The Patient Observer  

                                                                                                                                              I was chatting with an acquaintance recently. I had just told him about an encounter that I had had on one of my rambles back in the woods.  This one had been with a bear that I had been fortunate enough to be able to watch for some fifteen or twenty minutes while he rummaged about on a distant hillside, obviously looking for his supper. My acquaintance remarked on how lucky I was for getting to see these things, and wondered why he didn't seem to have the same luck. I sympathized, we chatted for a while longer, and then we went our separate ways.  

           But then I got to thinking about what he had said and several thoughts came to mind. Perhaps the most basic reason for my "success" is simply that I spend a lot of time in the woods. Some days my walk might last for forty-five minutes or so; on others it may well extend to three hours. I will be out there every day that I possibly can,though, and last year (for example) that meant in the vicinity of three hundred or more such outings.On the great majority of them I don't see anything out of the ordinary.  However, if anyone spends that much time in the woods, sooner or later he is going to see things, especially if he pays attention to what is going on around him. That, in itself, accounts for a lot of my "success".  

           I have learned a couple of other things about being in the woods. One of them is that I prefer to travel alone, except for the faithful dog. It isn't that I have become antisocial; it has to do simply with being quiet and moving at a pace that is more reminiscent of that of an experienced hunter than of one who is out there  mainly to cover ground, or get exercise. By myself, I think nothing of simply standing beneath a tree and looking around, perhaps for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. That was how I happened to spot the bear that I mentioned above. It was also how I happened to have an encounter with a fox that was particularly instructive.  

           I had been snowshoeing for perhaps an hour on this particularly beautiful, cold winter morning. I came to a pretty spot in the woods and, because I was warmed up enough to tolerate standing around for a few minutes, I decided to do so. The dog was off somewhere when I stopped, but a couple of minutes later he came along and decided that a break was a good thing for him as well. And so we stopped there, I standing, he stretched out in a patch of sunshine, for what must have been fifteen minutes. Finally I decided that it was time to go and I stirred. As I did, I caught movement out of the corner of one eye. A fox had been sitting just behind me at a distance of perhaps twenty metres. How long he had been watching me, I have no idea, but I am certain that I would not have seen him had I not stopped to look around. I also realized that, had I been with someone else, I would not have stopped like that.  

           I do this every time I am in the woods. Often I see nothing. Quite frequently though my sudden stopping seems to trigger curiosity in the small creatures nearby. Birds and squirrels will investigate, or, just as often, they will simply resume what they had been doing before they became aware of my approach. That is when I get the chance to observe courtship rituals, territorial squabbles, and simple foraging activities. It is also when I allow the peace and stillness of the scene to seep into my consciousness. That is the sought-for experience; the grand encounters are the bonuses.