Walt, the Fisherman by Deby Dixon

Another photographer phoned and told me that the Osprey were "hot" out at Lake Fernan in Coeur d'Alene, ID, which is only a mile from my house. And here I thought that I'd be trying to squeeze in an hour drive in the morning before class, going in the opposite direction, and, of course, trying to make it to school in time. Before the call there were no other options - I had to go. Birds, water, fish had been stirring in my blood for days but the hassles with Adobe (still not resolved) kept me angrily in my chair, behind my desk and on the iPhone. I had to go.
This adventure was not going to be without setbacks. Gear cleaned, some snacks put together, the dog begging to go but knowing he will not and no keys. I searched high and low, the frustration flowing in my veins, but nothing. I got it in my mind that they were still in the car, locked in the garage and of course there was no spare key. My landlord was busy and so was my best friend, who, months ago asked to keep a key because she feared my absent-minded photographer syndrome. I sat at the computer and did my taxes and even put the form in the mailbox. And then I stuck my hand into my jacket pocket, which I'd been wearing the whole time, and there they were! This maturing stuff is for the birds.
Finally, I'm at the end of the lake, after passing a myriad of fisherman sitting beside the road and getting their lines wet. I parked. Two photographers were set up on a dream shot of a Great Blue Heron but just as I was heading that way, it flew. Geese were shooting back and forth and one was trying to get inside an owl box, presumably to make its home in there. That was funny shooting. Bored I wandered down the street and came across Walt, the fisherman.
Walt had countless Fenwick fishing poles, an old red pick up truck, a white bucket and a corn cob pipe. His weathered face and that pipe protruding from his lips, framed by the sun on his other side simply begged to be shot. Walt fishes on Lake Fernan every day, until they begin to put more water into the big lake. And, no he did not mind being photographed, he'd been in the newspaper four or five times.
"Is that because you are a character with a corn cob pipe?" I asked him.
He laughed. "It's because I'm out here early and those guys seem to start first thing in the morning."
"The vultures."
Walt was a cooperative subject, not looking at the camera too much, putting on a show without asking, great colors in his old worn out sweater and lighting that corn cob pipe. I enjoyed our interaction quite a lot, which is saying something for a dedicated birdwatcher like myself. I'd even let a few osprey fly on by. And, let me tell you, that fisherman has a good story!