I was a little groggy on a late Friday evening as we drove up to the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. We hadn’t really gotten out of the (relatively) well traveled part of the trip yet. Actually, we were driving through an area of private cabins. Hardly the wilderness, so my camera was still securely packed away in its padded case when we came around a bend to see a young red fox standing in the road. Just a pup, really.
We’re driving right at him. He’s looking right at us. I point him out to the kids and enjoy the sight, knowing there’s no way he’ll be there long enough to get a photo. We keep getting closer, but he lingers, sparking hopes of a photo and spurring me to action. I scramble and scratch to get my camera case out from between my feet.
He trots down off the steep, rocky edge of the road, then stops and looks again. By now I have my camera out and I’m yelling, “Stop! Let me try to get a picture,” as he disappears. But I’ve mentally marked the place and I quietly walk to the spot and look down. I catch a flash of red. I listlessly take a shot, but I know I’ve missed him. He has melted into the boulders. He has a nice little den down in those rocks and he ain’t comin’ out now.
One week later.
Oh yeah, I wanted to write a post about our trip into the south fork of Paintrock Creek. Think I’ll look at my photos from the camping trip.
One frame. One pair of brown eyes. One big smile. Click on the photo for a closer look.