Topical Salve

In flight, not from the rear. Those of you who read this blog regularly (both of you, as of last count) know this to be my Holy Grail of photography. What you may not know is that for the last year or so, I’ve had a particular target in mind: the tarantula hawk.

This is a male. They're big.

Why, you ask, would I want to photograph a 4 cm long wasp that ambushes tarantulas at their burrows, paralyses them, drags the spiders back into their burrows to lie, unable to move, waiting to be consumed by the wasp’s larva when it hatches from the egg laid upon them? I find them striking. And with their iridescent blue bodies and orange wings (and sometimes, antennae), under the right light, it would make an awesome photograph. Plus, there’s also the Everest answer.

What I didn’t fully grasp when undertaking this quest was how truly disconcerting it is to have large wasps winging around your head at close distance (I’ve only got a 55mm lens to play with, so I have to get really close, even with big bugs). Not to mention the females I saw are closer to 5 cm in length. Plus BugGuide says tarantula hawks, while generally non-aggressive, are reputed to have very powerful stings — Don’t want to accidentally bump into one and find out.

This is a female. They're even bigger.

The easiest place to photograph tarantula hawks around me is at the Wild Animal — er, San Diego Zoo Safari Park (don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the name change). The first covered picnic table on the Garden Trail is situated right next to some plants that tarantula hawks absolutely adore. They will hang out on the blooms, drinking nectar for minutes at a time, oblivious of intrepid photographers willing them to take flight.

Like this, only in focus.

And yet fly they do. I had better luck catching the inbound tarantula hawks than waiting for one gorging itself on nectar to take to wing. Though when they fly directly at the camera lens, it’s really hard to stay composed and keep the bug in frame, let alone turn the focus ring and squeeze off some shots.

Gaaah!

Damselfly. Named such because of its penchant for playing coy, luring intrepid insect photographers close, then flying away just before coming into focus only to land close by, enticing the photographer to try again and again in a cruel, flirtatious dance.*

And like their namesake (and pretty much anything else), they photograph best in morning or evening light. Except when flying, and shutter speed is king.

* I could be wrong.

In flight. Not from the rear. (In focus goes without saying.) That is the Holy Grail of photography for me.

Using the hummingbird equivalent of crack cocaine to attract the photography subject and get them to ignore their fight-or-flight response to a large lens looming a couple beak lengths away feels like cheating, though.

Gift horse. Mouth. Averting my eyes, and pressing the shutter button.

Once upon a time, a barn swallow had the not-so-great idea of building its nest in the entryway of a house in suburbia instead of one of the more traditional locations — such as a barn or freeway overpass.

“Think of it,” this swallow must have thought, “it’s quiet, safe from predators, and with the housing market as it is, there should be plenty of real estate to choose from! The only downside would seem to be the commute.”

So, with the help of its mate, the swallow tried it out and found that the positives did not outweigh the negatives. Because of the long commute, gathering building material was more difficult. Plus those pesky humans kept knocking down its nest. Not to mention the extra time it took to go grocery shopping. “What was I thinking?” the swallow surely muttered to itself as it moved back to the country, where dinner for a hungry brood could be found right outside its door.

Sadly, like a bad Internet meme, the idea took root, and every year, more and more barn swallows are trying to build homes in the ‘burbs.