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Stalking
is a word that might seem easy to define. Most people associate stalking
with being sneaky - moving furtively along in the shadows, trying to approach
a wary quarry close enough to capture or kill it. Stalking with a camera
does have the element of the hunt at times, of being so well hidden that
you're almost invisible to your subject, even without a blind. But more
often than not, a bird or animal does at some point in a stalk become
aware of the presence of its pursuer. At that moment, if a photographer
looks like a threat, the subject flees and a picture opportunity is lost.
Though
stalking is, by definition, "to pursue quarry or prey stealthily," a deeper
kind of stalking exists. Perhaps stalking is the wrong word - what I'm
talking about is more a way of learning to blend into the background as
a harmless, nonthreatening object. It's both a mental and a physical attitude
- a way of breathing, looking, and moving that animals are comfortable
with. We've all known people who have a natural affinity with horses,
dogs, cats, and other animals. If you can perfect that quality - the ability
to make animals feel at ease in your presence - getting close to birds
is easy.
I've
been trying for most of my life to develop this kind of non-threatening
presence with wildlife. During my early teens I took up falconry, an activity
that requires the same qualities as those needed for bird stalking - infinite
patience and the ability to move slowly and deliberately around a wild
bird. Above all, falconry taught me not to stare. Hawks and most other
kinds of wildlife are terrified by a fixed gaze, because in nature predators
stare at their quarry just before they attack. I learned to look at my
birds obliquely, taking brief glances with my peripheral vision when I
was close to them. Eventually, I didn't even have to do that. My relationship
with the hawks became more and more instinctive.
I
try to achieve that same kind of rapport with the wild birds I photograph,
whether I'm stalking them in the open or hiding in a blind. (Even while
you're hidden in a blind, I'm convinced that the birds you photograph
are aware of your presence at some level; they just don't recognize the
shape of a blind as a threat.) If moving slowly and gracefully is not
your forte, it's possible to take excellent pictures of birds without
ever learning to stalk. You'd just be more dependent on using blinds to
hide yourself. But stalking is a fascinating method for getting close
to birds, and by learning how to do it well, you'll be a better all-aroun
bird photographer. You'll certainly be able to stay quieter and sit more
still for long periods, which will help even if you do use a blind.
In
situations where, for various reasons, it's impossible to get close enough
to my subject by stalking, I always use a blind, because I prefer to work
at the closest possible distances my telephoto lenses will allow. The
minimum close focus of my 400mm lens is about twelve feet, and that's
invariably the distance I try to shoot from. With my 300mm I get even
closer. I try to work without a blind as much as possible because of the
added mobility that stalking affords me. You may be amazed to think that
someone could get close enough to take frame-filling pictures of a wild
bird without hiding inside a blind, but I can assure you that it's possible.
If you dress in drab clothing, move slowly, and spend hours in sometimes
uncomfortable positions, many birds will come to accept your presence
among them.
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