Outdoor Recreation

NATURE PHOTOGRAPHY: MATCHING WITS WITH WILDLIFE

A lingering dampness hangs in the morning air. Striking out on foot toward a grassy meadow above the bluffs of East Clear Creek, I see the sky beginning to swell with masses of gray-black cumulus clouds.

With camera, telephoto, tripod, and assorted metal gear stuffed inside an aluminum-framed backpack and the sound of thunder rumbling overhead, I scurry across the boulder-strewn terrain with visions of my body turning into a glowing lightning rod.

As a self-taught wildlife photographer, I'm eager to put my newly devised "Theory for Success" to its ultimate test. For this I've chosen to match wits against the craftiest of all Arizona wildlife: the wild and wary Merriam's turkey.

To test the theory, I must first make myself invisible, or as near to invisible as possible. At the meadow's edge, I build a small four-sided blind of deadfall branches, high enough to accommodate a sitting torso. For protection from the impending rain, I add a flimsy roof of pine runners and layers of pine boughs.

Inside I assemble the camera equipment with the telephoto lens protruding outwardly in the direction of the open meadow. My hiding place resembles a tank's turret with cannon outstretched. I'm ready to test my theory.

Summer monsoon in the high country. Intermittent showers pelt the blind throughout the day as thunder reverberating overhead breaks the silence of the forest. Lightningits jagged silver sabers cutting at the earth dances across mountaintops while I nervously keep tabs on nearby strikes.

By late afternoon the storm has subsided. A slice of sunlight peeks through the clouds and beats down on my roof. Soon a sweltering heat begins to build inside the blind. Weary from not having seen any turkeys, my eyelids droop. Nodding, I fight to stay awake.

It's during that sublime state of mind drifting between comatose and semiconsciousness that I hear the sound, similar to that of an approaching F-16 gliding in at ground level without benefit of engine power.

In years to come, I will know that gliding wild turkeys emanate such a noise when they're coming in for a flapsdown landing on a perch.

There's a sudden explosion of feathers inside the blind as my ceiling collapses. A 20pound turkey lands in my lap, Arizona offers wildlife photographers a diversity of subjects. (CLOCKWISE FROM TOP, FAR LEFT) A shy prairie dog near Flagstaff, 10-day old Cooper's hawks in the Mazatzal Mountains, a drake mallard on Blue Ridge Lake above the Mogollon Rim, a wild turkey on the Rim, and cow elk near Wildcat Spring along the Rim. its beating wings slapping my face. An outburst of high-pitched shrieking from yours truly sends the terrified gobbler flapping about the four-foot-square enclosure.

Opting for the same avenue of escape, both of us burst through the eastern-most exposure of the blind in a splintering display of high-flying branches and pine needles. Recovering, I watch the hasty retreat of the gobbler through a haze of turkey down floating on the still afternoon air.

The day of my gobbler encounter was a few years ago. Although the attempt to photograph wild turkey was futile, my theory paved the way for success as a wildlife photographer.

The theory? It's simple: instead of going to the animals, let them come to you.

Author's Note: Study the habits of wildlife and areas they frequent before going afield to photograph. A basic 35mm camera, telephoto lens, tripod, and slow-speed film are all that's needed to start. Remember, in wildlife photography, determination and patience are key elements for getting quality photographs, so don't get discouraged when you fail to capture great shots the first time out.