldstream Inn — later known to nearly everyone as Ma Miller’s Pub — has been part of the Island’s landscape for more than a century.
The site first opened in 1864, making it one of the oldest pub locations in British Columbia. Back then it served travellers along early settlement routes. The name changed in 1923, when May “Ma” Greening-Miller took over and ran it with enough personality to stay etched into local memory. Over the decades it survived fire damage, rebuilds, and generations of regulars. And whether you were there for live music, fundraisers, family meals, or just a post-game beer, it was a familiar stop.
For me, it was usually a pit stop on the way home from rugby road trips — one of those “we always end up here somehow” places.
The pub closed in 2021, and the building has been sitting empty ever since. The roof is softening, the windows are boarded, and moss has taken over the signage. It’s slowly being reclaimed by the trees.
So I took the drone out for a short flight.
Not because the building is beautiful — it isn’t anymore — but because it’s part of local history. A lot of people have memories tied to this place, and it felt worth documenting from above before nature eventually erases it completely.
More Vancouver Island Stories
Cole Island at Sunrise — A Quiet Look at a Forgotten Place
A calm aerial film exploring one of Esquimalt Harbor’s most historic and overlooked locations.
James Bay Athletic Association — A Place That Formed Me
A personal, reflective story about a historic Victoria rugby club and the people who shaped it.
Thinking About Prints (And Maybe a Calendar)
Getting two photos selected for the 2026 and 2027 Colwood calendar — including the cover — was pretty surreal.
I don’t think of myself as a “calendar photographer,” but it was a reminder that people really do connect with shots of the place we all call home. Even the everyday corners of the Westshore get a second life when you see them from above.
Cole Island
It also planted a little idea:
maybe we should make our own Vancouver Island calendar for 2027.
Nothing fancy — just the quiet, coastal, sunrise moments we’ve been filming and sharing anyway.
And maybe… prints, too.
I’ve been going through old footage and this photo from Cole Island stopped me cold. It’s the old brick boathouse just after sunrise — one of those scenes that looks like it hasn’t changed in a century. I’m printing this one for myself, and maybe for a couple of Christmas gifts.
It also feels like the kind of image locals might actually want on their wall.
So I’m testing the waters:
Would you ever buy a print like this?
Is a Westshore / Victoria calendar something people would want?
No pressure — I’m just curious what people think before putting real time into it.
Either way, I’m going to keep filming the spots that make this place feel like home.
More quiet Island stories coming soon.
Related Stories
Cole Island at Sunrise — A Quiet Look at a Forgotten Place
A calm, cinematic look at a historic Island location — part of the same ongoing historical thread.
Two Calendar Selections — One Very Familiar Sunrise Spot
The story behind the sunrise image selected twice for the Colwood community calendar, and the start of a quiet prints-and-calendar direction for Vancouver Island Drones.
Why I Fly at Sunrise: A West Coast Morning Ritual
Sunrise over Parksville
There’s something about sunrise on Vancouver Island that keeps pulling me out the door, long before the city wakes up and long before most people would willingly stand on a cold beach with a drone in one hand and bad gas-station coffee in the other.
I don’t think I ever planned for sunrise flying to become my routine. It just happened over time — quietly, without fanfare — until one morning I realized it was the only part of the day that always felt right.
Here’s why I keep choosing sunrise, again and again.
1. The Island feels honest at sunrise
Sunrise is when Vancouver Island shows its real personality.
There’s no pretending, no dramatic filters, no curated moments.
Some mornings the sky is orange and soft; some mornings it’s a wall of fog; some mornings it looks like the sun pressed snooze five times and barely showed up.
Whatever it gives you — that’s the truth of the day.
That honesty is a big part of why I fly.
2. The rhythm of the morning makes flying easier
Early morning flying has its own tempo.
No beach crowds.
No foot traffic stepping into your shot.
No curious dog walkers who decide you need an unsolicited 20-minute conversation about “the big scary drone.”
Just you, the shoreline, and a little bit of space to breathe.
There’s nothing rushed about sunrise.
The light builds slowly, the wind behaves (usually), and the drone feels like it has room to stretch without stepping on anyone’s morning routine.
If you’re a pilot in Victoria, you know how rare that is.
3. It’s the safest, calmest moment of the day
Victoria’s airspace is complicated — we all know that.
Floatplanes.
Helijet.
Coast Guard.
Military red zones.
Weather that makes promises at ground level it has no intention of keeping at 100 feet.
But at sunrise, everything is quieter.
Aircraft are fewer, winds are lower, the city hasn’t started moving yet, and I can focus on getting a clean, respectful flight in without having to wedge myself between other people’s mornings.
It’s not just convenience — it’s safety.
4. Sunrise lets the Island’s beauty speak for itself
There’s a kind of light you only get at sunrise, where the coastline glows a little differently and the waves seem to hold their breath for a minute.
Willows Beach looks softer.
Esquimalt Lagoon feels bigger.
Coal Island feels older.
Parksville looks like it was designed for mornings.
I can get good footage at other times, of course.
But sunrise brings out the character of this place in a way nothing else does.
You don’t have to force the shot.
You just show up, launch, and let Vancouver Island do what it does.
5. It’s the only time the day really belongs to me
By mid-morning, life is already happening at full speed.
Work. Parenting. Errands. Weather closing in again.
Normal life stuff.
But sunrise?
That’s mine.
It’s a small window of calm before the schedule starts — a quiet moment I get to share with my son when he’s with me, or just enjoy alone on the shoreline when it’s one of those solo flights.
It’s a moment that resets things.
A reminder that the Island is still beautiful, still patient, and still here no matter what yesterday looked like.
6. It’s where my best footage lives
If you look through my videos — Willows, Coal Island, Parksville, the Westshore beaches — you’ll notice they all have something in common:
Most of them happened in the soft light of sunrise.
Not because I’m chasing some dreamy Instagram effect, but because that’s when the Island feels like itself. And that’s when the drone feels like it belongs there, not interrupting anything or anyone.
Sunrise is when the Island lets you film it without asking for anything in return.
7. Maybe that’s why sunrise has become my ritual
It’s peaceful.
It’s simple.
It’s honest.
It’s safe.
It’s cinematic.
And it feels like the right way to begin a day on Vancouver Island.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.
If you enjoy these quiet moments as much as I do, there will be plenty more — new sunrises, new beaches, new little stories from around the Island, all filmed before most people have finished their first cup of coffee.
Thanks for being here for them.
Related Flights & Articles
Why Vancouver Island Is Perfect for Quiet, Cinematic Aerial Stories
A reflection on why this coast, this light, and these landscapes lend themselves so well to calm, sunrise-first flying.
Drones in Victoria, BC – What You Need to Know Before You Fly
A practical, local look at rules, airspace, and what responsible flying actually means around Greater Victoria.
Aerial Photography & Video in Victoria – Why Everything Starts With a Conversation
How I approach thoughtful, safety-first aerial work for locals while keeping the same calm, West Coast storytelling style.
The Insta360 AntiGravity Drone: Fascinating Tech… Just Not for Me
Every now and then something shows up in the drone world that isn’t just another round of “slightly better camera, slightly better sensor, slightly better obstacle avoidance.” And don’t get me wrong — I love that stuff. I’m perfectly happy in DJI’s ecosystem, quietly upgrading my way through their lineup like the fanboy I probably am.
But the new Insta360 AntiGravity drone?
That’s a completely different direction.
It’s not just an upgrade.
It’s a shift.
Instead of taking the traditional formula — camera in front, pilot points the lens, everything happens within a predictable framing — Insta360 basically said:
“What if the camera sees everything?”
It’s a 360° camera, mounted to a drone you never see in the footage.
You fly it, but the direction you point doesn’t really matter.
Editing becomes the star of the show.
And honestly?
That’s fascinating.
You could be flying forward, minding your own business, and something interesting could happen:
off to the side
behind you
above you
below you
…and it’s all still captured.
All of it.
Every angle.
That’s genuinely cool, and I’m glad someone out there is pushing the boundaries instead of refining the same formula year after year. It’s good for the industry to have more than one company inventing things — even if I’ll probably spend the rest of my life comparing everything to DJI because, well… that’s who I am.
Price point?
Also reasonable.
This thing isn’t a wallet-destroyer.
But here’s the truth:
I don’t see a place for it in my world.
Not because it’s bad — it isn’t.
Not because it’s niche — although it is.
But because the way I fly drones — and the way I experience flying drones — doesn’t line up with this style at all.
For one, it leans heavily into the FPV universe.
And now we get to my “I’m old” rant:
What is the point of going to a beautiful beach on the west coast of Vancouver Island, stepping into fresh air, hearing the waves, watching the sun rise over the water…
…and then putting on a pair of goggles so it feels like you’re sitting in your mother’s basement playing a video game?
That’s not for me.
When I go out flying, half the joy is actually being there.
It’s looking around, breathing the air, sipping bad gas-station coffee at 6 a.m., and seeing the world the way it actually looks — not through a headset.
And I’m usually out with my son.
Father–son time plus goggles?
That’s not interactive — that’s me disappearing into a virtual world while he pokes at driftwood waiting for his dad to come back.
So, while I completely understand why people are excited about AntiGravity — and why FPV pilots and creative editors are already dreaming up crazy shots — it’s just not meant for our little two-drone fleet.
**Cool? Absolutely.
Innovative? Definitely.
Something I’ll buy? Probably not.**
But I’m happy it exists.
I’m happy there’s something fresh and strange shaking up the drone world.
And I’m especially happy that not everything has to be a DJI product for me to appreciate it.
If nothing else, this feels like a reminder that there’s still plenty of room for creativity and experimentation in the skies — even if I’ll be sticking to my quiet West Coast cinematics, no goggles required.
Related Articles
Chasing Down a DJI Neo 2 for Christmas — And Why This Drone Matters More Than I Expected
A story about hunting down the perfect starter drone for my son, and how a simple piece of tech turned into real father–son time.
DJI Neo 2 — Why This Little Drone Is About to Become My Four-Year-Old’s First Co-Pilot
A closer look at the Neo 2 and why its size, safety profile, and simplicity make it the ideal micro-drone for teaching kids to fly responsibly.
DJI Mini 5 Pro — If It’s Not a Micro-Drone… That’s the Point
A practical breakdown of why the Mini 5 Pro steps out of the micro-drone category — and why that matters for new pilots, kids learning the basics, and safe flying in Victoria.
Two Calendar Selections, One Very Familiar Sunrise Spot
Most mornings at Esquimalt Lagoon start the same way: too early, too quiet, coffee in hand, and the drone warming up while the first light hits the water. It’s become one of the places I fly the most — not because it’s convenient, but because the Lagoon never looks the same twice.
So it was a pretty great surprise to open my inbox and see a note from the City of Colwood saying that two of those sunrise flights have been selected for their community calendars, including one for the cover.
One image will represent January 2026, featuring the long stretch of Ocean Boulevard and the calm water on both sides.
The second will appear as the January 2027 calendar image — a quiet morning at the Lagoon Bridge with warm light spilling over the water.
These aren’t staged shots, or marketing pieces, or anything planned. They’re just the kind of mornings we keep showing up for in the Westshore: clean light, still water, and that moment where the sun finally edges over the treeline.
Why This Means Something
It’s not about awards or bragging rights. It’s about the fact that a place we fly constantly — a place locals love — is being shown through a perspective people don’t often see.
And honestly? That’s what Vancouver Island Drones is trying to do anyway:
show familiar places in new ways
slow things down
treat our region with a bit of care and curiosity
get up early so everyone else can enjoy the view later
Seeing two of those moments chosen to represent Colwood for consecutive years feels like a small nod that we’re on the right path.
A Westshore Story, From Above
We’re not a big production house. We’re a Westshore-based father-and-son operation chasing good coast light and trying to capture the Island the way it actually feels to live here. The Lagoon has become part of our routine, our archive, and our story.
And now a couple of those frames get to be part of Colwood’s story too.
Thank You, Colwood
Big thanks to the City of Colwood for choosing these images — and for continuing the tradition of showcasing local photography in a way that highlights our community, our coastline, and the places we return to again and again.
Related Flights & Articles
Why I Fly at Sunrise — A West Coast Morning Ritual
A look at why these early, quiet moments have become the heart of how I shoot — and why so many of my favourite frames come from first light.
Why Vancouver Island Is Perfect for Quiet, Cinematic Aerial Stories
A reflection on the rhythms, geography, and atmosphere that make this coast such a natural fit for calm, minimal aerial work.
Thinking About Prints — A First Step Into Sharing My Favourite Images
A short piece about experimenting with prints, learning what works, and leaning more intentionally into coastal imagery that translates beautifully to paper.
Teaching Kids to Fly Drones: Fun First, Safety Always (A West Coast Dad’s Guide)
There’s no shortage of drone tutorials on the internet.
There are flight tests, advanced courses, long gear reviews, and more acronyms than any four-year-old should ever have to hear.
But teaching a kid to fly is… different.
When I take Blake out with a drone — whether it’s the Air 3S tucked away for a sunrise run or the new DJI Neo 2 in my pocket — the goal isn’t to turn him into a pilot. Not yet. The goal is simple:
Have fun. Be safe. Learn the basics without losing the joy.
That balance is the whole game.
And as much as drones can be incredible tools for creativity and adventure, they also demand a certain level of respect. Even a little 249g micro has rules, risks, and responsibilities tied to it.
So here’s how I approach teaching my four-year-old — in a way that keeps it fun, keeps it safe, and hopefully builds the foundation for good habits down the road.
1. Make it exciting, not intimidating
Kids learn best when they’re curious, not when they’re lectured.
That’s why the Neo 2 is perfect for Blake right now.
He doesn’t need to memorize menus or learn stick inputs. He can wave at it. He can talk to it. He can make a tiny machine lift off just by holding out his hand.
The joy shows up instantly.
And once he’s hooked, I can start layering in the important stuff — gently.
2. “Fun” is the door. “Responsibility” is what’s behind it.
Every time we fly, we talk about two things:
1. Drones are fun.
2. Drones can hurt people if you aren’t careful.
That’s the honest truth.
I don’t scare him with it, but I don’t hide it either.
He’s four — he understands more than most adults give kids credit for.
So I frame it like this:
We keep space around people because we don’t want to bonk anyone.
We don’t fly toward strangers.
We keep the drone in front of us so we always know where it is.
We don’t chase dogs, birds, or people (even if it would make a hilarious video).
These aren’t aviation rules to him — they’re just “being a good person rules.”
3. The first lessons are simple
When we practice, everything happens in small steps:
Lesson 1: Takeoff and landing on a palm.
It builds trust and shows him he’s the one in control.
Lesson 2: Hovering.
Just hold a position. No chaos yet.
Lesson 3: Move it toward you, then away.
It teaches spatial awareness.
Lesson 4: Stop when Dad says stop.
The most important rule for a kid, honestly.
None of this is about perfection.
It’s about building confidence and understanding without overwhelm.
4. Micro drone doesn’t mean micro responsibility
This is the part many adults get wrong.
A lighter drone is safer, yes — but it’s not a toy.
Blake sees me filing flight plans, checking weather, scoping out space, and making sure our flights follow the rules.
He doesn’t know the details, but he absorbs the behaviour.
Kids mirror what they see.
If they watch you take drones seriously, they take drones seriously — while still having fun.
5. Sunrise flights are the best learning environment
I fly at sunrise because it’s quiet, respectful, and safer in Victoria’s busy airspace. And it turns out… it’s also the best time for a kid to learn.
No crowds.
No distractions.
No dogs running under the drone.
No worrying about people thinking we’re filming them.
Just a calm space to practice.
When he’s with me on a morning flight, that’s when the “little lessons” stick the most.
6. Let them enjoy it — but teach them the why behind every rule
Kids don’t need the Canadian Aviation Regulations in their back pocket.
They just need to understand the spirit of the rules:
We keep drones away from people to keep them safe.
We fly where we have room.
We stop if something doesn’t feel right.
We respect the space around us.
We don’t fly when the wind is too strong (even if it looks calm on the ground).
We don’t push our luck.
Teaching why builds habits that last longer than teaching “because Dad said so.”
7. This is how I hope the hobby survives
Drones are getting smarter, safer, and easier every year.
But the people flying them still matter.
If a new generation learns early that drones are fun and require responsibility…
that’s how you keep the hobby alive, respected, and safe for everyone.
For us, it’s not about making Blake a drone pilot today.
It’s about showing him something cool and teaching him to treat it — and other people — with care.
And honestly?
These little moments together will matter way more than whatever footage we bring home.
If this kind of father–son flying, safe teaching, and West Coast drone storytelling is your thing, there’s plenty more coming — especially once the Neo 2 arrives and Blake decides he can fly better than I can.
Related Flights & Articles
Chasing Down a DJI Neo 2 for Christmas — Why This Drone Matters More Than I Expected
A father–son story about finding the right beginner drone and why the Neo 2 was the perfect fit.
DJI Neo 2: Why This Little Drone Is About to Become My Four-Year-Old’s First Co-Pilot
A closer look at how this tiny drone became the cornerstone of our safe flying lessons.
Why I Fly at Sunrise — A West Coast Morning Ritual
The calm, patient flying philosophy that shapes how I teach my son to fly.
Aerial Videographer in Victoria — What Makes Footage Stand Out
I’ll start this the same way I started my photography post:
I’m not a big studio, and I’m not pretending to be one. I’m just a Westshore guy who genuinely enjoys getting up early, flying safely, and putting together calm little videos that show off the Island in a way you don’t usually see from the ground.
If you’re thinking about hiring someone for aerial video around Victoria, here’s what I’ve learned from actually filming here — slowly, consistently, and with a lot of respect for the airspace and the coastline we’re working in.
This isn’t “expert advice.”
It’s just the honest perspective of someone who loves doing this and tries to do it properly.
1. Victoria isn’t the easiest place to get clean aerial video
If you’re shooting video, you need stable air and predictable conditions — and Victoria doesn’t always offer either.
From the ground, it looks peaceful.
From the sky, it’s one of the more complicated places in Canada to fly:
• constant floatplane traffic
• Helijet
• Coast Guard
• two hospital helipads
• multiple military restricted zones
• a surprisingly large YYJ controlled airspace footprint
• coastal winds that can change in seconds
This doesn’t make filming impossible.
It just means you need to know what you’re doing before you take off.
For me, that means flying with Transport Canada Advanced certification and filing NAV CANADA airspace requests when needed. That’s not something I brag about — it’s just what responsible flying looks like in this region.
2. Aerial video doesn’t need to be dramatic to stand out
There’s no shortage of hyper-edited, fast-cut drone reels out there. That style has its place, but it’s not really what I enjoy or what most people around here seem to connect with.
The Island has its own pace.
What makes aerial video here stand out isn’t intensity — it’s calm:
• slow reveals over the coastline
• early-morning softness
• muted West Coast colors
• water that shifts between blues and greens
• the way the light hits rooftops, tree lines, or quiet beaches
You don’t need to manufacture “wow.”
The Island already has it — you just have to capture it honestly.
3. A good aerial video starts with a simple conversation
Most people don’t come to me with a script.
They come with a feeling:
• “I want this to look peaceful.”
• “I want people to understand where we are.”
• “I’d love a short clip for our website.”
• “I’m curious what this looks like from above.”
That’s enough.
A short conversation helps me understand the tone you want — clean, simple, natural — and we build from there. I’m not aiming to make commercials. I’m trying to make videos that feel like the Island.
4. Stability and pacing matter more than fancy moves
Drone videography isn’t about showing off what the drone can do. It’s about showing the viewer something they haven’t seen — clearly and calmly.
The things that matter most are quiet:
• smooth movement
• consistent speed
• gentle altitude changes
• predictable arcs
• letting scenes breathe
Most people don’t comment on these things directly, but they feel them.
Calm footage stays watchable.
Chaotic footage gets skipped.
5. Safe flying makes for better video
It’s hard to get good footage if you’re rushing, stressed, or cutting corners.
Safe, legal, unrushed flying creates an environment where the video comes out naturally.
That means:
• choosing realistic locations
• avoiding restricted zones
• planning launch sites
• watching the wind along the shoreline
• keeping the flight simple and intentional
None of this should feel like a production.
It should feel like a quiet little window into a place you love.
6. Look for someone who’s honest about what’s possible
Aerial video doesn’t always work every day or in every condition. Some days the wind says no. Some places are off-limits. Sometimes you need to come back at sunrise.
If you’re hiring someone, the best question you can ask is:
“What’s realistically possible here?”
The right answer is rarely “everything.”
And that’s a good sign.
Final thoughts
Aerial video in Victoria doesn’t need to be complicated or flashy. If anything, the Island looks better when you keep things simple.
If you’re thinking about a short, calm, cinematic video of a place that means something to you, I’m always happy to chat. I fly safely, follow the rules, and try to create little pieces of the West Coast you can look back on.
Sometimes the quietest footage ends up being the most memorable.
Related Flights & Articles
Why Vancouver Island Is Perfect for Quiet Cinematic Aerial Stories
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Aerial Photographer in Victoria — What to Know Before Hiring One
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Why I Fly at Sunrise — A West Coast Morning Ritual
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Cole Island
I’m not a big fan of pretending to be something I’m not, so let me start here:
I’m not a massive production company, and I’m not trying to sound like I’ve spent decades shooting commercial campaigns. I’m just a Westshore guy who loves getting up before sunrise, flying safely, and showing people places they’ve driven past for years but never really seen from above.
If you’re thinking about hiring someone for aerial photos or video in Greater Victoria, here’s what I’ve learned from actually flying here — consistently, carefully, and with a real respect for the rules and the airspace we’re operating in.
1. Victoria is more complicated to fly than most people think
I didn’t fully appreciate this when I first started, but Victoria’s airspace is… a lot.
It looks peaceful from the ground, but the sky is busy and restricted in ways most people never notice:
• constant floatplane movements
• Helijet
• Coast Guard
• ferries and marine corridors
• multiple DND restricted zones
• two active hospital helipads
• a huge YYJ controlled airspace footprint
Most of the city — even neighbourhoods nowhere near the airport — sits inside controlled airspace.
None of this makes flying impossible.
It just makes local knowledge and proper procedures important.
2. You don’t need a photography “expert” — you need someone who flies responsibly
Most people don’t care how many buttons a drone pilot knows how to press.
They just want someone who:
• understands where they’re flying
• respects local restrictions
• doesn’t take risks
• communicates clearly
• and does the job properly
For me, that means:
• I hold Transport Canada Advanced certification
• I file flight plans and NAV CANADA requests when they’re required
• I stay well clear of restricted military zones
• I follow the rules that keep everyone safe — you, me, and the people below
This isn’t something I brag about.
It’s just the baseline for operating here without causing problems.
3. Aerial photos should feel like Vancouver Island — not stock footage
The thing that keeps me doing this isn’t the gear — it’s the way this place looks from above when the light is right.
• that soft, calm morning glow
• muted skies over the Westshore
• the blue-green water that doesn’t look like anywhere else
• rocky edges, tree lines, and quiet neighborhoods waking up
Good aerial photos here don’t need to be dramatic.
They just need to feel like the Island.
4. A simple conversation is enough
Most people don’t come in with a storyboard.
They just tell me the real reason they want a shot:
• “I’m curious what this looks like.”
• “I want something clean for my website.”
• “This place means something to me.”
That’s all it takes.
A short conversation usually tells me everything I need to know about how to approach it.
5. Safety shouldn’t be a sales pitch — it should just be normal
Flying safely in Victoria isn’t optional.
It’s just part of the job.
That means:
• choosing the right launch site
• watching the wind and weather
• planning flight paths
• maintaining line-of-sight
• respecting wildlife and privacy
• making sure flights are legal before they ever happen
Again — none of this should be dramatic.
It should just be assumed.
6. Look for honesty, not perfection
If you’re thinking about hiring someone, it’s okay to ask:
• “Are you comfortable flying in this specific area?”
• “What happens if the weather shifts?”
• “Can you show me a few recent examples?”
• “Is this even a good day for this?”
You don’t need a photographer with an award cabinet.
You just need someone who will tell you the truth.
Final thoughts
Victoria is a beautiful place to photograph from above — and a challenging one to fly in. If the person you hire understands the local rules, respects the airspace, and communicates honestly about what’s possible, the whole process is easy and calm.
If you ever want to talk about an idea or a location you’re curious about, I’m based here in the Westshore and always happy to chat. I file the proper flight plans, I fly within the rules, and I treat every shoot as if it were happening in my own neighbourhood — because most of the time, it is.
Sometimes the simplest photos are the ones people connect with the most.
Related Flights & Articles
Aerial Videographer in Victoria — What Makes Footage Stand Out
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Why Everything Starts With a Conversation
How a simple, honest conversation builds clarity, trust, and the right approach for every shoot
Aerial Photography & Video in Victoria: Why Everything Starts with a Conversation
Most people expect an aerial services page to hit them with packages, buzzwords, or some kind of big-agency promise. But Vancouver Island Drones isn’t an agency. It’s just me — a guy in the Westshore who loves early mornings, coastal light, and showing places around Victoria the way they actually look.
And because every location is different, every project really does begin with a simple conversation.
Why “aerial services” shouldn’t feel complicated
The truth is, most small businesses or community groups don’t need a complicated production. Sometimes it’s one clean overhead photo for a website banner. Sometimes it’s a short cinematic clip to show how a building sits on its land, or to capture a sunrise over a coastline that people drive past every day without really seeing.
The goal is always the same:
make your place look like your place — just in the best possible light.
No heavy sales pitch. No technical jargon. Just a plan that makes sense for what you actually want.
A Westshore approach to aerial work
Working around Victoria means flying in one of the more complex airspace areas in Canada. Floatplanes, military zones, helipads, controlled airspace — it all overlaps. So everything I do is planned properly and flown legally.
I’m Transport Canada Advanced certified and log flight plans whenever required. That part is non-negotiable. But once the safety pieces are handled, the creative part gets simple:
find the right light, choose the right angle, and get out of the way.
Sunrise is usually when everything comes together. The early light rolls across the ocean, through the fog, over rooftops, across the treeline. It’s calm, quiet, and honest. A lot of businesses in Victoria look their best at that hour, long before the parking lots fill or the city wakes up.
Why a conversation matters more than a menu of packages
Packages work for big production companies. But most of the people who reach out to me — pubs, small businesses, community groups, builders, or just curious locals — usually don’t know exactly what they need until we talk it out:
Do you want a single photo?
A short reel for Instagram?
A sunrise shot of your location for your website?
A few clips that show your place in context — the ocean, the trees, the surrounding streets?
Once we talk, it becomes obvious very quickly what will work and what won’t. And once the weather cooperates, we plan a short flight window and make it happen.
Honest, cinematic aerial visuals for Greater Victoria
I don’t try to manufacture drama or pretend Victoria is something it isn’t. The city, the coastline, and the early light do most of the heavy lifting. My job is just to capture it cleanly.
Whether it’s a heritage pub, a small café, a local sports field, a family-run shop, or a quiet stretch of shoreline, the goal is always the same:
show the place clearly, make it feel grounded, and let the viewer understand why it matters.
If you’re curious about aerial photos or video
You don’t have to show up with a plan.
You don’t need to know what you want.
You don’t have to commit to anything upfront.
Just reach out, and we’ll talk through what makes sense — weather, light, airspace, and the feel you’re going for. If it’s a fit, great. If not, no pressure.
That’s the whole philosophy.
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Sunrise at Willows Beach: A December Morning Back Home
Willows Beach is one of those places that’s wired into me a little deeper than most. I filmed this short piece on a calm December morning, and while the video is only a minute and a half, the place behind it carries a lot more weight for me than I could fit into that timeline.
My family moved from Saskatoon to Victoria when I was a kid, and we ended up living about a block from Willows. For a few years there, it may as well have been our backyard. We were down at the beach constantly — bikes, skimboards, wandering up to Cattle Point, wasting time in the best possible ways. From early teens through late high school, this was one of the main places my friends and I orbit-ed around. A lot of firsts happened here too, though I’ll leave the details of those in the vault.
Even now, decades later, walking down to Willows has that strange mix of nostalgia and familiarity that only a childhood place can have. Nothing about it tries to be anything other than what it is — driftwood, a gentle shoreline, winter light that hangs low over the ocean. It’s one of the few spots in Victoria that still feels exactly the same every time you come back.
We’ve had what feels like seventy-seven straight days of rain lately, so when the weather cracked open for a morning, I threw the drone in the truck and headed straight for Willows. The calm was worth it. The shoreline looked the way I remembered it: quiet, simple, honest. The kind of morning that doesn’t need commentary to explain why it matters.
This short edit is part of a series I’ve been slowly building — quiet corners and familiar places around Vancouver Island, filmed the way they actually feel. Sometimes the stories are small, sometimes they run deep, but they all come from the same place: these are the locations that have shaped my life here.
Thanks for watching, and for following along as I get back to filming the West Coast the way I originally meant to. More Island mornings to come.
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Vancouver Island From Above — James Bay Athletic Association
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Drones in Victoria, BC: What You Need to Know Before You Fly
Flying a drone in Victoria seems simple enough — beaches, open water, pretty skylines, calm mornings. But Greater Victoria is one of the more complicated pieces of airspace in the country. We share the sky with floatplanes, helicopters, Coast Guard operations, military traffic, and the far-reaching footprint of YYJ.
This isn’t meant to be a lecture.
It’s just the stuff I wish more pilots knew before they take off here.
1. It’s busier up there than people think — and not just with floatplanes
Most newcomers know about Harbor Air. Very few realize how many overlapping operations exist in this tiny pocket of sky:
Floatplanes — low, fast, constant.
Helijet — departures and arrivals right downtown.
Coast Guard — helicopter activity and vessel ops.
Esquimalt military airspace — restricted zones and training flights.
Medical flights — unpredictable and priority.
YYJ control zone — much larger footprint than people assume.
You’re not flying in empty sky.
Even micro drones are part of the bigger air picture.
2. Micro drone doesn’t mean micro responsibility
A 249g drone buys you flexibility, not immunity.
Micro drones can still:
injure someone
violate privacy
drift into restricted airspace
interfere with other aircraft
worry the public
If anything, smaller drones require more judgment because they get pushed around more easily by wind.
The best thing you can do for yourself (and everyone else) is at least study the rules.
Even better: get your Basic Certificate. It’s quick, and it makes every flight safer.
3. Flying over people is a no-no — with rare exceptions (and this does NOT mean filming someone who’s part of your flight)
Here’s the simple rule:
Don’t fly over uninvolved people.
“Uninvolved people” means anyone who:
doesn’t know you’re flying
hasn’t agreed to be part of your flight
is just walking the beach, trail, or sidewalk
hasn’t been briefed on what you’re doing
Flying over random strangers is a no-go, full stop.
But this often gets confused with something different:
Filming someone who is part of your operation — your kid, your partner, a friend — is fine.
ActiveTrack on your child?
Filming a friend running along the shore?
Capturing someone who knows the drone is up and is participating?
That’s allowed, as long as you do it safely and with the right drone for the job.
The quick version:
Strangers = no.
Your kid or friend who’s in on it = generally fine.
There are rare circumstances where you can fly over people, but they require licensing, planning, proper equipment, and often an SFOC. If you’re wondering whether you qualify, you probably don’t.
Keep it simple, keep it respectful, and don’t ruin it for the rest of us.
4. Weather is the biggest liar on Vancouver Island
Ground-level weather tells you almost nothing about what’s happening 30–120 metres up.
Real example from a recent flight:
It was a calm, chilly morning with barely a breeze at my feet. But as soon as the Air 3S climbed to around 100 feet, it started getting pushed around by gusts that hadn’t been noticeable from the ground. That was enough for us — we brought it down and called it.
If the weather surprises you, land.
If it feels marginal, pack it up.
There’s always another sunrise.
5. Sunrise is the easiest time to fly
Most of my flights happen around sunrise because:
fewer people
fewer aircraft
lower winds
calmer air
fewer interruptions
more respectful all around
A quiet 7 a.m. beach gives you room to breathe and make decisions without pressure.
6. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”
This is the guiding philosophy of flying in Victoria.
Lots of places are technically legal but not appropriate depending on the crowd, the noise, or what’s happening around you.
If your flight is going to bother people or draw unwanted attention, choose a different time — or a different location. Flying respectfully keeps everyone’s experience better and protects the hobby for everyone else.
7. Victoria is incredible to fly — if you treat it properly
Despite the complexity, Vancouver Island is one of the most rewarding places in Canada for aerial cinematics:
rugged, layered coastline
dramatic weather
calm pockets of morning light
historic sites
endless shoreline
accessible beauty
Treat the airspace with respect, understand the basics, and this place will reward you every time.
Fly safe. Fly early. Fly smart.
And don’t make it harder for the rest of us.
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Coal Island at Sunrise – A Quiet Look at Esquimalt Harbour’s Forgotten Heritage
Coal Island is one of those places you see a hundred times without ever really seeing it.
If you live in Colwood or View Royal, you probably drive past it every day without a second thought. I certainly do. I can even see a corner of it from my condo and never truly understood the scale or story behind those old brick buildings on the water.
Eventually, curiosity wins.
So I took the Air 3S out on a quiet morning for a simple sunrise flight to see Coal Island from a different perspective.
Below is the video from that morning.
A Small Island With a Long Memory
Cole Island is part of a chain of small islets tucked into Esquimalt Harbor. From land you mostly see:
a single brick building
a bit of rooftop
some trees
and a shape you register only subconsciously on your commute
From the air, that picture changes.
You can see the entire complex — the rows of old munitions magazines that served first the Royal Navy and later the Royal Canadian Navy. These buildings date back to the late 1800s and early 1900s, and thanks to ongoing restoration work, they’re still standing in surprisingly good condition.
Most people don’t realize the island is publicly accessible by water. You can’t walk there, and you can’t wander inside the buildings, but kayakers and small boats often pull up on its shorelines to explore the perimeter.
It’s not a provincial park.
It’s not private land.
It’s simply one of those in-between heritage places that quietly exist until someone goes looking.
A Sunrise Flight
The morning I filmed this, the conditions were overcast but still. Not the big dramatic sunrise we sometimes get here, but something softer — that half-light glow where the water turns into a sheet of glass.
The flight itself is simple:
A low approach over the ocean
A slow rise revealing the tree line
A counter-clockwise sweep showing the brick magazines catching first light
Then a long orbit around the quiet, modern side of the island most locals never see
What struck me most is how much bigger the island feels from the air.
From land, you’d never guess the scale of those structures or that the island has multiple buildings, docks, and active maintenance.
Why This Place Matters
Coal Island is not a headline location.
It’s not a tourism magnet.
It’s not the kind of place you put on a postcard.
But that’s exactly why it matters.
It’s part of the quiet, everyday geography that shapes the Westshore — something you drive past on your way to work, something you glance at without thinking, something that quietly holds a bit of our local history.
This is the kind of place Vancouver Island Drones wants to document.
Not the obvious landmarks, but the smaller ones we’ve all half-noticed, half-forgotten.
The Start of a New Series
This video marks the first entry in Unique & Forgotten Vancouver Island — an ongoing series exploring local places that deserve a second look.
Coal Island is just the beginning.
Upcoming pieces will include:
Willows Beach at sunrise
Ogden Point mornings
Six Mile heritage shots
Aylard Farm
Parksville coastlines
And more of the small, meaningful corners of Greater Victoria
Closing Thoughts
Coal Island was never meant to be “content.”
It’s simply a place I care about because it’s part of the landscape I see every day.
If you live in the Westshore, it’s part of yours too.
Thanks for watching and reading.
More of Vancouver Island’s quiet corners coming soon.
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Cole Island
Chasing Down a DJI Neo 2 for Christmas (And Why This Little Drone Matters More Than I Expected
Making memories, one easy flight at a time! The DJI Neo 2 isn't just a drone; it's an invitation to spontaneous family adventures and teaching moments. So simple, even the little ones can get in on the fun!
When the first DJI Neo came out, I didn’t rush to buy it.
The camera wasn’t great, and the footage never really compared to what I get from the Air 3S. But the Neo 1 had something that did catch my attention:
they made it effortless.
No unfolding arms.
No pairing a controller.
No waiting for satellites.
No dragging out a case full of gear.
You just pulled it out of a pocket, pressed a button, and the thing followed you.
For a family that spends a lot of time outside — parks, beaches, hikes, bike trails — that kind of instant use is actually more valuable than another high-spec camera.
And when Blake started getting interested in flying, the Neo line made even more sense. Not because it was “the best drone,” but because it was simple, durable, and designed for real-world fun, not perfect cinematics.
Then the Neo 2 was announced.
Why I waited for the Neo 2 instead of grabbing the original
Everything the Neo 1 lacked, the Neo 2 seemed to fix:
better image processing
improved stability
gesture controls
voice commands
smarter tracking
stronger durability
Basically: more brains, same simplicity.
For teaching a four-year-old to fly, that combination is gold.
And for a dad who sometimes wants a drone on hand during family adventures — without opening backpacks, cases, or unfolding anything — it’s even better.
Still, actually buying one turned out to be far more complicated than expected.
The bundle circus
Once the Neo 2 arrived in Canada, it became a bundle guessing game.
I already own the DJI RC 2, which is one of DJI’s high-end screen controllers — something I use daily with the Air 3S. I had no interest in paying for the lower-end controller included in certain Neo 2 bundles. What I wanted was simple:
the drone
the extra batteries
the little transmitter
But none of the bundles offered that combination.
There was:
the bare drone
a battery bundle without the transmitter
a transmitter bundle without the batteries
and one mysterious combo that appeared briefly and vanished
Meanwhile, Christmas was getting closer, and stock kept fluctuating. The last thing I wanted was to be sitting on December 23rd refreshing product listings, hoping something magically reappeared.
So I made the practical choice:
I bought the standalone Neo 2 and will add the accessories separately.
Not elegant, but guaranteed to arrive before Christmas.
The moment that convinced me this was the right call
A coworker sent me a video of his five-year-old flying the Neo 2 indoors using nothing but gesture controls — holding out a hand, lifting a palm, catching the drone as it landed.
That clip sold me more than any spec sheet.
It wasn’t about the camera or the tracking.
It was about seeing a kid Blake’s age genuinely controlling a drone without fear.
That’s exactly the tool I want to teach him with.
This drone isn’t just for Blake — it’s for our family adventures
Yes, the Neo 2 is technically Blake’s first drone.
But realistically, it’s also something I’m going to grab on family outings where:
we didn’t plan to fly
we didn’t bring the Air 3S
we’re just outside enjoying the day
something cool happens and we want to capture it
or Blake wants to show me something he learned
The beauty of this drone is that it doesn’t require a “drone day.”
It fits into the pocket of normal life.
It’s the opposite of the Air 3S — not in quality, but in intent.
The Air 3S is for planned flights, sunrise missions, storytelling, and real cinematic work.
The Neo 2 is for:
chasing Blake at the bike park
quick follow-me shots on a hike
catching a moment without unpacking a bag
letting him fly without stress
little spontaneous adventures
Two different tools for two different kinds of days.
Final thoughts
Buying the Neo 2 took more effort than expected, but the goal never changed:
give Blake a drone he can learn on — one that’s safe, durable, and fun, and one that makes it easy for us to fly together.
And honestly, the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized:
This little drone isn’t just for him.
It’s for us.
For the spur-of-the-moment memories.
For the unplanned flights.
For the days when the Air 3S can stay at home and we just explore, with a pocket-sized drone that can keep up.
Once the weather improves, we’ll see what it can do — and I have a feeling it’ll show up in more than a few future videos, especially once Blake starts chasing me instead of the other way around.
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Why Aerial Photos Get Attention: Our My-Chosen Café Shots Reach 8,000 Views
Earlier this fall, we spent a morning at My-Chosen Café, capturing a set of aerial stills of the restaurant and the surrounding countryside. I’ve been visiting My-Chosen for more than twenty years now, and it’s one of those places where the location is part of the experience. Even though I don’t live in Metchosin, the drive out — winding rural roads, open fields, coastal pockets — has always felt like a small escape.
That’s exactly why the property is such a strong fit for aerial photography. The setting already tells a story. The drone doesn’t create anything new; it simply reveals what’s already there.
Once the photos were added to My-Chosen’s Google listing, the response was clear:
several of the images quickly passed 8,000 views each.
For a local restaurant, that kind of steady engagement stands out. And it highlights something we see over and over again:
Most businesses already have hundreds of customer photos taken at eye level — selfies, snapshots, phone pictures at the table.
What they don’t have is a view from above.
Aerial photos offer a perspective no one ever sees in real life, and that alone makes people stop and look. The numbers back it up.
That’s one of the real strengths of aerial media. For a relatively small amount of work, you end up with evergreen content that keeps showing up where customers are already looking. A single strong image can quietly accumulate thousands of impressions on Google Maps without anyone boosting it or promoting it.
The team at My-Chosen was incredibly receptive and enthusiastic throughout the process, which made the shoot easy and genuinely enjoyable. When a place already has character, history, and a setting like theirs, the visuals almost build themselves.
If you're a local business owner in the Westshore or Greater Victoria area and you're curious what a new perspective might do for your visibility online, we’re always open to a conversation. Sometimes all it takes is showing your location from a different angle.
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Vancouver Island Drones vs. The Pacific Ocean Falling From the Sky
When the rain’s coming down sideways for the third week straight, even Gizmo gives up on flying and settles in for a bit of wish-fulfillment. Nothing like watching other people enjoy blue skies while the Island tries to merge with the Pacific.
I don’t know if we’re in an atmospheric river, an atmospheric waterfall, or whatever new name they’ve invented this year, but it has been biblically pouring rain on Vancouver Island since the end of summer. It hasn’t let up. It hasn’t even taken a lunch break. The sky has basically been dumping a full season’s worth of water on us every single day, and my DJI Air 3S has now entered its window-watching era.
That’s what it looked like this morning—Gizmo (yes, the drone finally has a name) standing on the ledge, legs out, props up, staring through the raindrops like a dog that desperately wants to go outside but knows it’ll be miserable the second it does. If drones had facial expressions, Gizmo would have been giving me the same look Blake gives me when I tell him we can’t go to the playground because everything’s soaked.
When the rain hasn’t stopped since August, even Gizmo starts daydreaming about warm beaches and dry skies. Stuck inside with a map, a mug of “Hot Oil,” and nothing but atmospheric rivers outside the window, it’s officially vacation-fantasy season on Vancouver Island.
And that’s the thing about flying here. We always pretend we can just wait out the weather, but waiting out Vancouver Island rain is like waiting for a toddler to “calm down on their own.” You’re going to be there a while. Every time the rain slows down, the wind picks up. Every time the wind relaxes, the fog rolls in. You start questioning whether the idea of “flying conditions” is even real or just something people in Alberta made up.
Honestly, you get used to it. You tune your batteries, make another coffee, glance out the window every fifteen minutes, and hope for a six-minute break in the sky where you can squeeze a flight in before the next wave hits. This time of year, that’s all you get—a few stolen minutes, and then the Pacific comes crashing down again.
The good news is the payoff is coming. January and February here are some of the clearest, crispest flying months you get all year. Perfect light, perfect air, gorgeous visibility. When that hits, the Air 3S is getting launched out the door so fast it won’t even remember its rainy little existential crisis by the window.
Until then, we’re just trying to stay dry like the rest of the Island.
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DJI Mini 5 Pro: If It’s Not a Micro Drone… What’s the Point?
Even drones have cheat days. The Mini 5 Pro stepping on the scale is basically me after Thanksgiving — trying to convince everyone it’s “just the batteries.”
Let’s talk about the DJI Mini 5 Pro, because depending on who you ask, it’s either the perfect evolution of the Mini line… or a confused little chonker that wandered into the wrong weight class. And honestly, for a drone that’s supposed to be “lightweight,” it sure has sparked a lot of conversations about the one thing it absolutely shouldn’t be flirting with: breaking the sub-250g barrier.
The entire reason the Mini series exists — the whole identity of the line — is that glorious micro-drone freedom. Sub-250g means fewer rules, fewer restrictions, less paperwork, and more places you can legally fly without Transport Canada tapping you on the shoulder. That’s the magic. That’s the appeal. That’s why people buy these things.
But here’s the part that DJI hopes slips under the radar: the Mini 5 Pro is coming in overweight in multiple countries. Not “my scale’s off” overweight — I mean regulators outright refusing to classify it as a micro drone. The UK didn’t classify it as micro. Parts of the EU didn’t. Australia didn’t. New Zealand didn’t. And DJI has already quietly tweaked their own packaging and marketing language, which is never a great sign.
And look — trust me when I say I’m in absolutely no position to judge anything for being a little overweight. I’m walking around with a full-time dad bod myself. But even I know when something is carrying too much for its weight class.
So now we’ve got a drone still being marketed like a Mini, but being treated more like a “tiny adult drone” in several countries. And that’s a problem. Because if you lose the micro-drone advantage, you lose the whole reason to even consider a Mini in the first place. If I’m going to deal with more restrictions anyway, I’d rather fly something with bigger sensors, better stability, longer flight times, better low-light performance — you know, something with real muscle behind it.
And that leads to the obvious question: if the Mini 5 Pro isn’t reliably a micro drone, then… what’s the point? Why would you buy it? It’s priced high enough that it’s not “cheap and cheerful,” and without micro classification it suddenly sits in the same regulatory neighborhood as drones that absolutely outperform it.
Which brings me to my actual opinion: if I were buying a Mini right now, I wouldn’t buy the Mini 5 Pro. Not a chance. I’d buy the DJI Mini 4 Pro without even thinking twice about it.
The Mini 4 Pro is still everything a Mini is supposed to be. It’s a proper micro drone. It has excellent collision avoidance, a very capable camera, a mature and stable platform, and as of now it’s a fantastic deal. Most importantly, it still gives you the legal freedom that Micro drones are meant to deliver — and for a lot of recreational and travel flyers, that freedom is the whole game.
The Mini 5 Pro, on the other hand, feels like it’s having an identity crisis. It’s feature-packed and extremely capable, but if it’s not actually giving you the micro-drone benefits, then you’re paying a premium for something that doesn’t deliver the one thing the Mini line is famous for.
Is the Mini 5 Pro a good drone? Absolutely. But is it the smarter buy for most people in Canada right now? Not in my books. Not when the Mini 4 Pro exists, and not when the Mini 5 Pro’s entire legal advantage is up in the air — literally and figuratively.
So here’s where I land: if you want performance, skip the Mini 5 Pro and get something beefier. If you want the freedom that Mini drones are supposed to give you, get the Mini 4 Pro. And if you want something fun, tiny, and perfect for a four-year-old to boss around with voice commands, we’ve got the NEO 2 coming for exactly that purpose.
But the Mini 5 Pro? Until DJI sorts out this whole weight-class rollercoaster, it’s stuck in a weird middle zone that doesn’t make a lot of sense — especially if you’re flying in Canada and want simplicity.
Vancouver Island Drones — independent, local, and not affiliated with DJI or anybody else. Just calling it like it is, dad bod and all.
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DJI NEO 2: Why This Little Drone Is About to Become My Four-Year-Old’s First Co-Pilot
Pocket-sized drone, big memories. This is why we wanted the NEO 2
The DJI NEO 2 has a ridiculous amount of capability for its size and price, and that’s exactly why I’m picking one up. I’m not buying it to replace anything in my current setup or to compete with the prosumer drones I fly for work. I’m buying it because it’s the perfect first drone for my four-year-old son, and because the NEO 2 brings a mix of features that make it fun, safe, and actually worth using on our family adventures.
For starters, the voice and gesture controls are perfect for a kid. Blake can literally talk to the drone. He can wave at it. He can tell it to go up or come back, and the drone actually listens. That’s a pretty incredible way to teach a young kid how flight works without throwing them into full manual controls right away. It removes all the friction and makes learning feel natural. The follow-me tracking is another big deal for us. Blake is four and full throttle all the time, whether he’s running around the playground, riding his bike, tearing down a trail, or just being a maniac in the backyard. Being able to pull a drone out of my pocket, speak a command, and have it track him while he zooms around is unbelievably convenient, and it gives us shots we could never get otherwise without firing up bigger gear.
The NEO 2 also brings real safety features, which matter when you’re teaching a kid. You get full obstacle sensing, palm takeoff and landing, and the kind of durability that means a bump or two isn’t the end of the world. The original NEO already had a reputation for surviving “oops” moments, and everything about the NEO 2 suggests they’ve improved that even further. I want Blake to learn without worrying that every mistake is going to cost me a fortune, and this drone makes that possible.
Teaching the next generation of pilot — one ride at a time.
Then there’s the camera. For the size and price, 4K video up to 60fps (and even 100fps in certain modes) is honestly wild. No, this isn’t meant to replace a prosumer drone for paid aerial work, but that’s not what we’re using it for. This is for family clips, quick moments on a trail, spontaneous shots on a beach, and, most importantly, documenting Blake learning to fly. It’s more than good enough for YouTube, social media, and the kind of personal content we create together.
This little drone is going to be a huge part of our upcoming long-format YouTube series where I teach Blake to fly. That’s something we’ve talked about for a long time, and the NEO 2 is the perfect tool for it. It’s simple enough for a kid, smart enough to avoid disasters, and capable enough to capture footage that still looks great. We’re going to get plenty of behind-the-scenes moments, lots of teaching clips, and a ton of genuine father-son content out of it. It fits our workflow and our brand perfectly.
The bottom line is that for the price, the DJI NEO 2 is an absolute no-brainer if you’re a parent who flies drones and wants to bring your kid along for the ride. It’s fun, it’s safe, it’s capable, and it opens the door for kids to learn in a way that feels exciting instead of intimidating. For us, it’s going to be a great teaching tool, a great storytelling tool, and a great little drone to have in our pocket when Blake and I head out on our next adventure.
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What Canada’s 2025 Drone Regulations Mean for Everyday Flyers
Transport Canada has now rolled out its full wave of drone regulation changes for 2025, with the April updates long behind us and the November rules newly in effect. There’s been a lot of noise online about what all this means, and most of it either oversells the changes or completely misses the point. So here’s the simple version, from someone who actually flies on Vancouver Island constantly, in real weather, real airspace, around real people, at real hours of the morning when most of the Island is still asleep and the only witnesses are gulls and the occasional deer.
The new rules essentially break down into two categories: administrative changes that happened back in April, and more meaningful operational changes that arrived in early November. The April side of things handled restructures like new exam tracks and the operator certificate (RPOC) framework. The November update was the one that actually affected flying — adding defined categories for extended visual line of sight (EVLOS), low-risk beyond line of sight allowances, sheltered operations, and some clearer boundaries for medium-sized drones. NAV Drone updated to match, with new flight type options and more precise authorization pathways. If you’re an advanced pilot, none of this is scary or confusing. If you’ve been treating drone rules like an optional suggestion, it probably feels overwhelming.
And that brings me to my one opinion that hasn’t changed in years: every single person who flies a drone in Canada should get the Basic Certificate. I don’t care if you’re flying a $200 toy or a $5,000 rig — the Basic exam teaches you things you absolutely need to know. The rules in Canada are not intuitive. You cannot tell by looking whether you’re in controlled airspace. You cannot “just guess” whether your location is safe, or whether you’re accidentally over bystanders, or what altitude restrictions actually apply to the terrain you’re on. You won’t magically know that migratory bird sanctuaries are off-limits. You won’t instinctively understand NOTAMs or heliport radiuses or how weather interacts with your drone’s sensors. These things must be learned, and the Basic Certificate is designed to teach exactly that.
It costs ten bucks. That’s literally it. Ten dollars and an hour or two of studying using completely free resources. It’s the easiest, cheapest way to prevent yourself from being the pilot who ruins it for everyone else. Almost every time someone confronts me while I’m flying — even when I’m following every rule — it’s because they had a previous bad experience with someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Those pilots are the reason regular fliers like me get questioned, yelled at, or lectured about rules we’re already following. If more new pilots took the Basic exam, there’d be fewer incidents, fewer complaints, and a lot less drama on beaches and boardwalks.
As for advanced pilots, the 2025 changes don’t rewrite your world, but they do matter. If you’re flying commercially, the new categories make your planning more structured whether you’re staying within VLOS, using EVLOS with a spotter, or exploring any of the newly defined operation types. It’s still the same job, but with clearer paperwork and expectations. What hasn’t changed is that you’re expected to be competent, current, and aware of the rules — something that honestly should’ve always been the baseline.
And just to clear up one last thing I see confusing people online: not every new drone is an “upgrade.” The Air 3S is still my primary tool. It’s my cinematic camera, the one I trust for commercial flights and the drone that handles Vancouver Island wind and light properly. The new Neo 2 is fun, impressive for the price, and fantastic for kids — especially for follow-me shots and early training — but it’s not a replacement for a real cinematic aircraft. It lives in a totally different category, and that’s how it should be.
So here’s the bottom line. Canada tightened the rules this year, not to make life harder for pilots, but to make the sky safer and more predictable as drones become more common. If you fly, you owe it to yourself and everyone around you to understand the basics. Get the Basic Certificate. Or at the very least, study the exact material for it so you know what’s legal, what isn’t, and how not to accidentally end up being “that pilot” who becomes the reason someone tries to ban drones from another park.
If you treat the airspace with respect, it treats you well back — and you get to keep enjoying the freedom of flying on this island without unnecessary headaches. And honestly, that’s worth a lot more than ten bucks.
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