Snipe Hunt of A Lifetime
<p>Since summer camp in 1964 I have sought the elusive snipe — my own Moby Dick, my white whale. Back then, gunny sack and clacking sticks in hand, I, with other earnest campers, sought the snipes we’d been sent to find under a full moon. At subsequent summer camps, in my high school years, we boys would offer to take the girls on snipe hunts, personal escorts in snipely adventure. We found no snipes then, but there may have been some adventure.</p>
<p>I never found the snipes way back then, nor any time since. I’ve seen a fair number of kinds of birds since I took up bird photography, but no snipes — officially, a Wilson’s Snipe. As I’d prowl the shores of the ponds photographing egrets and herons and cormorants and avocets, there was ne’er a snipe to be seen. My photography friends saw and photographed snipes, my wife at least saw one, but I remained snipeless.</p>
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