Eric Gofreed
Well-Known Member
Bird photography sounds peaceful. You probably imagine me relaxing in the wilderness, sipping coffee while majestic creatures land gently on branches and smile for the camera.
That is incorrect.
Real bird photography involves stumbling out the door before sunrise, hauling a tripod, folding chair, and a camera bag that weighs more than a holiday fruitcake into the desert—so I can sit motionless next to a glorified cow bathtub. I’ve turned this cattle tank into a “bird oasis” by tossing in a stick. Not just any stick, mind you—a carefully selected, lichen-covered, desert-chic perch. The birds like it. So do I. We have an understanding.
This robin arrived right on cue. He stopped at the “staging area” (a.k.a. Suspicious Bird Distance), scoped me out, then hopped onto the branch. He dipped his beak and raised his head—because robins can’t gulp. Birds lack the throat muscles. They rely on gravity, which honestly feels like something they should take up with management. As he tipped his head back, water spilled from his beak. I snapped a burst of photos like a caffeinated paparazzo. One droplet was midair, another hit the water with a ripple.
As he tipped his head back, water spilled from his beak. I snapped a burst of photos like a caffeinated paparazzo. One droplet was midair, another hit the water with a ripple.
It all happened in less than a second. But I’ll spend hours traveling, waiting, downloading, hiking, birding, and naming files like “Robin_MidDrip_v2.”
Because I’m retired. And this is who I am now.
Couplet
It happened so fast—a blink and a drip,
But I’ll name it, frame it, and cherish the trip.
Iw.
That is incorrect.
Real bird photography involves stumbling out the door before sunrise, hauling a tripod, folding chair, and a camera bag that weighs more than a holiday fruitcake into the desert—so I can sit motionless next to a glorified cow bathtub. I’ve turned this cattle tank into a “bird oasis” by tossing in a stick. Not just any stick, mind you—a carefully selected, lichen-covered, desert-chic perch. The birds like it. So do I. We have an understanding.
This robin arrived right on cue. He stopped at the “staging area” (a.k.a. Suspicious Bird Distance), scoped me out, then hopped onto the branch. He dipped his beak and raised his head—because robins can’t gulp. Birds lack the throat muscles. They rely on gravity, which honestly feels like something they should take up with management. As he tipped his head back, water spilled from his beak. I snapped a burst of photos like a caffeinated paparazzo. One droplet was midair, another hit the water with a ripple.
As he tipped his head back, water spilled from his beak. I snapped a burst of photos like a caffeinated paparazzo. One droplet was midair, another hit the water with a ripple.
It all happened in less than a second. But I’ll spend hours traveling, waiting, downloading, hiking, birding, and naming files like “Robin_MidDrip_v2.”
Because I’m retired. And this is who I am now.
Couplet
It happened so fast—a blink and a drip,
But I’ll name it, frame it, and cherish the trip.
Iw.
Last edited:
