Well, Here’s Something You Don’t See Every Day

From The Rusty Shutter Saloon | John A Smith Photography

There are days when you head out with a camera knowing exactly what you’re looking for.

Then there are days when a bear climbs a pole.

This was one of those days.

Tracy and I were spending the morning photographing birds at Madera Canyon, just south of Tucson. We make the trip down there once or twice a month. It’s one of those places where we can settle in, watch the birds, enjoy the quiet, and see what Mother Nature decides to put in front of my lens.

On this particular morning, the place was unusually empty. There were only two other people at the bird-viewing area near the lodge.

For a photographer, it was almost perfect.

The wild turkeys were putting on a show, strutting around and giving me plenty to photograph. Everything was moving along nicely until, for no apparent reason, every turkey suddenly decided it had somewhere else to be.

They were gone.

Now, when a bunch of wild animals suddenly decide to leave the party at the same time, maybe you should pay attention.

Apparently, the turkeys knew something we didn't.

A young man standing near me suddenly said:

"Hey... is that a bear coming our way?"

Well, yes.

Yes, it was.

And this is where the morning got interesting.

If you've never been to Madera Canyon, there is a pretty substantial wall and fence separating the bird-viewing area from the surrounding wildlife. It gives you a certain sense of security.

Notice I said sense of security.

Because this bear walked up to that barrier, looked it over, and basically decided:

That's cute.

Then over it went.

I have to admit, I was impressed. For a fairly chunky-looking bear, the thing had some serious agility.

About this time, the young man who had originally spotted the bear decided he had seen enough.

He bolted.

That left Tracy, me...

and Karen.

Now, her name wasn't actually Karen. At least I don't think it was. But for purposes of this story, Karen has entered the chat.

The bear wasn't charging us. It wasn't acting aggressively. It wasn't particularly interested in us at all.

It had discovered the bird feeders.

And apparently the bear and I share a similar philosophy about food:

If you're going to put out a buffet, don't complain about who shows up for dinner.

So this bear starts climbing the pole trying to reach the feeder.

And I'm thinking:

This is incredible.

The camera comes up.

I'm watching.

I'm photographing.

I'm completely absorbed in this moment with an animal I had never before photographed in the wild in Arizona.

Then Karen decides she's in charge.

Not just of the bear.

Of me.

Karen, who informed us she was from Alaska and apparently had appointed herself Director of Bear Operations for Southern Arizona, starts screaming.

"GET AWAY FROM THERE!"

Then:

"HEY BEAR! HEY BEAR!"

Over.

And over.

And over.

Meanwhile, I'm just trying to photograph the bear.

Lady, please.

I've photographed grizzlies in Alaska. I understand that bears are wild animals. I respect them, I give them space, and I certainly don't pretend they're oversized teddy bears waiting for a family portrait.

And there's another fairly important piece of information here.

My wife, Tracy, has a degree in Wildlife and Fisheries.

She also possesses a finely tuned internal alarm system specifically designed to detect when her husband is about to do something stupid.

Trust me.

If I'm headed for trouble, Tracy usually knows before I do.

She wasn't panicking.

The bear wasn't panicking.

I wasn't panicking.

Karen was doing enough panicking for everyone.

Then Karen apparently decided yelling wasn't accomplishing enough, so she ran off to find the property owner and, from what I could tell, report me for the terrible crime of...

standing where I was standing.

At this point, I just wanted to enjoy the moment.

Because despite all the yelling, something pretty special was happening.

This was the first wild bear I had ever seen in Arizona.

And for a few minutes, I wasn't thinking about prints, camera settings, social media, websites, markets, or anything else.

I was just watching this beautiful animal exist in its world.

That's the part I wish had lasted longer.

Eventually the property owner arrived, and the quiet morning disappeared completely. There was yelling at the bear, more commotion, and rocks were thrown in its direction to make it leave.

Would Tracy and I have handled it that way?

No.

But it wasn't our property, and ultimately the bear moved along down the road.

The show was over.

And I was left thinking about the whole experience.

Here's how I see it.

Madera Canyon is the bear's home too.

We visit these places because we want to experience wildlife. We hang feeders from poles. We put out food that attracts birds, squirrels, turkeys, and all kinds of other animals.

Then occasionally something bigger reads the dinner invitation.

That's nature.

Wildlife doesn't understand property lines, viewing areas, fences, or the rules humans have invented about which animals are welcome at the buffet.

That bear was simply being a bear.

And for one brief moment, I got to share that space with it.

That's what I remember when I look at this photograph.

Not the screaming.

Not the commotion.

Not even Karen.

I remember looking through my camera and realizing that something I had never experienced before was happening right in front of me.

A wild Arizona bear.

Climbing a bird-feeder pole.

Just a few yards away.

And somehow, despite everything happening around me, I managed to press the shutter.

Click.

There it was.

A moment that will never happen exactly that way again.

And that's why I photograph wildlife.

The photographs aren't created simply to show you what I saw through the lens.

They're created to show you how I felt at that very moment.

And at that moment?

I felt pretty damn lucky.

As for Karen...

I hope Alaska's bears appreciate her.

John A Smith
John A Smith Photography
The Rusty Shutter Saloon