Arriving back at our cabin, we began planning our departure the next morning. Our next stop, Winslow, AZ, was 4 1/2 hours away if we drove straight through, but we wouldn’t be doing that. There were a couple of good birding spots along the way, as well as a scenic drive through the Painted Desert if we chose to drive through the Hopi Reservation, rather than taking Interstate 40. Thus far, our drives have taken nearly twice as long as indicated on Google Maps because of all the stops to see the sights, search for birds and fly the drone. We could pack the car with everything but our toiletries the night before, but even with an early departure, we probably wouldn’t be in Winslow until mid-afternoon. We wouldn’t want to get there much later because we’d still need to get checked into the hotel, clean up, see a few sights, then find a place to watch fireworks. And who knows what sort of Fourth of July traffic we’d encounter along the way.

 

Debi and I are early-risers, but we had a devil of a time beating the sunrise on this trip. We awoke at about 5:30 a.m., still more than 15 minutes after first light, so we could already see squirrels darting around in the pine straw outside our cabin when we opened the door and started making our way to the car. We stopped dead in our path when, no more than 30 feet away, a pair of Steller’s jays came buzzing in low. This was one of the target species that had thus far eluded us.

 

“Crap! I gotta go get my camera out of the car.” 

 

I power-walked ahead of Debi, trying to move quickly but smoothly, so as not to scare off the jays. It took me a moment to get the camera out of its bag and the monopod screwed on — I’d definitely need stabilization in this low light — and by the time I was ready to rock, the jays had flown about 40 yards up the road, back toward the lodge. Debi wasn’t far behind them. I managed to make up ground and got a few frames of backlit birds, with my ISO cranked up to about 10,000. Well, at least we could add this bird to our list, even if I wouldn’t have a great photo of it. 

 

Then, we noticed in the tree to our right a white-breasted nuthatch collecting nesting material. Unlike the Steller’s jays, this little fella was popping out into the morning sun, affording me a decent photo. We paused five minutes or so as I shot photos. Then, in the branches above us, we noticed several yellow-rumped warblers. Like the nuthatch, we have these birds in the Lowcountry, but we only see them in winter plumage, not in the striking shades of breeding season, when they’re dressed to impress. Yellow-rumps come in different varieties — adult male myrtles have white throats and a white eye stripe; adult made Audubon’s have a more uniform gray on their head and a yellow throat. Both varieties look like a different bird than what we see back home.

 

Before you know it, we were wandering down the Bright Angel Trail, as we had the morning before. We stopped and looked at each other: “We’re already about a half-hour behind schedule. Wanna keep walking?”

 

Yes, we did. We wandered around another 45 minutes, pausing to watch once more the house wrens we had spotted a day earlier, making a home in the eaves of a rental cabin. We encountered a pair of hairy woodpeckers, too, and from quite a distance, a Swainson’s hawk soaring over the canyon. Finally back at our rental car, it was another five minutes before we would get in and drive away because a pair of pine siskins — the first we’d seen on this trip — were hopping around on the juniper bush in front of us.

 

Finally, with the ignition turned and the wheels turning, we looked at each other and laughed. All that planning the night before went right out the window.

 

“I’m glad we stayed,” Debi said. Me, too.

 

Our heart rates slowed as we wheeled past the campground. Then suddenly, it appeared. I slammed on the brakes as a flash of white streaked across the road. Wide-eyed, we looked at each other:

 

“KAIBAB SQUIRELL!!!!!!!!”

 

I pulled quickly onto the shoulder, shoved the car in park and didn’t waste time turning off the engine. I reached into the back seat for my camera, then semi-sprinted through the woods, keeping trees between me and that fuzzy white tail, so that the squirrel could not see how much ground I was gaining. I stopped and took a few frames from about 50 yards away, just so I could be sure I had something. Then, I began moving more slowly, more stealthily, to get a closer shot. 

 

Unfortunately, I had given away my position, so the Kaibab squirrel would scurry 20 feet farther for every 10 feet I gained. But finally, it took up post on top of a felled pine log that had been stripped of its bark. The squirrel held its position as I began firing off frames and captured video. Meanwhile, Debi exited the car, as well, and trained her binoculars on the squirrel. I was glad she got out of the car to see this. Often, the ever-selfless Debi will stay put to minimize disruptions and increase the chance that I’ll get a decent picture.

 

Those tufty little ears were just too much to resist, though.

 

After several minutes, the squirrel bounded away toward the canyon. Tensed in predator mode for the past 10 minutes or so, we stood upright and relaxed. The car was still running and unattended about 40 yards back. As we began our return, three more Steller’s jays flew in. They were better lit than the birds we’d seen an hour earlier, so we paused again to photograph and observe.

 

This was turning into a magical morning. Several miles up the road, we saw buffalo for the first time. We pulled over and watched a large herd graze. Just outside the park gates, we pulled over to get some drone shots of the meadow that stretches flat and long between two ridges. As I brought the drone down, another Swainson’s hawk — this one close enough to photograph in flight — came soaring out of the trees on the meadow’s edge. Stopping again to fly the drone through a lower-elevation ponderosa forest, I managed to get some pretty good video clips, then western bluebirds appeared for the first time in the trees across the road. They were later joined by a red-tailed hawk.

 

Taking our foot off the throttle, we made our way down from 8,500 feet enjoying every mile-marker along the way. We arrived in Winslow much later than planned, but we still found time to stand on a corner for a while, then catch the sunset and fly the drone once more over the Little Painted Desert.

 

Mother Nature might not care about your itinerary, but she often rewards you for following hers.