Brisbane underwater photographer Jasmine Carey describes here how she captured the shot that has won one of the richest prizes in photography.

I grabbed my 5D Mark IV camera, which is encased in waterproof housing and slipped off a small tour boat into the waters of the Vavaʻu Islands in Tonga.

Small bubbles breaking on the surface of the water every four minutes showed our group of divers that we were on the right track.

It began to rain. It fell rhythmically in a soothing pitter-patter on the water’s surface, gently lulling a large female humpback whale and her calf into a very relaxed and comforting sleep.

As we floated and stared into the deep, the sound of the rhythm faded just a little and the ocean calmed just enough for the tranquil pair to rise up, meeting the light rays starting to break through the surface.

Little Zai (the baby calf) is no more than 2 weeks old. His folds still noticeable, his complexion still smooth and velvety. His dorsal, pectorals and fins not yet grown in and his belly the purest of white.

Zai’s mother is stunning, the darkest of velvety grey tones with also a pure white underside. Angelically she rested. With open arms, she was perfectly vertical, her underside exposed.

She looked so vulnerable, yet she was relaxed. So poised. So nourished, cushioned and strengthened by the water that embraced her and will forever embrace, support and enrich them.

Careful not to waken his mother, Little Zai snuggled her— rubbing ever so gently along her nose and belly, familiarising himself with each of her dimples and each of her bumps.

Every so often he would blow her a small delicate trickle of bubble kisses, and follow their sparkly trail up for a breath. Every so often he would look over to us curiously, but he knew, as we knew, it was “mother and me” time.

As told to Carly Earl