We interrupt our regular coronavirus coverage in this space for a special bulletin: I have inched closer toward my goal of a clear, crisp, perfectly framed photograph of one of Columbia’s famous white squirrels.
I’ve been fascinated by the creatures since first learning their history: I love the foresight of former Gov. Hugh White introducing them to his home city, creating a legacy that continues 55 years after his death. I almost wish my last name were a color, so that I could create or promote a special breed of some sort of flora or fauna that would survive me. Alas, no such luck for this blandly named Smith.
So I’ve settled for the next best thing of capturing one of White’s bushy-tailed friends in action. But it’s very difficult to photograph a squirrel well. For one thing, they flee at the slightest noise or approach. And they are quite small, meaning you have to get very close to obtain a decent shot.
Although I’m not one to judge, I suspect many of those who have produced good photographs of Columbia’s white squirrels did so by feeding them, either intentionally or when the squirrels raided victuals intended for birds. Call me a purist, but I want a natural shot of a squirrel in their regular habitat.
We’ve had white squirrels living near our home each of the past two springs. I’ve had many close calls, but something has always thrown them off: camera wasn’t handy, light was wrong, kids were playing outside and making noise, etc. Like Captain Ahab in “Moby Dick,” my obsession with defeating my own “white whale” has grown with time.
A prime opportunity arose Sunday evening while standing on my porch talking to my wife. Across the yard, a pearly hue provided an unmistakable contrast to the verdant grass as the small rodent appeared to be feeding on something, perhaps seeds.
Everything worked out perfectly: My fully charged camera was sitting in its bag right next to me on the porch. The 300mm telephoto lens was already attached. And the light was perfect, the photographer’s dreamy “Golden Hour” before sunset where no shadows interrupt.
I quickly bid adieu to my family, threw the camera around my neck and circled around my house to avoid being spotted by the notoriously skiddish creature. Thankfully I had some tree cover between us. I crept closer, hoping the crunch of leaves and grass wouldn’t alert it, being sure to keep a trunk between me and the squirrel.
When I made it to the first tree, I cautiously peered around and saw the squirrel remained in the same spot. I leaned around just a little and snapped a few shots. The shutter’s click didn’t seem to bother the little gal, although she raised up on her hind quarters a couple of times and peered around. But I laid low during those moments, and she resumed eating.
Mosquitos tormented me, but it was a small price to pay for some decent shots. Still, I needed to get closer. I crept around a row of trees, taking a wide arc to try and ambush my quarry. I managed to get within maybe 10 yards, but it was still hard to get a tight photograph. I headed down to a low spot and tried to sneak up, but the squirrel either heard or saw me. It retreated to the side of a tree, smacking its tail around, a sure sign of alarm. I managed to get a few more shots of it on the tree, and then figured I had nothing to lose and walked up closer. But the squirrel quickly scampering up and then out of the tree.
Editing my pictures afterward, I had a few usable ones but they required heavy cropping, which reduces the quality. At the very least, they’re the best I’ve gotten. I’m not sure how much closer I can get to the squirrel, so I think the only thing that might help now is the Tim Allen approach of “more power.”
Now to find an extra thousand bucks or so in the budget for that 600mm lens that will do the job ...
Charlie Smith is editor and publisher of The Columbian-Progress. Reach him via email at csmith@columbianprogress.com or call (601) 736-2611.
