A Photo Walk That Helps Toronto’s Economy

Sometimes when I lead a Toronto Photo Walk, I think about all the photographs we are going to take, the streets we are going to explore and the people we are going to meet. But after leading our latest walk, I started thinking about something else: we are also putting money back into Toronto’s economy.

We started the morning at a local coffee shop. More than 25 people showed up to begin the walk. That is a pretty good crowd to suddenly walk through the door looking for coffee, tea, breakfast or a snack!

For a coffee shop, having 25-plus customers arrive together can mean a nice little boost in business. There are drinks being made, food being sold and employees working behind the counter. It may not seem like a huge economic event, but multiply that kind of activity across Toronto every weekend and it starts to add up.

Then we headed out with our cameras.

One of the things I have always enjoyed about leading Toronto Photo Walks is that we don't just photograph Toronto—we explore Toronto. We walk along streets that some of us might otherwise never visit. We notice old buildings, new construction, neighbourhood stores, signs, people and all the little details that make Toronto interesting.

And photographers have a habit of coming back.

Someone sees an interesting restaurant and thinks, I should try that place sometime. Someone else discovers a store they didn't know existed. Another person finds a neighbourhood they want to photograph again.

That is another way a photo walk can help the city.

Eventually, as every good Toronto Photo Walk should, we arrived at the pub.

Twenty people came into the pub for lunch.

Now think about that from the pub owner's point of view. Twenty people ordering lunches, soft drinks, coffee and, for some of us, a beer. There are servers taking orders, cooks preparing meals and suppliers providing the food and beverages.

That spending doesn't simply stop at the cash register. It becomes part of the much larger Toronto hospitality economy.

The City of Toronto says food services alone account for thousands of jobs supported by visitor spending. Toronto's visitor economy welcomed 28.2 million visitors in 2025, who spent $9.1 billion and generated about $13.5 billion in total economic impact.

Of course, our little photo walk isn't responsible for billions of dollars!

But it works on the same basic principle.

People get out of their homes. They take transit or drive into a neighbourhood. They buy coffee. They walk around. They discover businesses. They stop for lunch. They may buy something along the way, and they may return another day.

Even coffee shops can act as neighbourhood anchors, connecting customers with other nearby businesses. Research released in 2026 found that Toronto businesses often share regular customers with neighbouring businesses, illustrating how spending can spread through a local commercial area.

So when I looked at our group photo and thought about 25-plus people starting at the coffee shop and 20 people finishing at the pub, I realized that Toronto Photo Walks are about more than photography.

We are supporting local businesses.

We are bringing people into Toronto neighbourhoods.

We are helping restaurants, pubs and coffee shops.

We are discovering places that we may return to later.

And along the way, we are making friends and photographing our city.

I have always said that one of the best ways to discover Toronto is to put a camera around your neck and start walking.

Now I can add one more thing:

Every time we do it, we're putting a little something back into the city we're photographing.

Not bad for a bunch of people walking around Toronto with cameras.

And naturally, we finished at the pub. Some Toronto Photo Walk traditions are too important to change.

 

I don’t want any of my cameras to feel lonely.

I have quite a few old Sony cameras sitting around the house. Some people might look at them and wonder why I still keep them, never mind why I still take them out and use them.

My answer is pretty simple: I don’t want any of my cameras to feel lonely.

Over the years I have collected Sony cameras like the NEX-3, a3000, a5000 and a6000. They are all getting old by digital-camera standards, but every one of them still takes pictures. So why should they spend the rest of their lives sitting on a shelf?

I like to rotate them.

One day I might take the little NEX-3 downtown. Another day the a3000 gets to come along. Then it might be the a5000 or a6000. It is almost like taking a different old friend along on my photo walk.

Every camera also makes me photograph a little differently.

The NEX-3 reminds me how simple photography can be. The a3000 has that traditional camera shape and feels completely different in my hands. The a5000 is small and easy to carry around Toronto. The a6000 is still a great little camera when I want something a bit more capable.

Do newer cameras have better auto focus, more megapixels and all sorts of new technology? Of course they do.

But that doesn't mean my old cameras suddenly forgot how to take photographs.

That is one of the things I enjoy about photography. I don't have to own the newest camera to enjoy walking around Toronto looking for an interesting person, building, reflection or little piece of everyday life.

Sometimes taking out an old camera is actually more fun. There isn't the pressure of carrying around an expensive new piece of equipment. I already know the camera. I know its little quirks. I can just walk, look around and take pictures.

And there is something else about using old cameras.

They have memories attached to them.

When I pick up one of these cameras, I can remember some of the places it has been with me and some of the photographs I have taken with it. A camera eventually becomes more than a collection of electronics. It becomes part of your photography story.

So I refuse to let one camera become the favourite while all the others sit forgotten on the shelf.

When I look at my collection, I sometimes imagine them saying:

"Hey Bob, you took the a6000 out last week. When is it my turn?"

Don't worry.

Everybody gets a turn.

As long as my old Sony cameras keep working, I'll keep taking them on photo walks. They may be old. They may not have the latest technology.

But they are certainly not going to be lonely.

 

Bob Finds the Camera Club Model

You never know what you’re going to find when you walk into a camera store in Toronto.

I was wandering around the store looking at cameras—especially some of the older digital cameras—when I suddenly spotted somebody who looked ready for the next camera club photo shoot.

There he was: the Camera Club Model.

This guy was prepared for everything.

He had a Canon DSLR hanging from his shoulder, a little compact digital camera around his neck, another old camera hanging from his vest, a camera bag, photographer’s vest, beads, and even a Buffalo Sabres toque. Then, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything, he had what looked like a small action camera mounted right on his head.

I had to laugh.

Most photographers spend a lot of time deciding which camera to take with them. This fellow apparently solved the problem by taking all of them.

Looking at him also reminded me just how much photography has changed. Hanging around his neck were cameras from different generations, from little compact digital cameras to a DSLR. Today everybody talks about the newest mirrorless camera, autofocus systems, huge megapixel counts and the latest lenses.

But here was a reminder that photographers have been taking interesting pictures with all kinds of cameras for years.

Of course, being Bob, I couldn't walk past without taking a photo.

Maybe our camera club has finally found the perfect model. He doesn't move, he doesn't complain, he can hold the same pose all day, and best of all, he brings his own cameras!

The only problem might be getting him out of the camera store for a photo walk.

Just another unexpected find while Bob goes looking around the camera stores of Toronto.

 

Bob’s Camera Store Treasure Hunt

There is something about walking into a real camera store that still gets me excited.

On my latest visit, I wasn’t really interested in finding the newest camera with the most megapixels, the fastest auto focus, or the latest AI features. Bob was on a treasure hunt for old Sony digital cameras.

And a camera store filled with used equipment is a pretty good place to go hunting.

The walls and counters were packed with cameras and lenses. There were newer Sony, Canon and Fuji film cameras sitting beside equipment that had already lived a photographic life with somebody else. There were shelves of lenses, flashes, studio lights, camera bags and even colourful old camera straps hanging from the ceiling.

But I kept looking for the older digital cameras.

One shelf really caught my attention. Sitting in a row were those little compact digital cameras that almost everybody seemed to have before smartphones took over. Some of them probably haven't taken a picture in years.

Today people might look at them and wonder why anybody would want one.

I look at them and wonder what kind of pictures I could take with one.

That is the fun of old digital cameras.

They don't have to be perfect. They don't need 40 or 60 megapixels. They don't need incredible autofocus or a computer inside them deciding what the photograph should look like. Sometimes an old Sony with a small sensor and a few simple controls is all you need to have some fun.

I already know that from using my older Sony cameras. There is something enjoyable about taking an old camera downtown and seeing what it can still do.

Then I found another section that really took me back in time.

There was film everywhere — Kodak, Ilford and all kinds of different black-and-white and colour films. Nearby were developing chemicals, filters and other darkroom supplies. It was a reminder that photography existed long before memory cards and computer screens.

And then there was the pile of really old cameras.

Now that was a photograph waiting to happen.

Old movie cameras, box cameras, rangefinders, flashes and cameras from generations ago were all mixed together. Looking at that pile made me think about how many different ways people have made photographs over the years.

Photography keeps changing.

Film gave way to digital. Compact digital cameras gave way to smartphones. Mirrorless cameras became the big thing. Now cameras are getting smarter and smarter.

But that doesn't mean the old cameras suddenly stopped being cameras.

An old Sony digital camera can still take a photograph.

And sometimes having limitations makes photography more interesting. Instead of worrying about having the newest equipment, you start looking harder at the light, the people and the story in front of you.

So while everybody else might be looking through the glass case at the latest expensive camera, don't be surprised if you find Bob over in the used section.

I'll be looking at some forgotten little Sony camera and thinking:

"I wonder what Toronto would look like through that?"

That might be the best part about visiting a camera store.

You never know when somebody else's old camera might become Bob's next photographic adventure.

 

Deb Makes a Call While Bob Sticks With an Old Camera

Sometimes a trip to a camera store is about more than buying a new camera.

I was in Henry’s Camera Store with my friend Deb, looking around at all the new cameras and lenses. There is always something new to tempt a photographer—more megapixels, faster autofocus, better screens and cameras that seem to do just about everything for you.

While I was checking out all the latest equipment, Deb found something much more interesting: an old-fashioned telephone.

Of course, she had to pick it up and make a “call.”

I couldn't resist taking her photo. The old phone, the movie posters in the background and Deb holding the receiver made it look like she had stepped back in time. It was one of those fun little moments that makes a good photograph.

The funny part was that while I was surrounded by thousands of dollars' worth of brand-new camera equipment, I took the photo with my old Sony a3000.

And I was perfectly happy with it.

It reminded me that photographers can spend a lot of time thinking about the next camera. We look at the newest models and wonder if a better sensor, faster autofocus or some new feature will suddenly make our photographs better.

But there I was, using an older camera and getting exactly the photograph I wanted.

The Sony a3000 may not be the newest camera on the shelf, but it still works. I know how to use it, I enjoy carrying it, and most importantly, it was in my hands when the picture happened.

There is something amusing about that photograph when you think about it: Deb was using an old telephone, and Bob was using an old camera—while standing in a store full of the newest technology.

Maybe newer isn't always better.

Sometimes the best camera is simply the old one you already have with you.

Keep shooting. The photograph matters more than the camera.

 

The Real Heart of Black Creek Pioneer Village

One of the best parts of spending a day at Black Creek Pioneer Village isn't the old buildings.

It's the people.

Everywhere I walked there was someone bringing the 1800s back to life. They weren't just dressed in period clothing—they knew the history, understood the trades, and loved sharing their knowledge with visitors. Since 2024, the site has officially been known as The Village at Black Creek, reflecting a broader and more inclusive approach to telling the history of the Toronto region, but many of us still remember it fondly as Black Creek Pioneer Village.

I spent as much time talking with the workers as I did taking photographs.

The harness maker patiently explained the tools hanging from every beam in his workshop. Looking around the room, I realized every strap, buckle, and piece of leather once had to be made by hand. Standing there, you gain a new appreciation for the craftsmanship that kept horses—and the people who depended on them—working every day.

In the general store, another interpreter welcomed visitors with a smile, making the shop feel as if customers had just stepped in from a dusty country road. Every shelf held another story waiting to be told.

The baker worked quietly beside the warm oven, preparing bread just as it would have been done nearly two centuries ago. Watching someone work without modern appliances reminds you how much patience and skill everyday life once required.

The printer fascinated me as ink rollers moved across type that had been carefully set by hand. Newspapers weren't created with a mouse click—they were built one letter at a time.

The tinsmith hammered metal with practiced precision, shaping useful household items from flat sheets of tin. Every strike of the hammer echoed through the shop, sounding much the same as it would have in the 1800s.

Even outside, interpreters demonstrated everyday tasks, answered endless questions, and never seemed to tire of sharing their enthusiasm. They aren't simply employees—they're storytellers who make history feel real.

As a photographer, these people are wonderful subjects. Their clothing, expressions, and dedication create portraits that feel authentic rather than staged. But the photographs only tell part of the story.

The conversations are what stay with me.

History museums can preserve buildings, furniture, and artifacts. But it takes passionate people to breathe life into them. Without these interpreters, the Village would simply be a collection of old structures. With them, it becomes a living community where visitors can experience what life was really like in early Ontario.

I came home with hundreds of photographs, but I also came home with something even more valuable—a renewed appreciation for the people who keep history alive, one conversation at a time.

 

One Building That Never Moved

There are days when photography gives you more than just pictures. Sometimes it gives you a story.

I was over on Centre Island with my camera, enjoying one of the best views of the Toronto skyline. No matter how many times I make the ferry trip, the skyline always looks different. New towers seem to appear every year, cranes are constantly reshaping the horizon, and it feels like Toronto reinvents itself every time I visit.

As I was taking these photos, I met a friendly older gentleman who stopped to admire the view. We started chatting about how much the skyline has changed over the decades.

Then he pointed toward the waterfront and said something that made me look at the skyline in a completely different way.

"You know," he said, "the only original building you can still recognize in that skyline is the Queens Quay Terminal."

I looked back through my viewfinder and realized he was right.

Everything else around it seems to have grown taller, shinier, and more modern. Condo towers now dominate the skyline. Office buildings have risen where there were once open spaces. Even the city's famous silhouette has changed dramatically over the years.

Yet the Queens Quay Terminal is still there, quietly holding its place on the waterfront, almost hidden among the forest of glass towers. It has become a reminder of Toronto's past while the city continues racing toward its future.

That's one of the things I enjoy most about photography. A photo freezes a moment in time, but sometimes it's the conversation behind the photo that gives it meaning.

Without meeting that gentleman, I probably would have gone home thinking I had simply captured another skyline. Instead, I came home with a new appreciation for just how much Toronto has changed—and for one building that has stayed to tell the story.

Sometimes the best part of a photo walk isn't the photograph.

It's the person you meet along the way who helps you see the picture differently.

And the next time I photograph the Toronto skyline from Centre Island, I'll be looking for the Queens Quay Terminal first, because now I know it's one of the few links still connecting today's skyline with the Toronto of years gone by.

 

The Firefighters Get the Pools Ready for Family Fun Day

One of the best things about walking around Toronto is stumbling across the work that most people never get to see.

During my visit to Centre Island, I noticed the firefighters from Toronto Fire Station 335 busy preparing the children's pools for the upcoming Family Fun Day. While most visitors think firefighters only respond to emergencies, there is so much more to their job.

Armed with hoses, a pumper truck, and plenty of teamwork, the crew transformed an empty grassy area into what would soon become a place full of laughing children and grateful families. Before the first splash can happen, someone has to make sure everything is clean, safe, and ready. That "someone" was the firefighters.

I watched as they stretched hose lines, connected to a nearby hydrant, tested the water flow, and carefully positioned the inflatable pools. It looked like another routine day for them, but it's easy to forget that these same firefighters could be responding to an emergency minutes later.

What impressed me most was how smoothly everyone worked together. There was no shouting or confusion—just professionals who knew exactly what needed to be done. Years of training showed in every movement, whether it was checking equipment or making sure the pools filled properly.

Afterward, I wandered over to the fire station itself, where Rescue 335 and the pumper were standing by, ready for whatever the day might bring. Even while helping with a community event, they never stop being firefighters.

As photographers, we often chase dramatic moments—fires, flashing lights, and emergency scenes. But sometimes the better story is the quieter one. A crew preparing a safe place for families to enjoy a summer day says just as much about public service as responding to an alarm.

When Family Fun Day begins, hundreds of people will simply see happy kids playing in the water. Most will never think about the firefighters who arrived early, did the hard work behind the scenes, and quietly made it all possible.

That's one of the reasons I enjoy carrying my camera around Toronto. Sometimes the best photographs aren't about the big event—they're about the people who make the event happen.

 

Can You Believe Your Eyes Anymore?

For years photographers have lived by one simple rule: Get it right in the camera.

If you missed focus, the photo usually ended up in the recycle bin. That's just the way photography worked.

Today, that has changed.

The two photos above tell the story. The first image was out of focus. The second image was sharpened using ChatGPT. In less than a minute, what would once have been an unusable photograph became a keeper.

As a street photographer, that's an amazing tool. Sometimes people move at the last second, autofocus grabs the background, or you simply miss by a fraction. Instead of losing a great moment, AI can often rescue it.

But there is another side to this story.

If AI can convincingly repair a soft photo today, tomorrow it can change expressions, remove people, add objects, replace skies, or even create an entire scene that never existed.

That raises a question every photographer—and every viewer—has to ask:

Can we still trust a photograph?

For over 180 years, photographs have been treated as evidence. "The camera doesn't lie," people used to say.

Now the camera may still tell the truth, but the computer that edits the image doesn't have to.

When I look at photos online today, I find myself wondering:

• Was that really there?
• Was the focus corrected?
• Was someone removed?
• Did that dramatic sky actually exist?
• Is this a photograph, or is it digital artwork?

None of those questions even crossed my mind ten years ago.

As photographers, AI gives us incredible new tools. We can rescue images that would have been lost forever, improve old family photos, and make our work look better than ever.

But it also puts a greater responsibility on us to be honest about what we're showing. If a photo has been enhanced, repaired, or significantly altered, there's value in saying so. Photography has always been about telling stories, but those stories should still be rooted in reality when presented as documentary images.

I'll certainly keep using ChatGPT to save the occasional out-of-focus photo. It's another tool in the photographer's bag, just like better lenses or image stabilization.

I just hope we don't lose something along the way—the confidence that when we look at a photograph, we're seeing a moment that really happened.

Perhaps the most valuable skill for photographers in the future won't be learning the latest camera.

It will be earning people's trust.

 

Fifteen Years of Finding Toronto

This month marks a special milestone for me. It has been 15 years since I joined my first Toronto Photo Walk. Looking back, I never imagined that one Saturday morning would turn into fifteen years of adventures, thousands of photographs, and friendships that have lasted a lifetime.

People often ask me why I keep going on photo walks. The answer is simple.

I found the city of Toronto.

Before I started walking with a camera, Toronto was just a place to visit. I knew the major landmarks, but I didn't really know the city. Over the past fifteen years, I've explored neighbourhoods I never would have visited otherwise. I've wandered through alleyways, markets, waterfront trails, industrial districts, parks, festivals, and quiet residential streets that all have their own stories to tell.

The camera gave me a reason to slow down.

Instead of rushing from one place to another, I started noticing the little things—a reflection in a puddle, a smile from a stranger, an old brick building catching the morning light, or a construction worker taking a coffee break. Those moments are what street photography is all about, and Toronto has given me an endless supply of them.

I've watched the city change over the years. New skyscrapers have appeared where parking lots once stood. Historic buildings have disappeared while others have been restored. I've photographed celebrations, protests, parades, sporting events, firefighters, police officers, tourists, musicians, and everyday people simply living their lives.

Every walk has been different.

One of the greatest gifts these photo walks have given me isn't just the photographs—it's the people. I've met photographers from every background and skill level, and many have become good friends. We've spent countless Saturdays exploring together, and just as importantly, we've ended many of those walks in a neighbourhood pub, sharing lunch, enjoying a beer, and talking about photography, cameras, and life. Those conversations have become just as much a part of the tradition as taking pictures.

Fifteen years later, I'm still learning. Every walk teaches me something new about photography, and every walk shows me another side of Toronto that I hadn't noticed before.

People sometimes travel halfway around the world looking for great photographs. I've discovered that some of the best ones are right here in my own city. All I had to do was start walking.

So here's to fifteen years of photo walks, thousands of photographs, countless laughs, and a city that never stops surprising me.

I'm already looking forward to the next walk.

Toronto isn't just where I take photographs anymore. After fifteen years of photo walking, it's a city I've truly come to know.