Dip Out (Northern Roots: Atlantic #2)
Chapter 1
ONE
The Ring-necked Ducks float on the lake’s surface as the sun begins to sink behind the tree line, casting a warm, golden light over the water. Just as I lift my camera to snap a photo, one of the ducks flaps its wings. I hold down the shutter to capture a series of images as droplets of water glisten midair, catching the sun’s fading rays.
My heart races as I lower the camera to look at the small screen, and I scroll through the photos I’ve taken over the past few hours. It’s 6:54PM, and all I need is one more good photo so I can go home. The pounding in my chest momentarily eases as I scroll past a few images that should satisfy my client and meet their needs. I mentally mark the best candidates, then turn the camera off with a sigh.
This is why I don’t like taking on clients.
I’d much rather shoot for myself. Whatever animals and landscapes I see, whenever I want to go out, then license and sell my work on my own terms. And my regular clients know this, and pick from what I already have. But this new client has specific requests. Meaning I’ve had to adjust my usual routine, talk to them often , and make sure I capture exactly what they need.
I’m usually home by 6:00, unless I’ve specifically planned to be out later. And today, I didn’t plan to be out this late with pressure to meet a tight deadline.
My heart picks up its pace again as I sit on a large rock at the lake’s edge, and my breaths come faster. The ducks’ soft splashing and the breeze rustling the new spring leaves blend into an indistinguishable hum, growing louder and more overwhelming by the second. Everything feels hazy as I grip my camera tighter, fighting the sensation of my mind buzzing with an unreachable itch.
Until a familiar, sharp, distinct sound cuts through the dense fog in my head.
A Hooded Warbler.
I turn my head towards the trees beside me, watching as the small bird flits between the shrubs beneath them, calling out to defend its territory against other birds nearby. He flashes his white outer tail feathers, giving me the telltale sign that he is in fact a Hooded Warbler and not a Wilson’s Warbler. A chuckle escapes me as I remember the time, years ago, when I confused the two. Their olive-green backs and bright yellow undersides are strikingly similar, but now I know better—the Hooded always flashes those white outer tail feathers that the Wilson’s doesn’t have.
He dips his head with the black hood that adult males have, and the vibrant yellow of his forehead and cheeks helps me track him through the undergrowth while he picks at insects. He should be roosting soon, but like me, he’s still working. I watch his quick, darting movements as my pulse slows, and I let his routine calm me. The steady rhythm of nature doing what it does, right where it’s supposed to be. My breaths level out, and I feel myself returning to my body as the Warbler disappears deeper into the woods.
Once he’s gone, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together as I let all the air out of my chest with a low hum. The vibration that runs through me brings me deeper into the state of calm I need to get myself together and get home.
I pack up my camera and start my walk up the path towards my car… but it’s 7:18. And that little voice deep inside me once again reminds me that I’m always home at 6:00.
My breath quickens once again, and the fuzzy feeling starts to push its way back in. But I start counting my steps, focusing on the rhythmic beat of my feet against the dirt, and let the sounds of the woods gently fall over me instead of forcing their way in. Once my mind is focused enough, I start organizing a list of some of my favourite birds in my head by alphabetical order, keeping my eyes down on my feet as they take me closer and closer to home.
Common Nighthawk, Eastern Phoebe, Gray Catbird, Indigo Bunting, Pileated Woodpecker, Red-eyed Vireo, Red-winged Blackbird…
I slide into the driver’s seat when I reach my car, purposefully keeping my eyes off the clock.
No more new clients. No more tight deadlines. If I’d had more notice, I could have planned for a late night. But I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
Thankfully, it’s a short drive home. As soon as my front door is unlocked and I step inside my house, the tension in my shoulders eases, and I release a breath. I go straight to my computer and plug my camera in to let the photos transfer, then head to the kitchen to stick last night’s leftover lasagna in the microwave.
Almost two hours later than I usually eat.
My eyes close as the whirring sound of the microwave fills the kitchen. But I push that sound away and think back to the Hooded Warbler, picturing him darting through the foliage, his olive-green body and bright yellow face standing out against the earthy tones of the forest floor. His calls echo in my mind as he forages for insects, his black hood almost hiding him at times in the fading light.
Then a sharp beep sounds, and suddenly I’m back in the kitchen, my hands held over my ears as I blink at the microwave.
I take my dinner out of the microwave and head back to my computer, where the photos have finished downloading. I eat as I sift through them, picking out the ones that best fit the ask of my client—a tourism company here on Newfoundland’s Avalon Peninsula. They need new photos for their website to showcase the area’s wildlife for guided hikes. They specifically asked for a wide landscape of the lake and woods, with ducks and a setting sun, and a few other wildlife shots. I managed to get some elk grazing by the lakeshore, and a bald eagle perched high in a tree.
Why they waited until two days ago to hire a wildlife photographer with a Thursday deadline, I’ll never know. And why I agreed, I also don’t understand.
But as I work on editing the photos, the world darkens around me and I zero in on my task. I’m home now, and everything is once again just how it should be.
Everything is ok.