Stan Tekiela

People love to group, label, and pigeon-hole what we see and experience around us in nature.
I believe it helps us to understand and organize in our brains the vast number of species with which we share the planet. But like most things, we often take labeling and grouping a little too far from time to time.

There are many things we don’t understand in nature. We often make assumptions about the kinds of behaviors we see or witness in nature, and we often incorrectly attribute a specific animal behavior based on what we humans would think in a given situation.
I was considering this one evening while leading a group of photographers to capture images of the common loon.

Last week, while leading a photo workshop to photograph black bears in northern Minnesota, I was reminded once again that nature exemplifies diversity.
My small group of photographers was following a female black bear with two yearling cubs. The bears were walking through a wetland with a few fallen trees and a couple of high, dry spots covered with green grasses. As we moved closer, I saw a large bird fly out of one of the high spots and land about 5 yards away.

This spring, I’ve been capturing images of two grouse species. In my last column I wrote about the greater prairie chicken, a once widespread species that numbered in the millions. It’s now nearly extinct in much of its former range. Today, let’s look at the sharp-tailed grouse.
Once again, I found myself getting up at 4 a.m. and heading out to my old truck in the dark.

Awaking at o’-dark:30 to capture images of wildlife is standard operating procedure in my field.
During the past 40 years, I’ve dragged myself out of bed early thousands of times. So, last week when the alarm went off at 4 a.m., it was no surprise. I grabbed a few snacks and a bottle of water and headed out to my truck. It was a short drive before I exited the main road and traveled a series of dusty gravel roads.