My usual walk at a park near my home starts with a slight downhill trail abutting a huge field. The trail soon branches off in two directions: right leads into the woods, and left takes you along a wide trail with brushy habitat on either side.

Nine times out of ten, I take the trail to the left. The brushy habitat is home to a greater number and variety of birds than the narrow trail through the woods. While the left trail is rather wide, approximately 15 feet, the brush on either side is tall and thick and blocks the view of what lies immediately on either side.

There is one spot along the trail, however, where the brush is matted down, exposing a crumbled rock wall and an expansive view of the field. For the adventurous, this spot also offers a chance to gingerly walk on the matted-down brush, step on some of the fallen rocks from the wall and jump down into the field on the other side.

The opening is maybe six feet wide. So, along the entire length of the trail, there is a six-foot-wide gap to see into the field. Most of what happens in the field, therefore, is invisible to those on the trail − unless one gets lucky and something happens as they walk by that tiny gap in the brush.

Last week, the stars aligned on my walk, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement in the field about 50 yards away. Like most parks, this one is popular with dog-walkers and many of them let their pets run off leash. My immediate reaction was that it was a large- or medium-sized dog happily running through the field.

It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t a pet but rather a coyote trotting through the field. Coyotes are fairly common throughout New England, but it is rare that I spot one. I hear them more often than I see them. My window for photographing the coyote was short and closing fast as the impressive animal trotted from right to left and was about to disappear out of that six-foot gap in the brush.

I didn’t have time to adjust settings or fiddle with the camera at all. I took off the lens cap, extended the zoom as far as it would go, put my faith in the autofocus and shot a few frames. The opportunity to photograph the animal lasted about five seconds. Then, I stepped through the matted brush and onto one of the big rocks from the wall and watched as the coyote disappeared into the distance. 

The results of the photos were not great, but I was satisfied considering the few seconds I had to get the shot. I was also thankful to have the opportunity at all. What are the odds that the coyote would be running through the field at the same time I got to that small gap in the brush along the trail?

The experience made me wonder what I miss in the field when I’m flanked by tall brush along the majority of the trail. So much of amateur wildlife photography is timing and luck. Professional photographers can spend days or weeks or months studying their quarry and camping out for the right shot. Amateurs, like me, take the opportunities to get out there when we can between job and family commitments.

I’m not saying it’s all luck for us. Certainly, knowledge of wildlife behavior, basic camera skills, and putting in the time to get to know local parks are important components, but a little luck never hurts either.