One of the first and last things you might see at Lake Conestee Nature Preserve is the big metal pedestrian bridge that crosses high over the Reedy River. It offers access to the main body of the park. The structure of the bridge is a heavy metal, with wooden slats to walk on. But on either end are wooden structures that connect the metal portion to the ground.
On this day, as I headed back toward my car at the end of my hike, on the far end of the bridge, on that wooden part that leads down to the paved trail, there perched a magnificent hawk. Something on the ground had its full attention. Perhaps a squirrel or a mouse, but certainly some tasty prey was down there.
It must have been very hungry, because the hawk did not notice me. At first, I did not see it either, but when I did, I began walking softly as I could, pulling my camera up to my eye and preparing to take a shot.
I had my 70 to 200 mm lens. But I wished I still had the 200 to 500 mm lens I had rented a while back. To get a good shot I was going to have to get a lot closer than the far-end of the bridge, where I stood when I first saw the hawk.
Although, normally, I barely notice the sound of the shutter click, now it sounded like a hammer against steel. I clicked off a shot of the hawk peering down at the ground, which was about 20 feet below him. I moved closer and took one more shot. Then, as silently as I could, I inched my way toward the hawk.
I was downwind. And the sounds of the river, along with air rustling through the trees, kept my soft footsteps from the sharp ears of the hawk. Any second, he would probably swoop down to grab whatever he was watching, and my chance to get a close-up photo would be gone.
I got close, decided to take my shot, knowing full well the hawk would hear the click of the shutter. I raised my camera up to my eye and what I saw through the viewfinder startled me. The hawk had finally noticed me, or I just got close enough to annoy him. He turned and looked straight at me with those piercing eyes.
My Nikon D610 has a small buffer. After six shots the buffer is full, and you must wait a few seconds to take the next shot. I focused on the hawk and fired off six quick shots, hoping one of them would be in focus.
I dropped the camera from my eyes.
The hawk decided it was time to leave. For a split second, with that massive wingspan flapping in what seemed like slow motion, the hawk was hanging there in mid-air, so close, piercing eyes still on me.
I realized what a great shot I was missing, so I pulled up the camera to my eyes and pressed the shutter button. Nothing happened. The buffer was still full. And the hawk was gone. My lack of forethought made the best possible shot not possible. I would have needed all six of those potential photos, and possibly many more, to capture what my eyes saw. But that didn't happen.
Sometimes you must be satisfied with what you have. And once I saw this photo on my computer, I was quite satisfied. But the picture that got away, at least for now, is still there ... in my memory.