I was walking along the Cliff Walk in Newport, R.I. on a beautiful afternoon in mid April. I had already spent several hours taking photos at Sachuest Point National Wildlife Refuge, but the day was so magnificent that more time needed to be spent outside. I could easily have left my camera in the car, having already captured a satisfying collection of photos earlier that morning, but I have learned my lesson: never go anywhere without a camera.
Hundreds of other people were also out enjoying the day and my beautiful wife, Susan, and I found ourselves enjoying that peculiar sensation of being alone in a crowd. We were surrounded, but no one was paying any attention to us. As a result, we were able to enjoy some quiet, personal time together as all the other people passed by, enjoying their own anonymity in the herd.
At one point very early along the trail, we stopped to admire the view. We were standing at the top of a sea cliff that was at least 50 feet above the water below. The waves were crashing against the shore and the blue-green water was clear enough to let us get an impression of the rocky bottom below the waves. The tide was going out, so there were seaweed-covered rocks that were starting to poke up into the open air. It was beautiful.
Then, as we were turning to continue on our walk, I noticed a stick in the water. This stick appeared to be caught up in some current that caused it to move in a direction that didn’t initially make too much sense, and as I watched this odd object move I became more and more suspicious of what I was looking at. Eventually, I decided that this stick was making headway against the current. Confused, I brought up my camera and aimed my big lens at the conundrum before me. When the lens focused, I was stunned.
This “stick” turned out to be a mammal of some sort, and it took my brain about two seconds to skim through the catalog of possibilities and arrive at the only mammal it could be. I was looking at a mink (Neovison vison). But what the devil was a mink doing in the ocean surf?
The photographer in me took command of the situation. “Take photos first, ask questions later,” the photographer said, and the scientist really couldn’t argue. The camera started clacking away.
The mink was heading straight for the shore and would soon be obscured by the rocks jutting out of the cliff. I managed to get a nice shot of the mink crossing over one of those seaweed-covered rocks, but in no time at all the mink had vanished behind the cliff face. To be clear, the entire encounter that I captured on film lasted for a total of three seconds. This is why I have so few photos of mammals.
For some reason, I lingered. Susan was equally excited by the occurrence because she caught sight of the mink as well. I showed her a couple of the photos that I had taken and we agreed that we should wait to see if the mink showed itself again. But neither one of us expected what happened next.
The mink did indeed pop out of hiding, but this time it was up on the rocks behind which it had disappeared. It popped out into the open, posed for a moment in a beautiful patch of sunlight, and then disappeared again before I even had time to raise my camera. Again, it appeared, but this time closer and in a shaded area that was going to make photography much more difficult. Nevertheless, I got my camera ready and started blazing away as the gorgeous creature scrambled up the rocks and disappeared into — can you believe it? — a cave in the side of the cliff.
Absolutely stunned by the entire event, I stood there and processed what had just happened. The most astounding thing about the entire affair was that no one else on the Cliff Walk appeared to have noticed a thing. This amazing animal was living its life in broad daylight right under everyone’s collective noses.
Several hours later, when I finally had a chance to review the photos, I was ecstatic to discover that the mink had a fish in its mouth. Furthermore, the mink’s toes were splayed out on the rocks and you could really see the webbing between the toes that mark this mammal as being somewhat aquatic.
I was even further impressed by the importance of carrying a camera with me wherever I go. It was only that sort of preparation that allowed me to capitalize on a window of opportunity that remained open for a total of about 10 seconds.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 21 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service and Massachusetts State Parks and currently teaches high school biology and physics. Visit speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.