A Shot in the Dark

In the late 1880s, George Shiras III, or as he signs himself, George Shiras 3d, is the first photographer to engage in extensive photography of wildlife. Cameras of the late 1800s are bulky, awkward things to lug into the wilderness. George 3d is willing to put in the work of carrying his equipment into the dense woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in the United States of America. 

Around twenty miles east of Marquette, a principal city of the region, George floats along rivers in a canoe at night, and when he hears a sound, he turns on flashlights and snaps a picture. At the turn of the century, his nighttime photographs of deer which he names the “Midnight Series” are sensational, and many enlargements are made. National Geographic magazine will begin to feature more and more wildlife pictures because of George Shiras 3d, and the magazine will eventually do the unbelievable and devote nearly an entire issue to George 3d’s photos. 

George has more methods for capturing photos of animals. He’s figured out how to let an animal take its own picture by setting up a camera, and running a tripwire or bait line from the camera to a place where the camera lens can see the animal. These are the first trail cameras. 

Sometimes George even sets up two cameras with flashes to go off one after the other. The first camera takes a picture of an unsuspecting animal. The second takes a picture of the animal’s reaction only a moment later. 

~~~

The moon’s big and bright tonight, but not as bright as it could be. It has more growing to do before it looks like an egg instead of a big piece of eggshell. Would be the best egg ever if I could get it. Huge. Probably last for days. 

The deer like the light, so there are a lot of them on the move. Helps them see whether there’s a cat waiting to ambush them. The deer aren’t a problem for me. They do their thing, I do mine, and we don’t bother each other. Shy things, they are. Don’t talk to me much. 

Moonlight shines on pale chips of wood. A beaver’s over there, gnawing on a tree the way I gnaw on a crayfish. Beaver almost has the tree down. Maybe I’ll hear the crash of its fall in a day or two. 

I stop my waddle and sit up. “Good wood?” 

Beaver snorts, looks at me, and goes back to chewing. Guess he’s too busy to chat with a handsome raccoon such as myself. Why, of all the things in the world there are to eat, do beavers eat trees? There’s so much other stuff out here. I’ll try almost anything, but I’ll never put wood in my mouth. 

Mud is pleasant underfoot. Black in the dark of night, it squishes up between my fingers and toes, and tells me the river is running nicely. Harder mud means less rain, low river, and trouble for everyone. Water here instead of mud would mean more rain, a higher river, and different trouble. Right now, the water isn’t causing anyone any trouble. 

Mosquitoes land on my nose. Little pricks of pain sharper than berry brambles make me scrub my muzzle and then rub my hands together. Nasty little bloodsuckers. 

The river smells of mud and weeds and water and dead fish. Light ripples on the surface. I grope under stones and into muck as I wade the shallow, sluggish edge current. 

Something twitches under my fingers. My hand comes up clutching a wriggling crayfish. I bite the head until it dies, and then swish it in the river before I eat it. The shell cracks and splinters under my sharp teeth. Inside is a morsel of soft, delicious meat. 

I’ll find more where that came from if I keep searching. Hands in the river as the water runs on, I feel for anything that moves. I’m hoping for a frog. 

Something zips over my head, squeaking. I hear the flap of dry wings, not bird feathers. That was a bat. Bats are good and meaty, but catching them isn’t easy. I have to be up a tree at dawn, and the tree has to have a long, thick branch sticking out into clear air, away from other branches. Then I have to hope a bat swarm flies past my perch, and that I can nab one as it flies. As I said, not easy, but so worth it. A rare treat.

Gotcha! The live food kicks between my fingers. A big, fat frog. Good eating. Frogs are softer and meatier than a crayfish, and easier to catch than a bat. Don’t taste bad, either. Sometimes the stomachs still have bugs inside. More food for me. Frog doesn’t need it anymore. 

Farther up the river, there’s a place where the mud is all mounded up on the shore. It smells like humans. 

I take a careful look around. No humans, but I can see some stuff that looks like it belongs to them. Nothing big enough to hide one of the big hulking creatures. 

A scent catches my nose. Smells good, like food. Sometimes humans leave food behind. Whatever it is smells like it’s worth looking for. 

Something swoops over my head, and I duck as a shadow blots out the moon. The shadow swings overhead again, but all I hear is trees and leaves and breeze. No wings. And no cat has landed on me. 

I tip my head back. Hmmm. There’s definitely some food dangling up there. I can see it and smell it. It’s hanging on the end of a…vine? It’s not fruit. Smells like meat. 

Ooooh, it smells good. There’s human smell, too, but it’s not strong. A human left this here unattended. Bad news for the human. Their food is now my fair game. Just gotta reach it. 

I stand up, leaning against a tree and stretching one arm out, fingers grasping. Almost…got it! Mine now! I yank on the prize. Feels like a chunk of bone with bits of meat on it. Free food! No work!

FLASH

Light burns my eyes. It’s night! The moon and stars are out! The bats are flying! What’s going on?

I blink and shake my head and growl, blinded. This is bad. 

FLASH

Again?! I lope into the river and swim for the other side, eyes still full of light, the bone I captured drifting from my hand into the deeper water.