“I didn’t like how he blew off your agreement. I thought it only fair to throw him off as much as he did you.”
“Can you believe that? He promised me an interview with the manager. I fly—we fly—all the way out here from North Carolina for this appointment, and he goes and pulls this on me.”
“It’s okay. I got his pen for you.” Jack stuck his hand into his pocket and brought it back out with a beautiful blue and gold fountain pen.”
“Jack!” I whispered, looking around for anyone who might have seen the pilfered pen. “How … why did you get that?”
“He laid it down on the counter when he said you could interview him instead of the manager. I thought it was a peace offering. And besides, he said that the manager will be here at eight o’clock in the morning. What’s stopping you from being downstairs at five till?”
You know, I just wanted to vent. I was mad. I didn’t want Jack trying to fix this for me, but darn if he didn’t have just the perfect thing to say. Now I was mad that I couldn’t be mad anymore.
And it was a nice pen.
We dumped our bags in our room and headed down to the dining room: notebook and pen in hand for me; camera around neck for Jack. We were both tired and hungry, so we ordered our food without saying anything to our server about the article. Jack took pictures of both our plates, as he always does when I’m writing a food article. I used to be embarrassed by that, but I’ve gotten totally used to it now. His pictures are way better than any I take with my iPhone, and they’ve become an important part of my portfolio, not that I’d ever tell him that.
When our server came back to ask us about dessert, I told her why we were here and asked to speak with the chef. The chef came out and gave brief answers to a couple questions, but I couldn’t get him to elaborate on anything. Typical guy. I’d have to get what I needed for my article in the morning.
A big fire was burning in a fireplace that was literally tall enough to walk into. Jack and I sat down in some stick-framed chairs and relaxed and talked. Some more people joined us: an older couple, and two guys who had just spent a week hiking through the trails in the park. They said that a lot of the trails were closed because of recent grizzly activity. Jack asked them what kind of activity, but they said they only knew what was on the signs. They hadn’t seen any bears all week, but they did see some tracks.
The old couple were retired and were trying to see all of the national parks. The man showed us his Golden Eagle card that got them in for free. He was real proud of that. They seemed to be having a great time and said that this was their twelfth national park so far. I hope that I’m having that much fun when I reach their age.
In the morning, we were both cold and a little stiff from the beds. Jack did some knee-bends to warm himself up and recommended them to me, but I’m more of a warm bath girl. Unfortunately, there was no bathtub here—just a shower. I put on some warm clothes, and we went downstairs for breakfast.
“What are you going to say about the room in your article?” Jack asked me while we waited for a breakfast table.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll probably focus on how fabulous the building looks, and the big fireplace, and all the moose heads on the wall. The aura in this place really takes you back. But you don’t come here to stay in your room.”
“Or to eat breakfast, either, apparently,” Jack replied, since we were still waiting to be seated. But the hostess came as soon as he said that, and we got to our table.
They had a basic breakfast buffet—nothing fancy, but I got Jack to take some pictures of it anyway. “My kind of breakfast,” according to Jack. “Lots of volume.”
After we ate, I wanted to freshen up and get my notebook so I could stake out the front door to pin down the manager for an interview as soon as he came in.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to head out and try to shoot some wildlife,” Jack said.
A woman passing by looked shocked and gave Jack a horrible look. Jack gave her his best toothy smile and pointed a finger pistol at her.
“Jack!” I whispered at him.
“Hey,” he said. “I had a camera around my neck when I said that. If she’s going to judge me, she should be more observant.”
“You’re such a guy.”
“Thank you. I’ll try to be back before noon, so wait for me for lunch?”
***
I left the lodge headed west with my photo gear on my back and wildlife on my mind. I was especially hoping to see a moose. I walked fast, wanting to put some distance between myself and civilization. Eventually I slowed down and tried to be as quiet as possible to avoid scaring away any animals.
I found myself walking along the side of a hill and thought that there might be a stream at the bottom, which could be a place to attract some wildlife. I had to be careful because I had been hiking for an hour, easily covering more than a mile, and I had no trail or map to guide me. I could easily get lost out here if I wasn’t careful. I didn’t even have a compass with me, but I did have my phone, which has a compass app. I took a bearing with that and made a mental note to check it more frequently. Just for good measure, I took a screen shot of my present position, since the app shows my latitude, longitude, and elevation, too.
Shortly after that, I did find a stream at the bottom of the hill. I stayed above it and moved farther along the hillside until I found a good vantage point. I set up my travel tripod and a telephoto lens with a 2x teleconverter. It wasn’t the most stable setup, but with a remote shutter release, I thought I could get a good, steady shot of Bullwinkle when he happened by.
I sat there for over an hour waiting for my moose. I had read many times that long waits without being able to move are a large part of a wildlife photographer’s life. A chipmunk hopped over to my setup and I watched him for a while. I wanted to get some shots of him, but I couldn’t get to my other camera without scaring him away.
There was a lesson in here. I usually carry two cameras with different lenses so I’m prepared for anything, but that second camera doesn’t do me any good if I can’t reach it.
I slowly pulled out my phone and took some photos of the chipmunk with that. He scurried up my tripod, and I got a great shot of him investigating my camera. It would make a nice addition to my website. Jack Taylor, Wildlife Photographer.
This was clearly not a prime spot to see the park animals, and I was about to give up and head back to the lodge when a deer walked into view. She went down to the stream to get a drink while I carefully aimed my camera. A smaller deer followed her to the stream. A mother and her fawn. It had outgrown its spots, but the smaller one was clearly the offspring of the larger.
I took a photo, and the mother looked up at me. She might have heard the mirror inside my camera when I tripped the shutter. I stayed perfectly still until she tilted her head back down to drink some more. The fawn seemed oblivious to me or whatever else had gotten her mother’s attention.
The mother deer looked up and to her right, then nudged her fawn, and the pair bounded away together. I looked in the same direction she had and didn’t see anything. I swung my telephoto that direction and searched around. I found what appeared to be a little-used road. It was just two tire paths. Probably an ATV trail. This looked like a good place for off-roading.
While I was focusing on a tire track, my viewfinder was suddenly filled with something big and dark moving by. I pulled my head back and caught a glimpse of two vehicles moving beneath the tree branches. I could hear them now, too. They stopped at the edge of a clearing. A blue Jeep and a black pickup with a cap over the bed.
Four men got out—two from each vehicle. One of them pulled a pick out of the back of the Jeep and started digging in the ground. Two of the others got shovels and started helping. They got into a rhythm of taking turns: one guy with the pick, then he’d take a break and the two with shovels would toss out what the pick guy had just broken up.
This looked really suspicious, so I took photos of each of the four
men and both vehicles. I couldn’t see the license plates. Of the men, I got one good face shot and two good profiles.
The fourth guy kept his back to me most of the time and I couldn’t get a good shot of him. He must have been in charge because he wasn’t doing any of the work.
Their hole was long and narrow, and they got it down to about mid-thigh depth when they tossed their shovels onto the ground. The two shovel guys went to the back of the pickup and pulled out a man’s body. They carried it over to the hole, and the guy holding the arms seemed to be having a hard time trying to not touch the head, which strangely stuck straight out from the otherwise limp body. The guy holding the feet tried to get his partner to swing the body into the hole, but the arm guy just dropped his end, resulting in the body bouncing clumsily onto the near edge of the hole and flipping down inside.
Diners, Dives, and Dirty Deeds Page 12