Can the DJI Neo 2 Keep Up With a Four-Year-Old?

Blake and his Christmas present

I’ll be honest: I was skeptical.

Not skeptical of my kid — skeptical of the drone.

If you’ve ever met a four-year-old with a full battery and zero sense of pacing, you’ll understand the concern. The real question going into this wasn’t “Will the DJI Neo 2 work?” It was “Which one of these is going to run out of batteries first?”

First Flight, Boxing Day, Beach Test

We were down in Parksville over Christmas, staying near the beach, and Boxing Day felt like the right moment to see what this little drone could actually do in the real world. No backyard hovering. No careful demo. Just open space, sand, and a kid who absolutely does not slow down for technology.

The Neo 2 came out of a pocket. Not a case. Not a backpack. A pocket.

Press a button. It’s on. Another button. It’s in the air.

From there, it was off chasing Blake up and down the boardwalk while I stood back, half amused and half waiting for something to go wrong.

It didn’t.

“Wait… It Just Does That?”

We watched a short video beforehand, and that was about it. I helped him turn it on and launch it, but the gesture controls clicked almost immediately. Start following. Stop. Land back in his hand. Repeat.

No controller. No panic. No drama.

That part surprised me more than anything. Not just that he could do it — but how quickly it made sense to him. Five minutes might actually be generous.

And here’s the thing: watching the drone chase him around in person feels a little chaotic, but when you look at the footage afterward, it’s impressively stable. The framing holds. The motion is smooth. You’re clearly watching a kid running full tilt, but the video itself doesn’t feel frantic.

That’s not nothing.

This Is Not an Air 3S (And That’s the Point)

I fly an Air 3S regularly. That’s a very different tool, for very different work. It lives in a case, gets set up deliberately, checks satellites, checks airspace, and goes up with intention.

The Neo 2 is the opposite of that.

This thing is basically a pocket-sized, mildly obedient videographer. You pull it out, press a button, and it starts capturing whatever’s happening — kids running, family walks, quick moments you normally wouldn’t bother setting a drone up for.

That’s the real difference.

This isn’t about cinematic shots or production value. It’s about use. It’s about actually using a drone instead of talking yourself out of it because setup feels like work.

Price, Practicality, and Reality

For the money — especially if you’re realistic about accessories — it’s hard not to be impressed. You don’t need the whole kit. A spare battery (maybe two if you’re feeling ambitious) and you’re in good shape.

For families, that matters.

This is the kind of drone you can teach a kid to use responsibly. Gesture control first. Controller later. Safety always. It goes back in the pocket when you’re done. It gets looked after when you bring it home.

And yes, responsibility is part of the fun. Learning when not to fly is just as important as learning how.

Final Thoughts

I went into this curious. Mildly skeptical. Fully prepared for the drone to lose a race with a four-year-old.

Instead, I walked away impressed — not just with the tech, but with how naturally it fits into real family life. It’s fast, approachable, surprisingly capable, and doesn’t demand a whole production just to capture a moment.

If nothing else, it answered the original question.

The drone didn’t run out of batteries first.

The kid didn’t either.

Related Articles

Chasing Down a DJI Neo 2 for Christmas — And Why This Drone Matters More Than I Expected
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DJI Neo 2 — Why This Little Drone Is About to Become My Four-Year-Old’s First Co-Pilot
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DJI Mini 5 Pro — If It’s Not a Micro-Drone… That’s the Point
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From the Beach to the Mountain: A Winter Day at Mount Washington

We were staying down on the beach in Parksville over the holidays, one of those rare winter stretches where the air is clear and the Island feels quiet. Looking east, it was hard not to notice how close Mount Washington really is. Ocean in front of you, snow-covered peaks not that far away. The proximity alone made the decision for us.

It also happened to be my four-year-old son’s first real trip to the mountain, and only the second time he’d ever seen snow. Living in Victoria, winter usually means rain, grey skies, and damp trails. Snow still feels like a novelty.

The drive up was part of the experience. You leave the coastline behind and climb steadily into a completely different landscape. Forests get thicker, the air sharpens, and then suddenly everything is white. Snow-covered trees, open alpine terrain, and long views stretching back toward the Island and the ocean beyond.

We didn’t plan perfectly. For anyone heading up for the first time, learn from my mistake: buy tickets in advance. Showing up without a plan during the holidays is a rookie move, and Dad definitely felt that one. Thankfully, we managed to get him into the tube park for a bit, which turned out to be exactly what he needed.

That first run down the hill was all it took. The kind of laughter that only comes from something completely new. Snow flying everywhere, boots soaked, cheeks red from the cold, and zero interest in leaving. He got a taste of winter up there and immediately wanted more.

The day itself couldn’t have been better. Clear skies, crisp light, and that quiet brightness you only get in winter. Between tubing runs and wandering around, I took the opportunity to put the drone up for a few quick flights. Nothing complicated. Just letting it rise above the base area and take in the scale of the place.

From the air, Mount Washington really shows itself. Snow-covered forests wrapping around open runs, buildings tucked neatly into the landscape, and the Island stretching away in every direction. It’s one of those spots where the sea-to-alpine contrast becomes very real, very fast.

Those aerial moments were calm and unhurried, the kind that fit naturally into the day rather than interrupting it. Just enough time to capture the setting as it was: winter light, clean lines, and a mountain that feels surprisingly close to home.

By the time we headed back down toward Parksville, the decision had already been made. This wouldn’t be a one-off trip. A beach stay paired with a mountain day felt like the perfect Vancouver Island combination, especially with a kid who’s just discovering snow for the first time.

So that was it. A Christmas trip that quietly turned into a tradition. Parksville below, Mount Washington above, and a reminder of how much variety you can pack into a single winter day on the Island.

We’ll be back next year. And the year after that.

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.

Inner Harbor at Night — A First Downtown Night Flight

This Inner Harbor night flight took longer to happen than expected.

Between November and December, lining up permission, weather, and availability turned into a moving target. Anyone in British Columbia this year will understand. The rain has been relentless, with repeated atmospheric rivers and long stretches where flying simply wasn’t realistic or responsible. More than once, approvals were in place, but the weather just wasn’t.

When it finally came together, it meant heading downtown very early. The flight took place around 4:00 a.m., when the Inner Harbor is mostly empty and quiet, but not entirely. There were very few people around, which in some ways made it calmer, and in other ways made it a little more unsettling. At that hour, every sound carries, and you’re more aware of who else happens to be nearby.

I launched from near the Canada sign along the Inner Harbour, a spot that offered a clear line of sight while staying respectful of the space. Even with everything approved and planned, I was more nervous than I expected. It was my first night flight and my first downtown flight, and combining the two probably wasn’t the most relaxed way to ease into either. Still, once the aircraft was in the air and everything settled, that initial tension faded.

The Inner Harbor looks very different at night. The scale changes. The reflections take over. Familiar landmarks feel quieter and more contained, especially in low light and damp conditions. From above, the harbour becomes less about movement and more about shape, glow, and contrast. Boats sit almost motionless, light pools along the shoreline, and the city feels smaller and calmer than it does during the day.

Partway through the flight, I had a brief interaction with someone passing through who asked if I was flying a drone and whether I had a channel. He followed along on the spot and genuinely thought it was pretty cool to see the harbour being documented that way. It was a small moment, but a good reminder that even at odd hours, people notice and appreciate a different perspective on familiar places.

This flight wasn’t about pushing limits or capturing anything dramatic. It was about seeing a well-known location at an unfamiliar time and letting the conditions shape the result. Some stills came out of it, and the longer film captures that slow, reflective perspective that only really shows up in the early morning hours.

The full Inner Harbor night flight video is embedded below, and selected stills from the flight have been added to the portfolio. I’m glad I waited for the right moment rather than forcing it earlier in the season. This one feels less like a showcase and more like a record of place, timing, and a first step into a new kind of flying.

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.

Seeing a Familiar Place a Little Differently: Six Mile Pub

I’ve been going to the Six Mile on and off for close to 30 years now. It’s one of those places that’s just always been there — not trendy, not trying to reinvent itself, just solid food, familiar faces, and a setting that feels baked into the Westshore.

I’ve always liked the old Four Mile, Six Mile, Seventeen Mile naming idea around Victoria. It’s a small thing, but it hints at how long these places have existed and how they were originally thought of — measured points along the road, landmarks people used to navigate by.

Like most well-known spots, the Six Mile has been photographed endlessly. Food photos, patio shots, group selfies — all good, all familiar. But those images usually come from the same narrow perspective: eye level, standing in the parking lot or sitting at a table.

This shoot was about stepping outside that usual viewpoint.

On a quiet December morning, with the light doing something interesting for once, I took the opportunity to capture the Six Mile from above — not to make it flashy, but to show how it actually sits in the landscape. The relationship between the building, the bridge, the water, and the surrounding greenery becomes much clearer when you pull back a little.

I’ve seen this same shift happen with other local shoots — places like Four Mile and My Chosen Café. A different perspective doesn’t replace the usual photos; it complements them. It gives people something they don’t already have, and that tends to draw new eyes and quiet attention.

For established, iconic businesses, that matters. They don’t need hype. They just need to be seen clearly.

This project is a good example of how aerial photography and drone videography in Victoria can support local businesses — not by reinventing them, but by showing them honestly from a slightly different angle

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 Winter Morning from King George Terrace, Looking Out Toward Trial Island

Winter mornings like this are a bit of a gamble. The forecast looked bad, the radar looked worse, and the weather itself was doing exactly what winter on the south Island does best — cold, wet, and generally unpleasant. Still, there was a hint of light when I left the house, and sometimes that’s enough to at least go see what happens.

King George Terrace wasn’t the original plan, but it ended up being the right call. By the time I arrived, conditions were miserable. Rain, low cloud, and very little to suggest anything was about to improve. I stood there for a bit, half expecting to pack it in and head home, but instead I waited. Not because I was optimistic — more because I was already there.

Then, briefly, things shifted.

The rain backed off just enough. The sky opened in patches. Looking east, Trial Island came into view with soft winter light reflecting off the water. It wasn’t dramatic or explosive — just calm, quiet, and honest. The kind of light that doesn’t last long and doesn’t announce itself when it shows up.

Turning south, Gonzales Bay sat quietly below, still holding on to late-season colour along the shoreline. I spent a lot of time in this part of town years ago, and mornings like this always bring back memories I don’t expect until I’m standing there again. Familiar places have a way of doing that.

As quickly as it opened, the window started to close. A brief rainbow appeared through the mist toward Clover Point before the rain moved back in and the light flattened out again. That was it. No second act, no miracle turnaround — just a short, usable moment in an otherwise rough morning.

Those are often the mornings that stick with me the most.

This set of images came from standing in one place and letting the conditions do what they were going to do, rather than trying to force anything. Sometimes that’s all these winter outings are — showing up, waiting, and being ready when a small opportunity appears.

Esquimalt Lagoon: Coffee, Birds, and a Brief Ceasefire in the Rain

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Esquimalt Lagoon Bridge

Esquimalt Lagoon is one of my go-to flight spots. It’s close to home, it’s absolutely gorgeous on even the most average day, and most importantly, there’s a Tim Hortons drive-thru on the way.
That last part matters more than it probably should, but let’s be honest — no good drone decision has ever been made without coffee.

Like most of Vancouver Island this fall and winter, we’ve been dealing with rain. Not normal rain. Not “grab a jacket” rain. I’m talking biblical, ark-building, forty-days-and-forty-nights rain. The kind where you start wondering if the ground is ever going to dry out again, or if this is just how things are now.

They’re calling them atmospheric rivers. I used to roll my eyes at that term and joke that it was just a fancy new way of saying “it’s raining hard.” But after this year… yeah. It’s a thing. A very wet, very real thing.

So when a break shows up — even a small one — you notice.

Lately, my first indicator isn’t the weather app. It’s the birds.

When the rain eases off, the trees around my house absolutely explode with noise. Birds everywhere, losing their minds, like someone rang a bell and announced a surprise party. I’ve started treating it as my unofficial “maybe you can fly a drone now” alarm.

I looked out the window.
No sideways rain.
Wind wasn’t terrible.
Birds were partying.

That was good enough for me.

I grabbed a coffee, tossed the drone in the truck, and headed down to Esquimalt Lagoon mid-afternoon. Not a golden sunrise shoot. Not cinematic perfection. Just a window — and sometimes that’s all you get.

The lagoon was doing what it always does: calm water on both sides of the road, subtle color shifts under the surface, and that quiet, wide-open feeling that makes you slow down whether you want to or not. It’s one of those places that doesn’t need big light or dramatic skies to work. It just is.

Below is a short film from that afternoon — a quiet flight over the lagoon and nearby shoreline, captured during one of those rare breaks between storms.

I got up, took my time, and grabbed a handful of shots I’ve been wanting for a while.

And right on cue — as I was landing — the rain came back.

Not a drizzle. Not a warning sprinkle. Full send. As if the weather itself was saying, “Alright, that’s enough joy for one afternoon.”

By the time I packed up and got back in the truck, it was already back to absurd, relentless rain. The kind that makes you laugh because getting mad about it feels pointless.

That’s Esquimalt Lagoon for me.
Close to home.
Easy to reach.
Reliable when the weather gives you even the smallest chance.

It’s not a destination shoot. It’s not a once-a-year trip. It’s my backyard escape — the place I go when the birds start screaming and the rain finally gives me a break.

And yes, the Tim Hortons on the way definitely helps.

More flights from Esquimalt Lagoon — and other favorite spots around Victoria and the Westshore — coming soon.

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.

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.

– Cole Island — A Quiet Look at a Forgotten Place
– Sunrise at Willows Beach
– Ma Miller’s / Goldstream Inn — A Last Look

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.

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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
The lighting, rhythm, and atmosphere behind the Island’s most cinematic moments.

Aerial Photographer in Victoria — What to Know Before Hiring One

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 Vancouver Island Is Perfect for Quiet Cinematic Aerial Stories
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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.

Related Stories

Aerial Photographer in Victoria — What to Know Before Hiring One
A practical look at what really matters when choosing an aerial photographer.

Aerial Videographer in Victoria — What Makes Footage Stand Out
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Why Vancouver Island Is Perfect for Quiet Cinematic Aerial Stories
The light, landscape, and rhythm that shape the Island’s storytelling style.

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.

Related Stories

Two Calendar Selections — One Very Familiar Sunrise Spot
How a favorite Westshore location ended up on the Colwood community calendar.

Why I Fly at Sunrise — A West Coast Morning Ritual
The quiet rhythm and light that shape so many of my favorite flights.

Vancouver Island From Above — James Bay Athletic Association
A personal story about community, history, and the places that stay with you.

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.

If you’re reading this because you’re considering drone work for a business, property, or project in Victoria, this complexity is exactly why many people choose to hire a professional instead of navigating it themselves.

We offer professional drone services across Greater Victoria, with clear pricing and compliant operations — so you can get the footage you need without worrying about airspace, rules, or risk.

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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Cole Island at Sunrise – A Quiet Look at Esquimalt Harbour’s Forgotten Heritage

Cole 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

Cole 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.

Cole 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

Cole 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