There’s a stretch of country road I drive almost daily here in South Texas, whenever I’m home. It runs alongside a wide brush field—raw land growing wild with cactus, tall grasses, and scattered mesquite trees. As soon as I hit that road, I instinctively slow down and start scanning the field. There’s almost always a herd of wild nilgai grazing out there.
They’re never close. But they’re there. Every day.
I usually pull over for a few minutes to watch them. Even from a distance, their size is impressive—nilgai are massive antelopes, striking and out of place in a way that makes you look twice.
I’ve always wanted to photograph them. Not from across two football fields, but up close. Close enough to show the texture in their coats, the power in their build, the wary look in their eyes. But they always keep their distance, so I’ve contented myself with just watching—at least for now.
Still, it makes me happy. Happy to know that places like this still exist. That here, in my own backyard, there’s land wild enough for animals to stay wild.
Of course, nilgai don’t actually belong here in South Texas. They’re native to the northern Indian subcontinent. But in the 1930s, the King Ranch imported a few for game hunting. The species adapted quickly and flourished. Today, the population in South Texas is estimated at around 37,000.
Because they’re considered invasive, nilgai can be hunted year-round—and they know it. The local population is incredibly skittish. Anytime I pull over, even at a distance, their ears snap to attention. Moments later, they begin their slow retreat into the thick brush, taking no chances.
But then... magic happened.
After seeing them out there for weeks, one afternoon I spotted them much closer to the road. Close enough for some clean shots with a 400mm lens. It was a group of male bachelors—the kind of moment I’ve been waiting for. The males are giants, sometimes tipping the scales at 700 pounds. They are powerful, beautiful animals.
And guess what? I didn’t have my camera.
Not even my backup. Gloria (my main camera) was sitting at home. All I could do was watch in frustration, cussing and kicking myself for leaving it behind. It was one of those perfect wildlife moments… and I missed it.
Lesson learned. Again.
After that brain fart, I’ve been bringing my camera with me every time. Of course, since then, I’ve only seen the nilgai way out in the distance again. But I’m happy to report I did manage to capture a few images—nothing I’m crazy about, but a few decent landscape-style shots, and some with the early morning fog rolling in, which gave them a nice moody feel.
What I’m really after, though, is a close-up of a big buck—face forward, looking straight into the lens, that massive neck filling the frame. That’s the shot I want. So I’ll keep showing up, camera in hand, waiting for the day the nilgai get brave enough to wander in close and give me that moment.
This a good perspective shot to see the size difference between a nilgai buck near a white tailed deer
I’ll be back out there tomorrow, hoping it’s my lucky day.
Until next week, my friends…
Thanks for reading.