Den of Reds

Prior to getting started with this post, I feel it may be necessary to define a term:

Shatscatter (noun):  1) An irregular and/or unexpected dispersion of shat. 2) Any voluminous mass consisting in whole or in part of decaying vegetable matter, macerated life forms, mammalian offal, or excrement which can be splashed, sprayed, fallen upon, or diffused in alarming fashion.

If you have never knelt down in a sulpherous shatscatter while wearing a really nice pair of jeans - you may not have engaged in extensive wildlife photography.

This Spring I was fortunate to happen upon a den of red foxes, which is a first in my lifetime of outdoor pursuits.  Numerous trips were made to the location as the kits were actually using two dens, separated by several hundred yards.  One spot was well-suited to morning light from the East, while the other was only approachable from the West and best photographed late in the evening.

Den #2 was an elevated mound in the middle of considerable, swamp-like shatscatter ranging in depth from 4 to 12 inches.  Having scouted the location I brought shat-proof boots that I knew would allow me to approach the den to within 20 yards or so.  The kits had been spending most of their time on top of the den, so I planned on being able to shoot from a standing position, putting me at eye-level with the young foxes.

I setup while the kits were inside the den so as not to alarm them one evening.  To my surprise, as all seven of them emerged to play in the cooler temperatures of dusk, the group became extremely curious.  Three of the foxes left the elevated area behind and moved towards me onto a much smaller mound only 4 yards from my lens and much lower than my line of sight.  Animal portraits are far more engaging when captured from an eye-level perspective, so I knew the only option was to kneel down and sit on my heels.

In one fluid movement, I descended into a shatscatter that would give a muskrat a fit of the dry heaves. This was the type of fetid ooze that a pair of pants never fully recovers from, and that potentially can fracture a marriage upon returning home.  The result was that I avoided casting a shadow into the frame and was able to get the imagery I was chasing.

A number of the images are landscape orientation and best viewed larger than my blog format accommodates.  If you are interested click on over to my Flickr set where these shots and others can be seen in higher resolution:

Red Fox Set on Flickr

Happy 4th of July everyone - get out there and step in something.

Whiteheaded Largebird

Have you ever been so cold that your reproductive regions could be preserved for cryogenic science with no additional cooling required?  One of the great things about wildlife photography is the way in which you can experience abject misery for extended periods of time.

Take this weekend, for example: I stood within 40 yards of a whole convocation of bald eagles for an interval so extensive that whole life cycles of insects were taking place around me. Eggs were laid. Larvae hatched. Eventually these were able to successfully pupate and emerge as sexually mature adults. Temperatures were well below freezing. During this veritable epoch, a vast expanse of fog settled upon the wetlands obliterating all hope of anything resembling a successful photograph.

The day ended.  Total clicks of the shutter: Zero.  This is the part of wildlife photography that isn't always apparent - the time that is allocated to pitiable failure and adult language.

Dawn the following day brought identical conditions.  After a few hours, however, a rapid change took place  and suddenly the air was clear.  Light rained down.  Eagles flew.  Birder's Remorse faded.  Shutters clicked.

Image Details

Nikon D4

Nikon TC17EII

Nikon 400mm f/2.8 VR @ f/4.8, 1/1600, ISO 100

Soft Water

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming, because it's frankly still hard to believe that for the past several weeks I have been fly fishing mid-elevation stillwaters in Utah.  During February.  No ice holes required.  As in casting a fly line and having its entirety land on liquid where there would normally be 14 inches of solid ice right now.

The Hell you say?  Well, in all past years of my lifetime you would be entirely correct in calling BS - but not THIS year.  Hungry trout have been tearing the chenille off my flies right down to the bare hook because no one has told them there's another month of Winter supposedly going on right now.



It has been butt-numbing cold at times, but this is OPEN WATER we are talking about.  The cure to cabin fever. 

Not only that but in the town of Circleville a guy named Mike, proprietor of Butch Cassidy's Hideout, makes something called a Hash Stack.  It's a conglomeration of hash brown potatoes, ham, sausage, bacon, and 2 eggs smothered in country gravy.  One eats this breakfast, and then fishes all day with  no additional nutrient requirements.

Early in the season I am giddy to fish and don't spend much time behind the lens. While rivers are certainly available all Winter long, stillwater trout on the fly at 6,500 feet in February... it's just unheard of.

Here's to places of extremes.  See you on the water.

Eye of the Tiger

"April is the cruelest month;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
-T.S. Eliot

Who knew that T.S. Eliot was an ice-off musky fly fisherman? Certainly not I, but how else can this quotation realistically be explained?

Thick plates of ice render stillwater useless to lint flickers, yet we know what lurks beneath in the darkness...

Wicked souls.

With the retreat of hard water, hope springs forth in a cruel form. Lines can now be cast through the crisp Spring air, but in cold water musky often adopt the personality traits of couch potatoes. Languishing in the aquatic equivalent of Barcaloungers, the demon torpedoes mimic the average man during the NFL playoffs: Consuming only that which is placed within effortless reach.

Slim chances aside, those who are consumed by the freshwater Jabberwocky go forth and give chase. Today, teeth gnashed.