I first met Hank Golet 31 years ago, while photographing a story about Osprey banding in Old Lyme. He was one of the small group of volunteers who were passionate about restoring the once prevalent raptor to the Connecticut shoreline. It was a story that would impact the course of my life, sparking my own passion for birds and wildlife, and affording me many more chances to cross paths with Hank.

I photographed him a couple more times in his efforts to protect Osprey, for different newspapers, and quickly realized that he had an incredible wealth of knowledge about birds in southeastern Connecticut. Better still, he was happy to share his vast experience with someone who shared his passion, if only a tiny fraction of his acumen. Birds, however, barely scratched the surface of Hank's institutional knowledge of nature. Over the years, I grew to learn just how much he knew about. Birds, bees, butterflies, fish, frogs, flowers, trees, archeology, history, the list of things I learned about from him seemed endless. He was 25 years my senior, but had boundless energy and vitality, hiking, cycling, boating, kayaking, fishing, even running. If you wanted to find a trail in Lyme or Old Lyme, Hank had hiked there. He took me on a walk along the Connecticut River on a trail I never knew about, pointing out remnants of a centuries old granite quarry. Then we came upon a vernal pond and he showed me the tiny Fairy Shrimp living in it. Eagle nests, Native American campsites, an overlook of the Lieutenant River, he was a walking, talking encyclopedia, trail map and GPS. It wasn't limited to Connecticut, either. We talked about Newfoundland, the Connecticut Lakes, even the Caribbean. He kept journals of his many travels and experiences, and was also an accomplished nature photographer. He took great pictures of birds with a small point-and-shoot Nikon through a beat up old scope, often from his kayak.

Years ago I was photographing a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker feeding at a tree in Nehantic State Forest in March. As the temperature warmed into the 70's, sap flowed from the line of holes the woodpecker had made, and I started to see flashes of orange at the base of the tree. I thought my eyes were playing tricks, but on closer inspection I saw there were small butterflies feeding on the sap running down the tree trunk. With their wings closed they blended seamlessly into the bark, but when open showed the orange flashes. I quickly shifted my focus from the sapsucker to the butterflies, even though I had no idea what kind they were. When I finished shooting, I called Hank to ask what kind they might be. I went back the next day and Hank arrived with his friend, Noble Proctor, to see what I described. It spoke volumes of Hank to know who some of his peers were, including Noble, and even Roger Tory Peterson. Eastern Comma, Question Mark and Compton's Tortoiseshell all returned to the tree.

OLD LYME, CT Hank Golet on the Connecticut River.

He was happy to share the many other butterflies I could find nearby, and opened up a whole new world to me. When I wanted to find a specific species of butterfly, Hank usually knew when, where, and on which specific flower or plant to find them. He invited me to watch the tree swallows, took me on his boat to see and photograph elusive Least Bitterns, and shared countless other interesting bird and wildlife sightings and interesting locations. I truly felt like he'd taken me under his wing. When I read the sad news that Hank had passed, and the number of tributes to him, it's clear that many people felt the same way about him. He was a friendly, kind and generous person. I have a fond memory of Hank "holding court" one cold winter evening at Great Island, with a crowd of townspeople from Old Lyme who came to see Snowy Owls that he found there. I usually ran into him pretty regularly while out looking for birds in southeastern Connecticut, but it had been many months since I'd seen the red pickup with the green "Save What's Left" sticker on the back window. Many others had asked me about him, as well. I saw Hank briefly one evening this summer at Great Island, and was heartened. He looked good and seemed happy to know that many people were thinking of him. We've lost a true champion of the natural word in Connecticut, and I've lost a true mentor and friend. I'll miss him.