Briskly moving towards the watersource, I found myself stumbling, and tripping over the many logs, and bushes that lay dormant under the heavy snow. One step here, followed by a hop over a stream there, then slide down the hill to get to the side of the reservoir: Simple enough, right?
While I set up for the exposure, I noticed it was eerily quiet. Normally, on nights such as these, the air is so crisp, so fresh, and so dense that sound carries for miles on end - but not up here. I guess it had just been a while since I'd been out of the house. Needless to say, it was an interesting experience to be able to hear water as it freezes. A crackling, and creaking, just as if a glacier was melting.
With a click of the shutter, I stand motionless, enjoying the scenery that lies before me. To the left, a hill, who's summit must have been roughly 300 feet vertically from where I was standing. Behind me was an artificial dam, to create the reservoir you see here. And to the right was an exposed cliff face, where it appears a hill must have (at one point) been in the way of creating such a structure as this.
Taking a few steps back, and looking at the many stars shine brightly in the sky, I notice the air isn't so brisk anymore. There's a breeze, that's almost warm - which is odd, because there's snow on the ground, and the mighty pond is freezing over, before my very eyes. Not only is the air warm, but I also notice that my ears are no longer straining to hear a twig snap in the breeze down the gully.
The coyote's howl can carry for miles on end, regardless of air temperature, and various other conditions. But I'm no fool - Though their yelps and barks echoed off of the canyon walls around me, I knew that they were much closer than I really felt comfortable with.
Peering into the darkness, towards the dogs cries in the night, I become fully aware of how close they actually are: For as their howls echo for many miles, it wasn't the echo I was hearing. It was the original source. A pack of them, of at least ten, were running along the ridge just beyond the frame, to the right. The very same ridge top that had been carved away to create dam, years ago.
With my comfort level dwindling to new lows, I release the shutter, and scamper halfway up the hill (camera) left, and trudge, once again, through the knee level snow, and back to my car, which by all accounts, should NOT be driving up on those roads, with any sort of ice on them.
I'll never know for sure whether or not the wolves would have made it to the spot I was photographing, but in a way, I'm kinda glad I won't know. Not because I may've been lunchmeat to them, but because, we (as human beings) decide that we can have whatever we want, and take whatever we want, without thinking so much about how it reflects the lives of the other living creatures. Chances are, if that dam weren't there, I wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to photograph such a serene location, but the dogs that sing their song all night would probably not be there either - the forest would be a lot bigger. And I feel bittersweet about knowing how close I really was to the protector of the forest.
