Braving the Bulls

As one of my life goals is to be not so scared of everything, I decided that while photographing my friends on bucking bulls, I would get as close as possible to the bulls without actually being on a bull. When I got the arena, I was asking the friendly cowboys where a good, safe spot to stand would be. Asking a cowboy who willingly gets on a 2,000 pound, angry bucking bull where a "safe" place to be is somewhat of a joke. Of course, their answer was not exactly what I had pictured.  The conversation went a little like this:

Me: Hello Mr. Brave Cowboy, where is a safe place for a wimp with a camera to stand so as to get a good shot of the ridiculously dangerous activities happening this cold, clear evening?

Mr. Brave Cowboy: In the pen.

Me: ...oh.

I believe that was more or less the conversation. I made up my mind right then and there that I was going to be just as brave (well, almost) as this cowboy and jump in the pen with the bulls. As I followed through the maze of bulls and fences, I was becoming braver and braver, feeling as though with a camera in front of me, I can do anything.

After assessing where the light was best (light chaser first, bull chaser last) and then where the bulls would be coming from, I was hoisted on top of the pen itself, where a friendly and humorous ex-rodeo clown warned me about how high the bull just below my feet could jump. Still not sure how kidding he was, you know, being a clown and all. I couldn't let myself believe him, because that meant that mean bull kicking the metal I was standing on might decide he didn't like being caged up. No bueno for me. So I bravely stood on top of the bull pen, with an exit strategy in the back of my mind, and did what I came to do. I loved every second of it. The danger, the images, the switching gears in my brain between exposure and staying alive. It was an adrenaline rush. 

It was a step in a good direction. I won that battle for courage in my own mind, this time.