Gratitude
Gratitude
Last year, early on a cold, snowy Christmas morning, before the rest of the family was even considering getting out of their beds, I snuck out of my warm house and went to my favorite area for photographing red foxes. Like many other folks, I really wasn't feeling the Christmas Spirit, and going to visit some of my favorite photography subjects was a welcome relief.
The park where I photograph foxes is only a few miles from my house, and I'm blessed to live in Colorado, so close to so much beauty. My little park has been described as being second only to Yellowstone National Park in terms of foxes to photograph and I spend at least one day every weekend, Fall through Spring, photographing foxes.
Last Christmas morning, I had a very special experience. I found the alpha male fox napping in the snow outside his den. When I first spotted him, he ducked back into his den, but after a few minutes, he hopped back out and resumed his napping, with me 20 feet away, happily taking some gorgeous images.
In the years that I've visited the park, there have been some drastic changes. The longtime locals tell me that not too long ago, there were more than three dozen foxes in the park. Because it's a popular park in the middle of an urban area, the foxes are habituated to people (being fed by some people also helps with that, too). Unfortunately, the fox population has been on the decline, for a number of reasons. Coyotes have moved into the park, and they've killed or forced out many of the foxes; foxes are competition for food.
I've been fortunate to know several generations of foxes. During my first year in the park, I got to know the then-alpha male fox, Pock, very well. He was easy to identify due to his light colored coat and squinty left eye. He was also the most active fox in the park, and I'd run into him frequently in different areas of the park. He was also a bold little guy. I witnessed him standing up to a coyote three times his size. He didn't mind passing me on the back trails as long as I gave him a little room. One morning I caught him going through my camera pack when my back was turned. He was no longer a youngster, but was very much the top fox in the park. He was shot in a senseless act of violence about 2 years ago, a huge loss to the park and many other photographers.
My favorite fox in the park was the alpha female. While Pock was always busy and on the move, she was very calm and deliberate. She never seemed too concerned about things and went about her business as I followed from a short distance. She'd hunt for voles and squirrels, groom, and nap, and almost seemed to enjoy posing for photographers. She was hit by a car and killed about a year and a half ago. As difficult as Pock's death was, hers was much more difficult for me.
More recently, I became very fond of the new alpha male, known to the locals as Grumpy. He was the beta male when I first noticed him, but it became quickly obvious that he had his sights on the alpha male position. I'd see him increasingly challenge Pock (never aggressively), and in a bold political move, apparently became the father to the batch of kits with the alpha female who had been Pock's mate. I never saw the kits that year but frequently saw him taking food to the den (the only time foxes ever share food).
Another new favorite was a vixen the locals called Scarface, for obvious reasons. She had a significant scar across her muzzle, attributed to surviving a coyote attack. As long as I'd known her, she'd been very shy, and would rarely stay in the open for very long. After the deaths of the previous alpha pair, she became the mate to Grumpy, the new alpha male. She gradually became more relaxed and would spend more time in the open. Her nickname of Scarface evolved into just Scarf.
In the Spring of 2010, according to long-time locals who were very familiar with the foxes, the population had gone from literally dozens to now only four remaining in the park. Many photographers and locals hoped that Grumpy and Scarf would produce a new litter of kits to help repopulate the park, but to the best of my knowledge, no kits were ever seen.
I've returned to the park half a dozen times starting in the Fall, but have yet to see a fox. The locals I've spoken to report they haven't seen foxes in some time. One person reported he found a dead fox (he was not familiar enough with individual foxes to confirm the identity of the fox, but given the location, it was likely either Grumpy or Scarf). To make matters worse, mange has apparently been making the rounds, further decimating the fox population.
This park and its resident foxes used to be a huge part of my life, Fall through Spring, and it was rare to not see a fox - in fact, I frequently would see three or four every visit, and at times be blessed to spend 10 to 20 minutes with a fox at fairly short range as they went about their business - as long as I didn't get too close or make too much noise, I was allowed to become part of their world.
My last trip to find foxes was Christmas morning; what was a very special experience a year ago is now a very sad one. It could be that since we haven't had any snow so far, the grass is just too tall to see any foxes, or that my timing has just been off, but I fear the worst; all my foxes are dead, either from coyotes, or mange, or senseless acts of violence. At best, some may have relocated to other areas.
I'll probably never again have such easy access to such cooperative little wildlife models. The reason I do wildlife photography (over macro or landscape) is the connection with my subjects, and I felt a strong connection with these subjects.
In a season when I should be thankful for what I have, I find myself being thankful for what I used to have.
Dialogue with a Pika
Jay Ryser
Fall is on its way. It's not only evident by the aspen leaves turning gold, but the alpine tundra turning a glorious shade of red. The change from Summer to Fall signals a change of wildlife subjects from my favorite alpine animals (pikas, marmots, and mountain goats) to the rutting elk. Winter comes fast to the alpine zone; my favorite pika lives close to the summit of Mt Evans (right around 14,000ft), part of the Front Range of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, just west of Denver, and my access to him ends just after Labor Day. That's OK - I have elk and other animals in the Fall, but I miss the pikas terribly over the 8 months or so that I can't visit them.
This year, the elk rut is moving along pretty slowly. Everyone has their own theories as to why it's slow (warmer than usual Fall, culling 1,400 elk earlier this year has too radically reduced the population, we offended the ungulate gods, bad karma), but there's just not a lot of action. Plus, RMNP has put up fences across almost every square foot of the park, making it difficult to get clean backgrounds on the elk images it is possible to make.
Fall is on its way. It's not only evident by the aspen leaves turning gold, but the alpine tundra turning a glorious shade of red. The change from Summer to Fall signals a change of wildlife subjects from my favorite alpine animals (pikas, marmots, and mountain goats) to the rutting elk. Winter comes fast to the alpine zone; my favorite pika lives close to the summit of Mt Evans (right around 14,000ft), part of the Front Range of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, just west of Denver, and my access to him ends just after Labor Day. That's OK - I have elk and other animals in the Fall, but I miss the pikas terribly over the 8 months or so that I can't visit them.
This year, the elk rut is moving along pretty slowly. Everyone has their own theories as to why it's slow (warmer than usual Fall, culling 1,400 elk earlier this year has too radically reduced the population, we offended the ungulate gods, bad karma), but there's just not a lot of action. Plus, RMNP has put up fences across almost every square foot of the park, making it difficult to get clean backgrounds on the elk images it is possible to make.
My plan? Take Trail Ridge Road in RMNP and search for pikas until the first snows hide them away until next Summer. I have a new favorite spot along Trail Ridge where pikas are plentiful and easily accessed. Most rangers don't have a problem with me sneaking out into the talus in search of pikas, but friends have been stopped at that location and told they can't be out there. It's worth it to take your chances and hope you have an understanding ranger.
I had a little Tiny Tim flashback the last time I was there . . .
Tiptoe through the talus
With a tripod for a pika
Oh tiptoe through the talus
With me
I catch myself humming along to that tune at times, hopping from rock to rock, searching for a good place to set up my gear (I get a little loopy above tree line sometimes, in case you couldn't tell).
I just can't get enough of pikas. They're fist-sized little animals, closely related to rabbits, who live among the rocks. Since they don't hibernate, they spend their short summers gathering food to last them the winter. A six-ounce pika can gather in excess of 50 pounds of food. To gather that much, their days are filled with running from their underground dens, yanking out mouthfuls of plants and flowers, and running back to their dens, all at super-sonic speeds. because they move so quickly, and because they're the same color as surrounding rocks, and because they're so small, it's tricky to even spot them, much less get a clear image of them.
Tiptoe through the talus
With a tripod for a pika
Oh tiptoe through the talus
With me
I catch myself humming along to that tune at times, hopping from rock to rock, searching for a good place to set up my gear (I get a little loopy above tree line sometimes, in case you couldn't tell).
I just can't get enough of pikas. They're fist-sized little animals, closely related to rabbits, who live among the rocks. Since they don't hibernate, they spend their short summers gathering food to last them the winter. A six-ounce pika can gather in excess of 50 pounds of food. To gather that much, their days are filled with running from their underground dens, yanking out mouthfuls of plants and flowers, and running back to their dens, all at super-sonic speeds. because they move so quickly, and because they're the same color as surrounding rocks, and because they're so small, it's tricky to even spot them, much less get a clear image of them.
If you find a good location, plant yourself and spend a few hours just watching them; they're endlessly fascinating little animals. When you first arrive, they tend to hide and observe you until they're sure you're not a threat. Despite living in loose colonies, they tend to be very territorial, even with other pikas, and will bark out a warning. You'll hear a surprisingly loud EEENK!, and be able to locate them by their barks. Give them a while to adjust to your presence, they eventually they'll mostly ignore you and go about their business of gathering food.
I'd spent about half an hour sitting on a relatively flat rock (my butt doesn't tolerate sharp, pointy rocks like it used to, despite the extra padding I've managed to add), when I noticed a pika keeping an eye on me. As soon as I made eye contact, he belted out a challenge, letting me know I was in his little kingdom. "EEENK!!" With that, he ran from his perch and ran past me, returning quickly with a mouth full of food, less than a few feet from my position. As soon as he emerged from his den, he ran back to the rock where he perched before and barked at me again. "EEENK!!"
He ran past me several more times, gathering food. He then disappeared for a while. Just when I was about to leave, he came running right up to me and sniffed my tripod foot. Then he started to chew on my tripod.
"Hey! Stop that!"
"EENK!" (chew, chew)
"Really, stop that" (moving my foot slowly towards him to shoo him away (pun always intended)
"EEENK!!"
"Don't you EEENK at me - stop chewing on my tripod!"
He then started to chew on the sole of my shoe. I tried to get the camera off the tripod so I could get an angle for a shot, and as soon as I got it in position, he ran off. He passed by my location several more times carrying food, and barking out an occasional "EEENK!!" from his high perch. Just before the wind got too bad and my butt got too sore, he ran back to my position, hopped on my shoe, and let out another EEENK, and ran off again.
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The Fox Kit Quest
©Jay Ryser
I like projects; they help keep me focused (pun always intended). One of the reasons I like projects is that I like to keep working a subject, get to know a species of animal and even develop (again, pun always intended) a photographic relationship with specific animals that I visit again and again. I've used this approach with pikas, marmots, coyotes, mountain goats, and red foxes (and if you've been to my site, you know I have way too many red fox images).
A project, though, is something you can putz around with. I realized what I was ultimately engaged in was a Quest. Not to make my humble efforts sound too noble (I'm trying to make images of fox kits, not finding the Holy Grail, after all), but my simple project turned into a seemingly mythic undertaking, involving long hours of searching, many miles of travel, investigating every lead I could glean from other photographers, and much frustration. I even had ants crawling on me from time to time; I don't let ants crawl on me unless it's for something serious. I'll try to downplay the mythic elements from this point on.
I'm fortunate to live a few miles away from one of the prime red fox locations in North America (second only to Yellowstone), which gives me plenty of opportunity Fall through Spring to catch up with foxes and get plenty of images at the same time. Foxes in this park are fairly habituated to humans, and overall tend to be much less avoidant than foxes in remote areas. I've been able to develop an ongoing relationship with multiple generations of foxes in the area, witnessed drastic changes in politics of this little fox world, watched the results of a huge windstorm and it's devastating results on the park the foxes call home, and even indirectly experienced the deaths of the longstanding alpha male and female foxes in that area. Coyotes have moved into the park and either killed or driven off many foxes. The population of foxes has gone from dozens to now only four.
During this time, each Spring I've devoted significant time to photographing fox kits, and each Spring, I've been frustrated by my inability to even find fox kits, much less photograph them. It was time to get serious about photographing fox kits
During the three years I've been photographing these foxes, I've been desperately seeking fox kits. In my area (Colorado), mating occurs in January or February, with a gestation period of around 52 days. Most litters average 5 kits who weigh about 150 grams (about 5.5 ounces) at birth, and tripling their weight by day ten. The young (or kits) first open their eyes at about two weeks, take their first peek out of the den at five weeks, and are usually fully weaned at ten weeks.
The male fox will bring food to the female as she cares for the kits in the den (and this is the only time foxes are known to share food), and he may or may not have other kit rearing responsibilities. The parents usually keep the kits in the birth den for the first few weeks unless they have significant reason to move them (larger predators, too many people, etc.), and can move den sites every 2-3 weeks if needed.
Although fully weaned at ten weeks, the kits are not ready to fully separate from their parents. They may wander short distances away from the den but rarely go too far. At 12 weeks, they begin to explore their parents territories during daylight hours, venturing out further and further. By September or October, the young males will begin to disperse and find their own territories. Young females will disperse later, with some staying with the mother for the next year, helping with raising a new litter of kits the next year.
My first year seeking fox kits, I hung out with other photographers more knowledgeable than I regarding kits. Many weekend mornings were spent in a semi-circle of photographers, most of us in camping chairs, tripod mounted lenses aimed at one of the den entrances, remote releases in hand. Sometimes we chatted, sometimes we listened to our iPods, sometimes we napped. Despite the weekends and weekdays taken off work, never did I see a fox kit that year. Fortunately, my fellow photographers kept me "updated" on kit sightings: "Five minutes after you left the kits came out," "Oh, you missed it, they were out for an hour, playing around," "The kits found a tricycle and were riding it around for half an hour," "The kits took down a bull moose right after you left." Photographers and comedians.
The next year, no one had seen fox kits. I wandered the park, from end to end, checking out known den sites from previous years and investigating possible new den sites. Any new hole in the ground was investigated. There were reports of kit sightings at what was thought to be the birth den, then no sightings at all; locals believed they had moved the den. I again devoted most of my free time to finding fox kits (or, according to my wife, I spent the Spring staring at a hole in the ground). After spending way too much time in a fruitless search for fox kits, I decided to take a day off to chase coyotes (one of my other photography projects). It was the day after a Spring snow storm, and I had a very productive day, including a particularly cooperative (for a coyote) subject. I was pleased with the images I made. It was later in the day that I discovered that others had found fox kits at the park - the one day I took off was the day they appeared, playing in the fresh snow. I returned to the park with renewed enthusiasm; there were kits there, and I was going to get images. Except I didn't; I never saw fox kits.
After missing out on fox kits 2 years in a row, I was determined to get fox kits this year. My new motto was "I'm getting fox kits this year, dammit!" (My old motto was "Hey, you got any more of those Crunchy Peanut Butter Clif bars?", so this was a step in the right direction).
I returned in earnest to my favorite fox location for Spring fox kits. I knew well the male and female foxes that were in the area. The new alpha male is another bold little guy; the new alpha female is quite a bit more reserved and shy. They were using an old concrete drainage system as a den, with a central hub and several buried pipes leading to exits in different directions. This concrete drainage system has the advantage of being immune to coyote interference; the coyotes are too big to fit any of the openings and they're unable to dig out the den (as they've apparently done before with other den sites).
Despite frequent trips to the park and devoting weekends and vacation days to locating kits, I saw nothing. I made sure to stay in contact with many of the long time locals in the park, sharing information and observations and trying to find some indication of fox kits. This year, no one had seen any fox kits. There were several different theories: the couple hadn't birthed any kits this year; the den site had been moved; they're just cautious parents and haven't brought them out yet; they were born late in the season due to the cold winter. Everyone had an opinion, just no facts.
I met some other professional photographers in my quest. I'd been in contact with Lori Huff on Facebook, and she and Weldon Lee joined me and some friends one morning looking for kits. We got nice images of adult foxes, but no kits. I ran into Rob Palmer on several occasions, and Michael Mauro once.
It became obvious that if I wanted fox kits this year (and I was getting fox kits this year, dammit!), that I needed other options. Photographers can sometimes be a little tight-lipped about their locations, and locations of active fox dens seemed to be a well guarded secret. I investigated any rumors of active dens I could discover, taking me to Roxborough State Park, Evergreen, and a field behind a cat rescue in Lakewood, among other locations in Colorado. I searched my own neighborhood for the pair of resident foxes without success. I used any contacts on Facebook that I could find, seeking hints about fox dens with kits.
Fortunately, another photographer friend, Kurt Bowman, caught my Fox Kit Fever, and joined me in my QUEST FOR KITS (it's a mythic thing, so of course I had to put in bold caps . . . yeah, I know I was going to downplay the mythic element, but I'm on a roll here). He pursued any lead he could find over at NPN until he got our first break. Bob Karcz knew of 2 dens in Summit County and offered to show us around. While there, we got to see osprey building a nest and a pair of bald eagles and 2 eaglets in the nest, but no fox kits. One den was assumed empty now, and another we only had vague clues to investigate.
The one den we did see had lots of signs of habitation, just no kits. We had to take the vague clues we had for the other den, do a little scouting around until we found the most likely location candidate. We got an early start to get the best light and the best chance of seeing kits. The secret location for this fox den? Next to a hardware store in the middle of town.
We turned the corner just before sunrise, and what did we see? Seven (count 'em, 7) fox kits out playing. One of them was black! I was afraid they'd see us and bolt, never to be seen again. Instead, they seemed to take little notice of us and continued to play. The first part of the QUEST FOR FOX (yeah, I slipped again) kits was complete - I found fox kits. Now it was time for the final part of the QUEST; making images.
Being in town, the den left some things to be desired, aesthetically. One side was a grassy knoll sprinkled with aspens - not bad. The den itself was nothing more than piled up dirt with a couple of holes. On the back and to the right, chain link fence. To top it off, the kits apparently made of hobby of dragging over every little piece of trash they could find as chew toys; the den was covered with plastic shopping bags, fast food cups, and bottles. These were urban foxes.
I admit it - when I first set up the tripod and camera, I went a little nuts. The shutter was firing like a machine gun. Kurt, my co-quest conspirator, quipped, "Relax, dude, they aren't going anywhere." I'm surprised I heard him - I was giggling like a maniac. I filled up 24 gigabytes with images and went through a battery in 10 minutes. Few of those first images turned out well. Fortunately, I was able to relax a little after that and focus (again . . .) on getting some more mindful images.
It took some work to isolate the kits from their not-so-photogenic surroundings. The grassy aspen knoll caught the morning sun beautifully, but the kits rarely played there. They were quite content in the dirt, against the chain link fence. Every once in a while they'd venture to the grass, and quickly back to the dirt.
Man of the kits would crawl under the fence on their way to an abandoned house across the lot; there was a den dug underneath the house, but the kits would also venture inside through cinder blocks and up the stairs to holes in the roof. The open field separating the dens seemed like an ideal location to catch kits playing, but they rarely used the field for anything other than an expressway between the dens.
Being urban foxes, they were obviously habituated to people. I'm usually very sensitive to any signs of stress in animals. The kits showed very little concern with our presence, sometimes even approaching us very closely in their play. I figured if any of the foxes would have a problem with us hanging around, it would be Momma Fox. The first day, she didn't really mind us there. Early the second morning, Momma Fox showed up early, barked out a warning, and the kits scattered - for about 2 minutes. After that, they emerged from the den ready to play. That same day, Momma Fox was sitting about six feet away from me as we both watched the kits playing. From that point on, Momma Fox didn't take much notice of us.
Apparently, some of the locals did notice us around the den and called the police. An officer showed up voicing their concerns. Again, the photographers I associate with are all very sensitive to signs of stress in wildlife, and quickly back off if there's any indication we're causing problems, particularly if we're dealing with any of their young. The fact that Momma Fox was bringing live voles to the kits for them to practice their hunting skills right in front of us convinced her that we weren't causing any undue stress to the parents, and before leaving us to our photography, informed us of a few additional den sites in the area.
Lesson: always talk to the locals if you want the best information.
As mentioned, one of the kits was pure black, except for the white tip of her tail. We found out from a local that one of the parents was pure black as well. Black foxes are a melanistic variation of red foxes known as Silver Foxes. Some are a silver gray, some a grayish black, and some are just pure black. We finally saw Daddy Fox in the evenings, when he'd make brief appearances - he was pure black with a white tipped tail, just like the one kit.
Like any youngsters, the kits tired easily. About 60% of the time, they'd nap, with their backs to us, on the dirt of the den mound (not the most aesthetically pleasing images I've ever made). 30% of the time, they'd retire inside the den during the warmest hours, and 10% of the time, they'd play.
Momma fox and a yearling female would take kits off in pairs to practice hunting, and would disappear behind buildings and under fences, sometimes for hours, leaving the remaining kits untended.
We used a variety of equipment. All photographers used tripods the majority of the time. The most often used lenses were 300mm f/2.8 and 500mm f/4s, with a 70-200 f/2.8 and a 70-400 thrown in for good measure. The most important piece of gear used? A good chair. Because foxes are such tiny little guys, and fox kits are even smaller, a good chair lets you get close to the action and helps you make images from near eye level. Shoot from too high an angle, and you're taking snap shots. Shoot from eye level with these little guys and you're viewing them and their world from their perspective. Don't bother extending the legs on the tripod. And because the kits napped so much, having a chair keeps you comfortable on the scene until the next round of action.
Great effort was needed to cope with the busy back grounds and harsh light we usually experienced. The fence to the East also tended to cast some ugly shadows across the den. With effort, we could usually isolate kits alone and with their siblings on the grassy knoll. Some minor cloning was required to remove bits of trash.
Mornings has plenty of light, but we also decided to return in the evenings to not only get some warm late light but also to get some images against the abandoned building for a little color and texture. Not the most natural backgrounds, but much nicer than chain link fencing.
This was an undertaking that took three years to complete. I had to finally cross the Continental Divide to find fox kits. In the process I drove hundreds of miles, spent hundreds of hours in the field, and gathered any rumors of fox den locations from anyone willing to talk to me. Did I mention I had ants crawling on me? I had ants crawling on me. Was it worth it? Rarely in my life have I had this feeling of satisfaction, of having hard work pay off. It's been said before, but it's true - if you want to learn patience and perseverance, become a wildlife photographer.
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I just posted the image Spring Fox today, but I didn't post _the rest of the story_.
As I mentioned before, I'm getting images of fox kits this year, dammit. Every Spring for the last few years I've devoted significant chunks of time to finding and photographing fox kits. I know where the foxes are (as evidenced by waaaaaay too many fox images), I even know where the den sites are. The fox parents are reasonably comfortable with my presence. And I spend waaaaay too much time there in the pursuit of fox kits. But despite all that, I've never seen a fox kit there.
I've come close. Last year, I devoted 1 day away from the Fox Kit Project to photograph coyotes, and it seemed like "everyone else":http://www.redbubble.com/people/kcline78/art/2936031-2-i-didnt-do-it-mom-i-swear but me got fox kits. I've almost literally camped out near fox dens. I've seen parent foxes coming and going, but I've never seen the kits myself.
I'm prepared this year. I take a camping stool with me so I can comfortably hang out by the den site (just _standing_ around is for rookies). And this morning, I was out (again) before the sun, had my camping chair set up behind the tripod, and I waited. And waited. And waited. And got bored. And waited.
Maybe they had moved den sites. That's something they often do, and maybe the reason I hadn't seen the parents much recently was because they moved the kits to a new den site. so I wandered to the field to the east, to check out another den site that's been active in the past. When I got there, I ran into another photographer friend, Dan Walters (a very talented wildlife photographer), who had seen nothing on the east side, and we walked a ways, both of us looking for fox kits. He decided to keep hiking to the west, hoping to see hawks in the nest, and I wandered back to the east (because I'm getting fox kit images this year, dammit).
I set up my stool and tripod, and waited. It was a great day for images too - the overcast sky diffused the light, the grass was a vibrant green. And I saw nothing.
Eventually, I heard movement in the underbrush! My heart skipped a beat, and I scanned the surrounding area. Movement - I focused the lens in and saw . . . whitetail deer. Three of them. There are lots of mule deer in Colorado, few whitetails. I'd never seen deer in the park, although others had seen some before. As they wandered away from me, I noticed Dan had returned, and we passed again. He'd seen no foxes either.
I decided to check out the original den site again on my way back to the car. I wasn't expecting to see anything, so it was a genuine surprise when I rounded a corner and saw the daddy fox curled up outside the den. Maybe he'd bring the kits out today!
I set up my stool and tripod, and got a few decent images of him. He's a pretty calm little guy, and doesn't mind me hanging out as long as I keep my distance. As I've mentioned before , I sometimes talk to my wildlife subjects (and discovered that many other wildlife photographers do the same). "Hi there - it's good to finally run into you today. Gonna bring the kits out sometime soon?" I took a few more images as the light was gorgeous and the grass made for a beautiful background.
He abruptly stood up and starred at something. A dog walker was approaching on the nearby trail. He watched them for a moment and apparently felt threatened enough that he went trotting by me, no more than 6 feet away, turned, and went up a ridge. As he trotted by, I remarked, "Hey! You're coming back soon, right? 'Cause I've been out here all morning and this is the first I've seen of you in days . . ."
It was right about that time I noticed that someone was on the trail just behind and to the right of me, standing there, watching me.
"Morning"
"Were you . . . just talking to that fox?"
"Uh, yeah . . ."
Long pause
"Does the, uh . . . fox . . . ever . . . talk back to you?"
I should point out at this point that I'm a licensed mental health clinician. My one Super Power (yeah, I know it's not a *REAL* Super Power, but it's as close as I'm likely going to get, barring some bizarre lab accident, so bear with me) is being able to place folks on a Mental Health Hold when their condition warrants it. I quickly recognized that I'm the one usually on the other end of these kind of conversations.
"Um, no, not usually . . . "
"Oh . . . OK . . . bye"
And with that, she turned and quickly went back down the trail the way she'd come.
Personally, I think talking to foxes helps me stay sane.
As I mentioned before, I'm getting images of fox kits this year, dammit. Every Spring for the last few years I've devoted significant chunks of time to finding and photographing fox kits. I know where the foxes are (as evidenced by waaaaaay too many fox images), I even know where the den sites are. The fox parents are reasonably comfortable with my presence. And I spend waaaaay too much time there in the pursuit of fox kits. But despite all that, I've never seen a fox kit there.
I've come close. Last year, I devoted 1 day away from the Fox Kit Project to photograph coyotes, and it seemed like "everyone else":http://www.redbubble.com/people/kcline78/art/2936031-2-i-didnt-do-it-mom-i-swear but me got fox kits. I've almost literally camped out near fox dens. I've seen parent foxes coming and going, but I've never seen the kits myself.
I'm prepared this year. I take a camping stool with me so I can comfortably hang out by the den site (just _standing_ around is for rookies). And this morning, I was out (again) before the sun, had my camping chair set up behind the tripod, and I waited. And waited. And waited. And got bored. And waited.
Maybe they had moved den sites. That's something they often do, and maybe the reason I hadn't seen the parents much recently was because they moved the kits to a new den site. so I wandered to the field to the east, to check out another den site that's been active in the past. When I got there, I ran into another photographer friend, Dan Walters (a very talented wildlife photographer), who had seen nothing on the east side, and we walked a ways, both of us looking for fox kits. He decided to keep hiking to the west, hoping to see hawks in the nest, and I wandered back to the east (because I'm getting fox kit images this year, dammit).
I set up my stool and tripod, and waited. It was a great day for images too - the overcast sky diffused the light, the grass was a vibrant green. And I saw nothing.
Eventually, I heard movement in the underbrush! My heart skipped a beat, and I scanned the surrounding area. Movement - I focused the lens in and saw . . . whitetail deer. Three of them. There are lots of mule deer in Colorado, few whitetails. I'd never seen deer in the park, although others had seen some before. As they wandered away from me, I noticed Dan had returned, and we passed again. He'd seen no foxes either.
I decided to check out the original den site again on my way back to the car. I wasn't expecting to see anything, so it was a genuine surprise when I rounded a corner and saw the daddy fox curled up outside the den. Maybe he'd bring the kits out today!
I set up my stool and tripod, and got a few decent images of him. He's a pretty calm little guy, and doesn't mind me hanging out as long as I keep my distance. As I've mentioned before , I sometimes talk to my wildlife subjects (and discovered that many other wildlife photographers do the same). "Hi there - it's good to finally run into you today. Gonna bring the kits out sometime soon?" I took a few more images as the light was gorgeous and the grass made for a beautiful background.
He abruptly stood up and starred at something. A dog walker was approaching on the nearby trail. He watched them for a moment and apparently felt threatened enough that he went trotting by me, no more than 6 feet away, turned, and went up a ridge. As he trotted by, I remarked, "Hey! You're coming back soon, right? 'Cause I've been out here all morning and this is the first I've seen of you in days . . ."
It was right about that time I noticed that someone was on the trail just behind and to the right of me, standing there, watching me.
"Morning"
"Were you . . . just talking to that fox?"
"Uh, yeah . . ."
Long pause
"Does the, uh . . . fox . . . ever . . . talk back to you?"
I should point out at this point that I'm a licensed mental health clinician. My one Super Power (yeah, I know it's not a *REAL* Super Power, but it's as close as I'm likely going to get, barring some bizarre lab accident, so bear with me) is being able to place folks on a Mental Health Hold when their condition warrants it. I quickly recognized that I'm the one usually on the other end of these kind of conversations.
"Um, no, not usually . . . "
"Oh . . . OK . . . bye"
And with that, she turned and quickly went back down the trail the way she'd come.
Personally, I think talking to foxes helps me stay sane.
<no title>
Making Metadata Fun
©Jay Ryser
OK, maybe "fun" isn't the right adjective. How about "profitable"? I have gigabytes and gigabytes of images that I've accumulated over the years, ranging from the early days of digital captures through the images from this morning. And I wasn't too careful about file naming, keywording, and file management in the early days. At first, that wasn't a big deal; if I needed a specific image, I'd just scroll through the file manager until I found the image I needed. But the more images I created, the harder it was to find specific files. I needed a better way of tagging images so I could easily find specific images.
Metadata
The solution? Metadata. What's metadata? Looking at the root of the word (if you want to be nerdy), it means roughly "information about the information." It includes EXIF information (camera, ISO, shutter speed, aperture, flash, etc.) and can also include my copyright and contact information. It also lets me store information about each image so that I can easily narrow down search parameters and find images easily.
If I'm looking for an image of a bull elk bugling, BINGO, there they are. I've got hundreds of those images. But let's say I need one of a bull elk at RMNP bugling with its breath condensing as it bugles - again, BINGO. No scrolling through hundreds of bull elk images for the ones I want - there they are. Is it a big pain in the butt upfront? Yes, it is, but it's worth it in the long run.
The really great thing is that it doesn't just benefit me, directly, it benefits me indirectly too. If I upload images to a stock agency, it allows the potential client to quickly and effectively find the image they're seeking very quickly. If they find MY images that are well keyworded instead of some other photographers images that are NOT well keyworded, I get the sale. The better I keyword, the more money I make.
Here's what I do. First, I use a file naming system for my RAW files (and I only shoot in RAW), including:
1. My initials (JRR)
2. Date
3. Main Subject
I do this in Lightroom, so it's easy to include all this information as I'm importing images for processing. My RAW files are saved and look like "JRR-04042010-redfox.dng" (I convert to Adobe's DNG format as part of my workflow). I use a similar system in naming file folders in Windows.
Keywords
Keywords are adjectives to describe the image that's embedded in each file. I can add keywords to files as I import them into Lightroom. Then, as I process each file, I add specific data about the shot. If I have a pika yawning, that goes into the keywording, for instance. Doesn't that take forever to do that with every image file, you ask? Not really; most of the information is added when I first import files. The more specific data is only entered for keepers.
Speaking of keepers, I notice that, despite the relatively cheap price of storage, I'm more picky about the images I save. Today, I took 497 RAW files, and after processing, whittled that down to 24 files that I actually processed and saved. Were the other 473 images too bad to save? Not really. I immediately delete the ones with obvious flaws - eyes closed, out of focus, foot or tail cut off, weird expression, distracting background (that makes up maybe 10% of the images), then I go through and evaluate similar images - some are almost identical, some have minor variances in expression (eye contact, direction of gaze, ears back or forward); no need to keep identical images, so I pick the best and delete the rest.
When I keyword, I like to imagine what an image buyer might be looking for when seeking images, and what kind of terms they might use to find appropriate images that fir their criteria. This is a "more is better" approach; it costs nothing (but a little time upfront). The more thorough I am in keywording images, the higher the hit ratio is when someone does a search.
I have a certain collection of keywords that I like to apply to images as I work. Many are abbreviations.
Keyword Options
1. Species (common name-"red fox" & Latin binomial-"vulpes vulpes")
2. Location (Rocky Mountain National Park-"RMNP", Crown Hill Park-"CHP", Roxborough State Park-"Rox", etc.)
3. Behavior (yawn, yawning, eat, eating, rutting, mating, display, fight, fighting, bugle, bugling, run, running, hide, hiding)
4. Weather (snow, rain, sunshine, overcast, fog, etc.)
5. Season (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter)
6. Orientation (landscape "L", portrait-"P")
7. Interaction/Relationship (mother-child, mother-baby, father-baby, father-babies, mate, mates, baby, babies, young)
8. Conservation status (endangered-"E", climate change, global warming, etc.)
9. Miscellaneous (wild-"W", captive-"C", zoo-"Z", domestic-"D", "no people", "no HOM", "no hand of man", "man made")
Get in the habit of using metadata to your benefit, and your image management will be worlds simpler, for you and for your clients. A little effort pays big dividends.
©Jay Ryser
OK, maybe "fun" isn't the right adjective. How about "profitable"? I have gigabytes and gigabytes of images that I've accumulated over the years, ranging from the early days of digital captures through the images from this morning. And I wasn't too careful about file naming, keywording, and file management in the early days. At first, that wasn't a big deal; if I needed a specific image, I'd just scroll through the file manager until I found the image I needed. But the more images I created, the harder it was to find specific files. I needed a better way of tagging images so I could easily find specific images.
Metadata
The solution? Metadata. What's metadata? Looking at the root of the word (if you want to be nerdy), it means roughly "information about the information." It includes EXIF information (camera, ISO, shutter speed, aperture, flash, etc.) and can also include my copyright and contact information. It also lets me store information about each image so that I can easily narrow down search parameters and find images easily.
If I'm looking for an image of a bull elk bugling, BINGO, there they are. I've got hundreds of those images. But let's say I need one of a bull elk at RMNP bugling with its breath condensing as it bugles - again, BINGO. No scrolling through hundreds of bull elk images for the ones I want - there they are. Is it a big pain in the butt upfront? Yes, it is, but it's worth it in the long run.
The really great thing is that it doesn't just benefit me, directly, it benefits me indirectly too. If I upload images to a stock agency, it allows the potential client to quickly and effectively find the image they're seeking very quickly. If they find MY images that are well keyworded instead of some other photographers images that are NOT well keyworded, I get the sale. The better I keyword, the more money I make.
Here's what I do. First, I use a file naming system for my RAW files (and I only shoot in RAW), including:
1. My initials (JRR)
2. Date
3. Main Subject
I do this in Lightroom, so it's easy to include all this information as I'm importing images for processing. My RAW files are saved and look like "JRR-04042010-redfox.dng" (I convert to Adobe's DNG format as part of my workflow). I use a similar system in naming file folders in Windows.
Keywords
Keywords are adjectives to describe the image that's embedded in each file. I can add keywords to files as I import them into Lightroom. Then, as I process each file, I add specific data about the shot. If I have a pika yawning, that goes into the keywording, for instance. Doesn't that take forever to do that with every image file, you ask? Not really; most of the information is added when I first import files. The more specific data is only entered for keepers.
Speaking of keepers, I notice that, despite the relatively cheap price of storage, I'm more picky about the images I save. Today, I took 497 RAW files, and after processing, whittled that down to 24 files that I actually processed and saved. Were the other 473 images too bad to save? Not really. I immediately delete the ones with obvious flaws - eyes closed, out of focus, foot or tail cut off, weird expression, distracting background (that makes up maybe 10% of the images), then I go through and evaluate similar images - some are almost identical, some have minor variances in expression (eye contact, direction of gaze, ears back or forward); no need to keep identical images, so I pick the best and delete the rest.
When I keyword, I like to imagine what an image buyer might be looking for when seeking images, and what kind of terms they might use to find appropriate images that fir their criteria. This is a "more is better" approach; it costs nothing (but a little time upfront). The more thorough I am in keywording images, the higher the hit ratio is when someone does a search.
I have a certain collection of keywords that I like to apply to images as I work. Many are abbreviations.
Keyword Options
1. Species (common name-"red fox" & Latin binomial-"vulpes vulpes")
2. Location (Rocky Mountain National Park-"RMNP", Crown Hill Park-"CHP", Roxborough State Park-"Rox", etc.)
3. Behavior (yawn, yawning, eat, eating, rutting, mating, display, fight, fighting, bugle, bugling, run, running, hide, hiding)
4. Weather (snow, rain, sunshine, overcast, fog, etc.)
5. Season (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter)
6. Orientation (landscape "L", portrait-"P")
7. Interaction/Relationship (mother-child, mother-baby, father-baby, father-babies, mate, mates, baby, babies, young)
8. Conservation status (endangered-"E", climate change, global warming, etc.)
9. Miscellaneous (wild-"W", captive-"C", zoo-"Z", domestic-"D", "no people", "no HOM", "no hand of man", "man made")
Get in the habit of using metadata to your benefit, and your image management will be worlds simpler, for you and for your clients. A little effort pays big dividends.
Jay Ryser
