Woodshound
Member
I came to pick you up today, swap out your batteries and pull your memory card, then leave you again for the next several months to your duty on that remote ridge, overlooking the likely game trail. But you didn’t light up when I put in new batteries and after some experimentation, I realized you had shuffled off this mortal coil forever.
I cycled through the stages of grief almost instantly, starting with bargaining – had I tried the wrong batteries? Were they in the wrong way? Was the hatch closed? And then anger: how is this cam dead already? It’s only three years old!
But then I thought for a bit and quieted down as I approached acceptance – you were gone and there was nothing to do but remember the good times.
In fairness, your life was short and punishing: exposed to the elements in brutal conditions, clinging to the mast for months at a time, alone on the sides of steep pitches, and lashed by the mountain weather in unforgiving wilderness.
So thank you, WildView – may you enjoy your eternal rest perched over green hills and a rushing river. You deserve it after that summer when I pointed you at the creek seeps and, unable to close your sleepless eye, you stared into the business ends of hundreds of hog butts for four long, burning, terrible months. All tears in rain now.
May you be delivered to a sky as beautifully blue as that autumn morning in Cohutta after the raccoon violated your insides, set you from picture to video, left your access panel hanging open, pointed you nearly straight up, and you captured hundreds of videos of the wind gently blowing the autumn foliage until your memory card filled up.
Sleep well, sweet trail camera.
I cycled through the stages of grief almost instantly, starting with bargaining – had I tried the wrong batteries? Were they in the wrong way? Was the hatch closed? And then anger: how is this cam dead already? It’s only three years old!
But then I thought for a bit and quieted down as I approached acceptance – you were gone and there was nothing to do but remember the good times.
In fairness, your life was short and punishing: exposed to the elements in brutal conditions, clinging to the mast for months at a time, alone on the sides of steep pitches, and lashed by the mountain weather in unforgiving wilderness.
So thank you, WildView – may you enjoy your eternal rest perched over green hills and a rushing river. You deserve it after that summer when I pointed you at the creek seeps and, unable to close your sleepless eye, you stared into the business ends of hundreds of hog butts for four long, burning, terrible months. All tears in rain now.
May you be delivered to a sky as beautifully blue as that autumn morning in Cohutta after the raccoon violated your insides, set you from picture to video, left your access panel hanging open, pointed you nearly straight up, and you captured hundreds of videos of the wind gently blowing the autumn foliage until your memory card filled up.
Sleep well, sweet trail camera.
