Lessons Learned

 

            It was 4:45 on a Sunday evening. I was determined to get some great wildlife photos before dark. I stepped out of the truck at the head of the birding trail, promising my husband I’d phone him if I ran into trouble.

            Let’s think about this. It was a birding trail in a state park 30 minutes before dark. What could possibly happen? Well, this is South Texas, and it was thirty minutes before dark. I was about to walk into the scrub brush all by myself. As I followed the distant hoot of the owl I was hoping to photograph, one thought ran around and around in my brain. What if I ran into a pack of javelinas?

            The original idea was a good one. I planned to walk slowly along the trail, taking pictures of any wildlife that presented itself. I was hoping for a variety of birds, maybe a rabbit, or even a white-tailed deer or two. I was also hoping the hoot I was following belonged to a Great Horned Owl. The reality was something else. The deeper I crept into the woods, the spookier they became. The wind blowing across the landscape caused the dry winter grass to make an eerie rattling noise.

            As I turned a bend in the trail, I suddenly realized something else. I could hear footsteps crunching through the brush just a few yards away. Was it a deer? Or was it that dreaded pack of javelinas? I was raised on horror stories of hunters treed until dawn by angry javelinas. After all, I was invading their territory.

            My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I continued on my way. The hooting sound was getting closer. I could hear it nearby, followed by the distant answer of what I fancied to be “my” owl’s lady friend.

            I had been walking several minutes when I realized the gradual turn I was expecting the trail to make had never occurred. I hadn’t checked the map as I left, but assumed it was a circle that would eventually lead me back to the truck. I was beginning to think I was wrong. I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed my husband to ask his advice. Should I turn around and go back, or keep walking? Surely there was an end to this trail soon. The phone rang, but I got his voice mail. Remembering that the cell phones had signal problems in various places in the park, I tried to text him. I received a notice that he’d get the text message when he returned to the service area.

            “Hoot, hoot!” It was my owl again. Peering through the brush on the left side of the trail, I could just make out the silhouette of a Great Horned Owl. Unfortunately, he was too far away to get a good shot. I tried anyway, but there were too many trees and branches between my target and me. No way was I going to step off that trail for a better shot!

            That’s when I noticed the buzzards. Quite a few of the huge birds were circling back and forth all around me. As I wondered what might have died in the area, I remembered something else.

Two years ago, I had captured photos of an enormous bobcat in this very park! He was hunkered down in some tall grass, and the only hint I had of his existence had been the tips of his ears sticking up for all to see. He’d gradually made his way out of the grass, and that’s when I realized how big and powerful a bobcat he was. He was dragging a fresh kill – a very young fawn. I remember feeling sad for the fawn, but also being impressed by the bobcat. He was absolutely gorgeous! Was another such bobcat sneaking through the brush now, or even more horrid – a cougar? I knew they existed in this area, but I hadn’t considered all the possibilities.

I told myself to stop letting my imagination get the best of me, and I moved on. Ugh! The smell! It was like death, or rotting meat. I turned another bend, wondering what was causing that awful stench, when I saw them. Tree after tree on both sides of the trail were full of roosting buzzards! I’d never seen so many buzzards in one place in all my life. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” I muttered under my breath as I gazed about me. I stopped long enough to take some shots of the buzzards, but the nearest flock suddenly bolted from the tree. Wondering how nasty buzzard poop was going to smell if it landed on my head, I stopped and waited.

I tried to make a final decision between continuing on, or turning back, when I heard the sound of my husband’s truck as the engine turned over. He was leaving! He must be worried, or he wouldn’t leave. I decided to continue walking, convinced the trail had to come out on a roadway somewhere. I planned to start walking the road, sure I’d meet up with him eventually.

About two minutes later, after turning yet another bend, I saw the familiar red and white pickup that represented safety to me. My husband was slowly creeping down the road, peering down the very trail I now walked! I quickly waved my arms to get his attention, then nonchalantly strolled to the truck and got in, as if that had been my plan all along. Later, I did thank my husband for having the foresight to find the end of the trail.

After that experience, this novice wildlife photographer made herself one promise. The next trek into the brush alone would not be made a half hour before dark. There is something to be said for the bright sunshine of a mid-afternoon!