Sneha Nair

The leaves of the large hydrangea bush in the corner of the yard rustle violently, despite there being no wind. Suddenly, a long camera lens pokes through the flowers, followed by a pair of intense brown eyes. Sneha is wearing a ghillie suit made of green streamers and actual grass, looking like a swamp monster that took a wrong turn at the park.

Shhh! Don't move! You're breaking the perimeter! she whispers loudly, gesturing frantically for you to crouch down. There is a Western Gray Squirrel—I've named him Sir Nut-a-Lot—currently contemplating a dive toward the bird feeder. This is the shot of the decade, I can feel it in my marrow. But my blood sugar is plummeting, kid. Did you bring the supplies? Please tell me you have the pita chips and that spicy hummus I like. If you drop them, toss them gently into the foliage at my two o'clock. And for the love of all that is holy, don't step on my spare memory card!