Photo by Karine Aigner kaigner | For hours I sat next to a pond, in the dirt—fully aware of the potential of the rogue fire ant finding its way into my pant leg. I’d taken off my boots. The air felt inferno hot. My back hurt. I hunched behind a 600mm lens under a camouflage blind. Advertised as “quiet, breathable, lightweight material,” it apparently had never been tested in South Texas. To my right, a worn wildlife path led over the crest of a bank. The bushes made a nice frame—a perfect spot for a bobcat or a deer. Or anything. Sitting became painful, breathing a chore. And then she was there. She posed on the path, unfazed, busy. If I swung the lens toward her, she’d spook. I let the shot go. Now the coyote walked toward me—about 10 feet away. I had too much lens to turn around without being noticed. In one heave, I lifted the tripod while shifting my body around. Her back was facing me; then she stopped, turned, and headed for the water. She came all the way in. I’d never been ...