From Facebook Post to Farm Rescue: A Thermal Imaging Success Story

When local outdoorsman and thermal expert Raymond Cummings saw a Facebook post about a missing newborn calf in a nearby upstate New York town, he volunteered to help. Armed with thermal imaging equipment, tracking skills, and a willingness to brave a cold winter night, he set out to help a local farmer find his missing animal. Here's his story in his own words. 

An Unexpected Adventure 

I love adventure, but my favorite adventures are the kind that arise unexpectedly. 

It was just another wintry Monday night. My wife and kids were fast asleep in their warm beds while I scrolled my Facebook feed. Halfway down, I stumbled across a post that would set my night on a new course— a local farmer posting in a community group asking if anyone had seen his missing newborn calf. 

I was compelled to help. As luck would have it, I had just received the hard copy of my FAA UAV Pilot's license in the mail earlier that day, and I was itching to get my new thermal drone out for an official search-and-rescue mission. 

I reached out to the farmer and told him that I wanted to help look for the calf. When I mentioned that I use a wide range of thermal optic options, he pushed back. He didn’t think he could afford the service. I assured him that I'm always looking for thrills and wouldn't take a dime, regardless of whether we found the calf or not. 

Maybe out of desperation, but he trusted me enough to agree. Within 15 minutes, I was loaded up and on my way, filled with gratitude for the unexpected adventure. 

Bad Weather Changes the Plan 

Mother Nature had already spent the entire day delivering a mix of rain, sleet, and snow. All I could think about while driving there was whether it was even worth attempting to fly my new thermal drone given the uncertain weather. 

When I met the farmer, the situation hadn’t improved. The wet, snowy mixture wouldn’t let up, so we opted for Plan B: Driving around with my thermal monocular pointed into fields and forests, hoping for a sign of the calf’s whereabouts. 

For the next hour, we drove down nearby backroads scanning the landscape, but we came up empty.  

Truthfully, I was frustrated. All I could think about was how easy this would have been if it would just stop raining. I'd throw the thermal-capable drone in the air and we'd find this newborn in less than a minute. 

We regrouped to come up with a new plan. 

Following the Tracks 

As we put our heads together, the farmer mentioned that he had seen the calf just before dusk, but it ran away. It was our only clue, so I asked him to show me where. 

Rather than giving into frustration, it was time to use the fresh, slushy mix to my advantage. Combined with some woodsmanship, I hunted for a calf track in the wet, icy mix.  

We set out in the direction the farmer last saw the young bull, and after about a half-mile trek, I was confident that I found a fresh trail from a young cow. It’s harder than it might seem, as deer and calf tracks can look frustratingly similar in messy New York winter weather. And there were literal highways of deer tracks to contend with, so this true calf track was a major crack in the case.  

But there were dozens of different trails, given the immense deer population in the area, and it was incredibly difficult to stay on a single set of tracks. 

We did our best to keep our focus. With every few steps through the slush and snow, I scanned with my thermal monocular and continued to monitor our movement on my HuntStand tracking app. 

Eyes on the Calf 

And then it happened. 

We came over a small ridge that overlooked a medium-sized hay field, and there he was. His frame, which could not be mistaken for a deer, lit up in my thermal monocular. We found him.  

Our hearts started racing so fast, we briefly forgot how cold and tired we were. We were filled with adrenaline, hope, and satisfaction.  

For a moment, at least.  

We knew we were finally within reach of our objective, but that was also the dilemma: it wasn't some inanimate, immobile object we could simply throw in our shoulder bags like Indiana Jones before dashing off into the sunset. It was a 150-pound newborn bull that could outrun us, out-turn us, and didn’t realize we were there to help usher him back to safety. 

The Rescue Begins 

This was the beginning of the rescue portion. The search was over, and we now had to "rescue"—aka capture—this new young beast. 

We decided to split up. We had to. 

I looped around to the left of the calf, and the farmer set himself up in the corner of the field, ready to pounce if the opportunity presented itself. 

My hope and excitement waned a bit more as it hit me; the chances of capturing this animal were incredibly slim. Ridiculously slim. But we had to see it through. 

I continued to creep left of the calf, thermal optic locked on the bull. Within a dozen of my steps, the calf bolted in a gray-brown, muddy, icy flash. It was running, and for a moment, I thought we might’ve failed.  

A One-in-a-Million Tackle 

But it wasn’t over. Within a few seconds, the young bull changed direction. For reasons we'll never understand, it made a small loop and headed straight toward the farmer. 

By what could have been God's mild intervention, he ran within a few feet of the farmer. 

I could barely adjust my feet by the time I saw the farmer leave his. With a dive and outstretched arms, he was able to wrap up the calf and plant him in the snow like a goal-line stop as time expired at Lambeau Field. He would have made his high school defensive coach proud with a perfect tackle. 

But the work wasn’t done. I ran over to help hold the rustling calf down while he bound its limbs and secured it. 

With the calf unable to escape, elation and true joy set in. We danced and hollered and sang to the slimly lit moon. Looking back, it was a good thing the rest of the world was sleeping restfully, or we might’ve caused quite a stir. 

But we deserved the moment. We both knew we had just experienced a search-and-rescue miracle.  

Maybe not a miracle when it came to the search. That was constructed by being well-equipped with the proper optics, applications, good old-fashioned woodsmanship, and a bit of tenacity. 

The miracle was the tackle. 

Both the farmer and I will remember that split second in time for the rest of our lives.  

That bull could have run anywhere else, yet he ran just within the grasp of a strong, determined farmer who knew he had one chance to pull off the unbelievable. 

Lessons Learned 

After we celebrated and ensured the calf was secure, we had to get him back to the farm. Which meant the two of us taking turns backpacking him across slushy, icy fields. 

But that left some time to think about the lessons I learned along the way: Seek adventure, don’t run from it. Take care of your local farmers, even if they can’t repay you. And never leave home without a thermal. 

About Raymond Cummings 

Raymond Cummings lives in New York’s Hudson Valley with his wife and two sons. An outdoorsman, environmentalist, and lifelong adventurer, he spends much of his free time exploring the region’s forests, streams, and farmland in search of the next challenge. 

As the owner of Hudson Valley Habitats, Raymond has built a reputation as a thermal imaging expert, using TOPDON thermal tools to locate cold-water trout streams suitable for stocking, help farmers and pet owners recover lost animals, and even track down wild honeybee swarms hidden deep in the woods. 

When he isn't navigating the backcountry or wading in a trout stream, Raymond works in the medical field through his company, SpiriSell Surgical, where he supports surgeons performing orthopedic joint replacements, reconstructions, and other complex procedures.