There was no sound, yet something made me stop and turn to my right…
After a grueling 13-month project in northwest Ontario, I desperately needed an escape. Thailand, on the other side of the globe, seemed ideal.
Bangkok was all 2-stroke motorbikes, moss-covered temples, and sex for sale. On the third day I hopped a bus for Chiang Mai in the north in search of nature and tranquility.
Chiang Mai proved to be a great base from which to launch sorties into the surrounding countryside, which is still surprisingly unspoiled and beautiful. Wanting to see how the local mountain people lived, I arranged a day tour. A van, already packed with several other tourists from various countries, picked me up at 8:30. I squeezed onto the first bench beside an ample German couple and we headed off. After about 2 hours we were let out to walk the remaining 45 minutes to the village.
The village was interesting enough, and the people friendly. I bought a shirt and a couple of small gifts. But the highpoint of the day came on the walk back to the van.
Thick upland forest – a dense tropical thicket of tall and shorter trees, bushes, and vines – engulfed us. The path quickly narrowed, forcing us into single file, with me bringing up the rear. Occasionally a bird, disturbed by our clumsy intrusion, would dart off above, unseen in the tightly interlaced branches of the canopy.
About 20 minutes along, something (what?) made me freeze. Very slowly, I turned to the right. There, only 20 feet from the path, unseen by everyone else, was a juvenile elephant. He (she?) gazed steadily at me, and I returned the gaze, unsure of the proper etiquette. Sweat ran down my spine. Elephants can charge at over 30 miles per hour, far faster than a man can run. And the distance separating us was exceedingly short.
Still, this was a once-in-a-lifetime shot. Slowly, so slowly, I raised my Nikon, and eased onto my left knee, wanting an upward angle, aware that I was now even more vulnerable. In for a penny, in for a pound. Framing the shot vertically, I held my breath, and gently squeezed off the shot.
The “click” from the Nikon seemed to ricochet off every tree. For several seconds I held immobile, before realizing that I still hadn’t taken a breath. My stolid friend remained motionless. Though tempted to take another shot, I knew that it was time to withdraw. Slowly I stood up, never taking my eyes from my friend. “Khop khun,” I whispered (“Thanks”), and set off to catch up to the others, who fortunately never missed me and so did not return to interrupt.
Desperately wanting to know whether the single shot had turned out, I was tempted to have the film developed immediately. In the end I opted to wait until returning home, where I could entrust it to a friend.
When, a week later, I picked up the pictures, my friend was smiling. Nervously I shuffled through to find the shot of my chance encounter in the forest. Finding it toward the end of the roll, I smiled. A magical moment in time was perfectly preserved.
