It was Jan. 26. A Sunday morning that provided ample temptation to sleep in, I felt that old compulsion to sit by the window and watch the birds. So I got out of bed and looked out the bedroom window at an unpleasant morning. It was dark, cloudy and lightly raining and as I found my slippers and stumbled toward the coffee pot I momentarily questioned my own sanity. Why was I awake?
The comforting, robotic chore of making the coffee didn’t do much to sway me from the conclusion that I was crazy. Pouring the coffee, I had decided that I probably needed some sort of help; an intervention perhaps. Sitting down at my desk and starting the day’s observation notes was simple. Then, I had to actually go out and load up the feeders with seed. Well, I thought, something might happen.
It’s usually right around dusk that there is a surge of activity at the feeders.
Sparrows and finches are the first to arrive and they always appear highly motivated to get a crack at the food before the doves and blue jays arrive. So, anticipating a wave of hungry birds to arrive the moment I went back inside, I sat down with pen at the ready and waited for the onslaught.
This time, it was goldfinches that arrived first. There were over 30 of them and they descended upon the railings and dug in for breakfast with gusto. Goldfinches are really small birds and they moved around with sufficient energy to make an accurate count difficult. I could never manage to get past 30 birds before they shifted and forced me to start all over again. White-throated sparrows, juncos, a pair of chickadees and a lone titmouse rounded out the morning diners and then at 7:29 a.m., a group of cardinals rounded out the morning crowd.
I was so sure that the familiar pattern would repeat itself that at 7:35 a.m. I wrote, “cue blue jays.”
But the jays never arrived.
Instead, at 7:36 a.m., I noted, “All of the birds just bailed. Hawk?” I waited what seemed like an eternity, but the birds didn’t return. I looked at the clock and realized that “eternity” had only been three minutes. So I got up, went out onto the deck and looked for the hawk that was surely causing this lull. I saw nothing. I walked around the corner of the house to look at the trees to the west and again saw nothing.
Then, low on the ground near the side of the house, I caught a movement in my peripheral vision. Surely this must be one of the many rabbits that live in my yard. As my eyes shifted to give this new target my full attention I was so stunned by what I saw that I actually stopped breathing. It was a bobcat. It moved about 15 yards away from me and then paused. Fortunately, there was a bush between us and I remained still as a statue in the hopes it wouldn’t see me.
The photographer took over and started thinking. I needed my camera, which should have been just inside the kitchen door if I hadn’t been careless and left it up in my office. The bobcat was frozen in place like some wild animals tend to do. I decided that I wasn’t going to get a photo if I didn’t risk moving so I took a cautious step. The bobcat didn’t flinch, so I went for it.
As quietly as possible I walked into the house. Then I ran to the stairs and took them two at a time as I practically leaped up to my office where my camera was sitting. I came down the stairs with a little more caution, but I was back at the table where my big lens was sitting in all of 20 seconds. I switched lenses, went back outside and peered around the corner of the house.
The bobcat was still there.
I started taking photos and the sound of the camera made the bobcat nervous. It took a few more steps away from me, looked back over its shoulder at me and then turned its attention to the north. By this time the cat had moved beyond the west side of the house and could actually up into the side yard. Something there caught its attention long enough for it to pause and pose for me. I leaned up against the house and fired off a few more photos before the bobcat finally started moving again. It headed for the brush on the western side of the yard and then turned north through a stand of pine trees.
The whole encounter lasted about three minutes and when I went back inside to review my photos I was heartbroken to find one blurry shot after another. The heavy clouds had only let limited light through and the shutter speed was so low that everything was messed up. Again and again, I was met with disappointment — but then there it was: A single photo had come out and it was a nice one. The first time that I have ever seen a bobcat in daylight and I managed to get a photo of it.
Even more remarkable is the fact that exactly one year ago — to the day — I had followed bobcat tracks in the snow and found a spot where a rabbit had been killed, divided and eaten. If I had listened to reason I might have slept late and missed the entire thing. So next weekend, no matter the condition of the weather outside, I’ll be at the kitchen window looking for something new and interesting to write about.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 22 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service and the 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.