(water splashes)
This started like a lot of my favorite days,
in a kayak on a quiet river,
(gentle music)
but soon the day would take an unexpected turn.
(gentle music)
I was alone on the Paw Paw River,
paddling out of Benton Harbor, Michigan.
(gentle music)
Wait, what is on that log?
Is that a praying mantis?
(video tape whirs)
(gentle music)
I don't think I've ever seen a praying mantis in person.
Is it turning its head to watch me pass?
I must be imagining that.
(gentle music)
I've gotta get a closer look,
so I turn around and sidle up to the fallen tree
that is the praying mantis's perch.
And this time, no doubt about it,
it turns its head to face me.
(gentle music)
It is watching me.
This giant insect that must have been
the inspiration for the classic cartoon alien
is watching me.
(gentle music)
And it doesn't seem to be scared,
at least not enough to fly away,
or walk away, or whatever it would do.
I'm a little scared,
so before I get any closer, I Google
"Are praying mantises dangerous?",
and I learned that
while they can be quite rough on their prey,
they're harmless to humans.
(gentle music)
So, I get in closer, hoping to get a few shots
before I scare it off,
(gentle music)
but it doesn't seem scared at all.
It seems curious.
(gentle music)
I know, I know, I shouldn't anthropomorphize this critter,
but am I wrong to say that it seems
every bit as interested in me as I am in it?
Soon, I'm feeling ready
to take our relationship to the next level.
(gentle music)
Will it read this gesture as a sign I can be trusted?
Doesn't seem to make a difference.
But then, after half an hour of just looking at each other,
an amazing thing happens.
It begins to approach,
tentatively at first,
and then with a little more swagger.
I'm glad I already confirmed
that it's not a threat to me,
because it's coming aboard.
And then for another half hour
it explores me and my kayak.
(Jay laughs)
This is totally wild.
(Jay laughs)
There's a praying mantis on the bottom of my shoe
that I can't, I can't even see it
because it's on the bottom of my shoe.
(gentle music)
It makes itself quite at home on this new perch,
and soon it's ready to make the move to my hand.
That is the wildest thing.
(gentle music)
But now I am in "Be careful what you ask for" territory
because, while I know that this thing won't hurt me,
it's tough to keep my cool
as it moves from my hand to my arm.
(Jay gasps)
It's getting a little creepy.
(gentle music)
Oh!
Geez.
Even though I get it back to more comfortable territory,
this giant insect still wants to be better friends.
(gentle music)
And then as it explores me,
it manages to find the one place I can't film it,
on my hand that is holding my phone.
(Jay laughs)
This is inches from my face, sitting on the phone
that is taking this picture of me.
It is magnificent.
When have I ever spent this much time
this close to a critter I encountered in the wild,
and which I think has come to trust
that I mean it no harm?
(gentle music)
Unfortunately, I betrayed that trust,
and I'm sorry to say that the rest of the story
happened off camera.
Here are some photos from earlier
as I recount the unfortunate details.
The praying mantis spent several more minutes on my hand
and then startled me by quickly walking up my arm
toward my face.
I instinctively flicked it off.
It landed in the water, where I watched it flail
as the current carried it downstream.
I was horrified, and I couldn't let my new friend drown,
so I took off after it,
eventually using the kayak paddle
to gently scoop it out of the water.
Then somehow with that same paddle,
I made my way to the shore.
And here is my stunned friend on the paddle
just before I returned it to safety,
and then watched it quickly take off into the brush.
(gentle music)
Did I teach it that humans can't be trusted?
Maybe that's not a bad lesson.
And what did it teach me?
Something pretty simple, really.
(gentle music)
The benefits of quiet patient observation.
(gentle music)