Calgary Zoo, Calgary - Do Animals Pose? Or the Day I Learned the Meaning of Coprophagia...

Taking pictures of animals is difficult. Well, taking good pictures of animals is difficult. If you are at a zoo, there are physical barriers to contend with: fencing, which you either have to stick your camera somehow through, or crop out in post-production; or inches-thick glass, which casts a blue haze over whatever you've shot. If you're in the field, physical proximity becomes an issue—you have to somehow get close enough to take the photo without scaring the animal, or vice versa without the animal scaring you. This past summer I spent a good ten minutes trying to inch my way toward an overly-tame, if not wholly friendly, beach goat in Majorca only to have several other tourists move in and cause him to leave. And this was after he'd spent the bulk of the afternoon terrorizing everyone's picnic baskets and/or beach tents; let me tell you he was not skittish. I recently read that one of the National Geographic's go-to cat photographers sets up mini-waterproof cases with a light-triggered camera inside, so when a big cat (think lion) walks by they essentially take their own 'selfie'. Genius! Moreover, animals move—a lot. Think of the last bird you saw flitting around in a park and you get the idea. They're not going to pose for you, or so I thought. Unless you get lucky.

Beach terror

It's been a long time since I took the above photo, but I'll never forget taking it. The largest of the silverbacks happened to be sitting directly beside the glass of his enclosure, meaning there were just inches between him and I with a glass divider. With my little cousin Kim beside me (the sort of elementary kid whose choice clothing is a dress and sparkly TOMS), I began happily clicking away. Then I stopped as the gorilla stood up. He bent slightly at the knees and waist. Kim and I stared wide-eyed as he reached around and grabbed a perfectly-shaped brown orb from his bottom and held it up for inspection. Then he looked us dead in the eye and took a bite. Like it was an apple.

I guess animals pose, alright.

Crabbs, Antigua - Retirement Dreamin'

When we were in our early twenties, my best friend, husband, and I used to spend post-night out brunches plotting retirement plans to sail from cove to cove in the Caribbean; over sickly sweet pancakes slathered in syrup we'd dream of sun-soaked evenings with a drink in hand on the deck of a ship we'd purchase together. Neither she or I had much sailing experience: at seventeen she'd done a tall ship adventure, and I'd never forgotten the thrill of tacking with my uncle Brian as a teen, his ball-cap flitting off in the wind. My husband had similar, limited experience. Years later, cognizant of the necessity to do something to make this dream a reality, my husband and I signed up for a 'Competent Crew' course in Antigua. We brought our friend David instead, as my friend had work obligations she couldn't get out of. 

Despite our less-than-luxurious quarters on the Ortac—five sweaty men and myself crammed in a cabin with an airplane-sized toilet/shower combo and bedrooms that felt like a steam room—each night I went to bed well-worked and happy. We'd lay anchor in different ports, each with its own unique character. English Harbour was filled with multi-million dollar yachts endlessly scrubbed by professional crews. There was the port where we docked among countless, giant cruise ships to the entertainment of masses coming ashore for their photo-op. And, finally, there was the lackluster Crabbs, a boat repair marina. With no restaurant to head to for dinner, we made carbonara, played Merchants and Marauders (a board game about pirates), and drank rum like a merry bunch of sailors. David even wore a pirate hat for the occasion. The stereotypes were rank, and it was lovely! I'll never forget my evening run in that ships' graveyard, or how skeletal and sadly majestic the ships look out of the water—like rib bones of a long-beached whale. Their hulls were calloused just like my hands had become. 

We each passed our course. Later, my friend started seriously dating (and is now engaged to) a pilot. She's promised they'll do the flying, while we do the sailing.