A few years ago, I was sitting in a high basin in the Lost Creek Wilderness, puzzling over a route to a large arch that was nearby but hidden, when this fox trotted out from behind some boulders about 50 feet away. It jumped when it saw me and ran partly up the basin but stopped. So I whistled at it. It cocked its head and sat down and started scratching itself. I whistled again, and it got up and walked slowly down to me. When it got about 30 feet away, I said, "Whoa, you better stop there." It sat down and stared at me. So I proceeded to tell it my tale about not finding the arch. It did a big stretch and lay down. I went back to the guide book and pieced together from the features in the basin where the path to the arch might be. So I stood up. The fox got up. I started walking. The fox followed me. It was about 20 feet behind me when I said, "Look, you can't come with me. So you stop right now and stay here." The fox looked at me for a bit, then walked a few yards away in the basin and lay down with its head on its paws. I felt a bit bad for speaking so sternly, but it couldn't be helped. I looked back as I turned a corner and the fox hadn't moved.
I found the arch and photographed it from a few angles while trying not to fall into abyss below, and returned to the basin nearly an hour later. The fox was right where I had left it. It perked up when it saw me, so I walked over and sat down. I told it about my success finding the arch, and then went back to the book to figure out what was next. The fox watched me with sleepy eyes. Finally, I said, "Well it was nice meeting you, but I have to go." I stood up. The fox stood up. I said, "Bye!" and the fox turned and trotted up the basin, and I headed back down to the river.
Nikon D780, Nikkor 70-300mm f4.5-5.6E
