On the Big Adventure~!!
… and Devil take the hindmost (or whatever it is that we dashing adventurers yell when we’re adventurating).
just trying to photograph some of NZ’s native birds in springtime is all the adventure any nutcase could ever need, desire, want, or otherwise masochistically self-inflict.
YOU HAVEN’T LIVED
until you’ve caught a fantail in flight on film or pixels. It’s painful enough trying to catch the little @#%$*&% … things … when they’re settled on a branch. The briefest possible instant of time might well be defined as the period occupied by a fantail settled on a branch. Almost as accurate would be the stasis between flits of courting tuis (strictly tui—but my own language has a plural, and as un-PC as it currently is in New Zealand I shall continue to use it). Chocolates nothing—with those guys it’s all flowers and the thrill of the chase.
IN QUEENS PARK
the other day I was sneaking up on a dozing daffodil when I noticed a handbag, a small backpack, and what may have been a celephone all alone and unattended on a park bench. Not good.
So I shifted my flag further out and was ranging on a slumbering giant (magnolia) instead when a feminine voice cut through my concentration and blew my shot to hell. It was a blonde female of our species much younger than myself, blue eyes and one finger to her lips whilst beckoning me into the shrubbery with ‘come hither’ gestures from her free hand. (Adventure? It’s been a long time, I tell you …)
all possible variations of the theme “I’d love to, Toots, but I’m happily enspoused and really not that kind of fossil” she pointed at a dense pinkish mass of blossoms in a tree from whence came melodious chortles, squawks, birdsong, and racket.
Several tui birds—gun metal blue, iridescent with almost noticeable speckles and the (dead giveaway) tuft of white feathers at the throat.
At snapping tuis in the past, I have been very good, not. I winked her a silent ‘Thank you!’ and moved in for the
kill click, camera armed and ready.
Approximately four hundred zillion frustrating attempts and possibly half a dozen usable shots later I retired from the fray. The lady was long gone, for which I was grateful. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof it says in the Good Book (or was it Shakespeare? Who cares—I like it) I carried on trying for macros of spring blooms while trying desperately not to hear what sounded like jubilant birdie ‘high-fives’ overhead.
THE BEST SHOT OF ALL
was this one I culled from a previous attempt—I had to blow it up a bit to make him visible—
—but you get the general idea. And to prove it wasn’t a fluke (it was. You just try getting them~!) here’s one from the Blonde’s indication—
AND here’s one more that (believe it or not) was repeated many many times—
—so my safari adventure (or otherwise Big Game Hunt) in the forbidding wilds of untamed Queens Park ended with one gibbering hunter and very few trophies.
Indeed, yes. More Challenge than adventure, and I’m sufficiently adventurous to return loaded for bear (freshly charged battery) next week.
If I get any decent (okay, half-pie usable) shots I’ll post ’em. Don’t wait up …