Hello. Thanks for having me on the show. This happened back in October of 1996. I'd been working as a wildlife photographer for about three years at that point, freelance stuff mostly. My sister kept saying I should get a real job, but that's another story. I spent a lot of time in the Cascade foothills that fall. There's this area about fifteen miles outside of Ridgefield where the forest gets really dense. Old growth mixed with second growth, lots of underbrush. Perfect for wildlife if you know where to look. I'd been going out there two, three times a week, usually in the early morning or late afternoon when the light was good. I always hiked in alone. Brought my Canon and a thermos of coffee, that was it. The solitude was part of why I loved it, you know? Just me and whatever was out there. No people, no noise. Just the forest doing its thing.
This particular day was a Tuesday, middle of October. Weather was cool but clear, maybe mid-50s. I remember the leaves were just starting to turn, lots of yellow and orange mixed in with the evergreens. I'd parked at my usual spot off Forest Service Road 12 and hiked in about a mile and a half. There's this clearing I liked to set up near. Not huge, maybe thirty feet across, surrounded by Douglas firs and some maples. Good vantage point for spotting deer, sometimes elk if you were lucky. I'd gotten some decent shots there before. I settled in around four thirty in the afternoon, just as the light was starting to get that golden quality. Set up my tripod, got my camera ready, and just... waited. That's most of wildlife photography, really. The waiting.
That's when I first noticed them. The foxes. There were five of them. Red foxes, not particularly large, maybe 10 or 12 pounds each. They came into the clearing from the east side, moving in a loose group. At first I thought, great, this is perfect. Foxes are tough to photograph. They're skittish, they move fast. Getting five in one frame would be incredible. But they didn't move like normal foxes. They came into the clearing and they... arranged themselves. That's the only word I can think of. Arranged. They formed this loose circle, maybe six feet in diameter, all facing inward toward each other. And then they started making sounds. Not the usual fox sounds, the barking or the screaming you sometimes hear. These were quieter. Chittering, almost. Little vocalizations, back and forth between them. One would make a sound, another would respond, then another. Like they were having a conversation.
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