It began slowly, the herd plodding along in the hot sun in the general direction of the waterhole a distant 4 miles away. Halfway there, they began to trot. The pace quickened to a gallop. They were very thirsty. Still 2 miles away from the water, I drove ahead to the well-worn trail that the herd would follow, parked in the bottom of the dusty wash and ran with my camera to hide behind a bush. I crouched down just as the first of 200 mustangs topped the hill above and galloped right down toward me and the waterhole. This is the only shot that survived the choking dust that enveloped my camera. I likely won't try that again.