Remember that girl from high school. The one who was never involved in anything, but somehow her brown curly hair, and sunken dimples donned every page of the year book. She never was apart of the drama club, but there she is standing with the cast of Romeo and Juliet, and I know she didn’t attend the Boy Scouts trip to Yellowstone National park, and yet that freckle faced grin pops up more than the tents. She photo-bombed every picture before photobombing was even a thing. She was the very definition of a poser. Not the urban translation of someone pretending to be someone they are not, although that may have been the case, but the original intent of the word; someone who stops and poses for every picture.
Sir Issac Newton profoundly discovered in his third law of motion, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” While his intent of the law might not be directed toward social dynamics, it is fitting that for every Kim Kardashian figure who stops in front of every camera to strike a pose, there are those who duck around a corner to avoid being caught in eternity.
While there is no given name to these photo dodgers, the history behind their self conscious behavior has been well documented. The most famous portrait of George Washington is only half complete after he ordered the painter to stop, because he didn’t like the way it had looked. And who can forget baseball player John Rocker’s epic tirade on the cameraman who was filming him after being pulled from a game? While their infamous temper tantrums in the end caused more recognition than the photo themselves, I didn’t know these social awkwardness extended beyond the urban sprawl of the concrete jungles. To my surprise, miles from any paved roads, deep in the back country, there is one who’s bashful relationship with their own self image, was set off into a tirade of their own.
This past weekend I set off to check trail cameras, in hopes of finding whitetail deer beginning to sprout a little velvet. In the scorching heat, I hiked through tall grass and neck high ferns, fighting off mosquitoes and deer flies. I navigated a potential snake ridden swamp, crossed a creek, and maneuvered around a large cattail marsh to finally reach my first camera.
The camera was not there. The straight metal bracket that had been used to secure it to the tree was, but now resembled more of a U shape. A small piece of plastic laid on the ground, and a couple of feet away laid another. I followed the bread crumbs of bits of plastic and shattered glass 40 yards until I reached what was left of the housing of a once very functional camera.
I shoved the remains into my canvas pack, and audibly cursed my fellow man as I made my way through the woods checking my remaining cameras. With each step I took, I became more and more infuriated with the individual who took it upon themselves to destroy a piece of property that not only didn’t belong to them, but was such a vital part of scouting this particular area.
By the time I had reached the truck, my blood had boiled over. I ripped the broken camera from my pack and began inspecting it. In a shocking revelation, the assailant had left the SD card in tack. As I began flipping through pictures I prayed that his face would be in perfect view while holding a baseball bat. Not only would he be held responsible, his face would show up on every social media account I could find, branding him as a thief and shaming him as a person.
About 10 pictures in, I stopped to admire a picture of a black bear that had been subtly avoiding my camera for most of the spring. I would get pictures of his shadow in the early morning, or a high speed blur in the dark of night as he sped past, but until that moment I had yet to get a full day time picture of him.
The next photo he had turned and was heading closer to the camera. And the next was even closer. My heart sunk. With each passing picture I found myself yelling from my truck at a bear that was caught in time, “No, don’t do it! Get away from my camera!”
As he stood on his hind legs just inches away, I realized the game warden wasn’t going to catch those responsible for the vandalism. There was never going to be a social media campaign finally shaming trail camera thieves. What I had in my had was pictures of a socially awkward bear who didn’t have an appreciation for this portrait.
The following 150 pictures were nothing more than catching him having a John Rocker moment of his own.
It just goes to show, even bears hate the paparazzi.