The sun had yet to show even a sliver of its bright disk above the horizon, though the ample light of dawn made clear it wouldn’t be long before that happened.  And as is always the case that early in the morning, my uncle and I were already busy tending to farm work.

Because white-tailed deer (a.k.a. whitetail deer; Odocoileus virginianus) are common out here in the country, we often see them as we toil about the property.  In fact, some have become so accustomed to us that they don’t run—instead they look at us briefly before returning to whatever they’re doing.  Which is usually eating.

So on this morning we glanced into the largest pasture and noticed a doe standing perhaps ten yards/meters from the fence.  She knew we were close—standing at the fence—yet she never stopped or ran.

And what was she doing?  It was obvious from the moment I saw her, with her head far down in the tall grass.  I knew she had a fawn.  From the way she tended to it without fleeing, I also knew it couldn’t be more than a few hours old because she was still cleaning it, licking it, bonding with it.

So I grabbed my camera.

By then, as luck would have it, the newborn was able to get up and walk, albeit not fast and not expertly.  As I approached the fence again with my camera, we saw the mother turn and walk steadily away from us.

The only sign of the fawn was the grass bending and parting a step or two behind the doe.  That meant I’d have to go in the pasture if I had any hope of grabbing a photo or two. 

Over the fence I went.

I had to move at a good pace in order to catch up to the pair who had already made it across most of the large pasture.  They rapidly approached the corner of the fence.  I rapidly approached as well.

Though the doe made it over without a problem, she paused on the other side of the fence even as I neared.  I knew it was my chance.  She was waiting on the fawn who would have to wiggle and squeeze through the fence.

When the doe bolted, huffing all the while, and paused maybe ten yards/meters away, still huffing at me, I realized it was my chance.  The fawn had to be nearby since it couldn’t keep up with its mother, not to mention its mother trying hard to keep me interested in her.

Then I found it just a step away.

Nestled in tall grass and motionless, the fawn was perfectly concealed, at least from predators looking for a solid outline or something in motion or a contrasting coat.

While I snapped a few photos, the mother looped around through the woods nearby, huffing every few steps, stopping often to look at me, making sure I saw and heard her.  But I had no intention of harming her newborn, a baby just hours old, so I let her continue with her display and her antics as I focused on the fawn.

Just a few images more of this beautiful creature, so young and so vulnerable yet so unflinching, and then I stood and walked away, not looking back, not pausing.

Only when I’d crossed the pasture did I dare to glance back.  I saw only the doe as she meandered slowly back into the woods from where I’d just been standing.  And though I couldn’t see it for all the trees and grass between us, I imagined somewhere right behind her was a tiny little fawn pushing through grass much taller than it was, a newborn who knew when it was time to sit still and when it was time to follow its mother.

I smiled briefly, glad for the encounter, then I went back to work.

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Notes:

1. I normally would not consider interfering with nature in such a way just to get a photo.  I prefer passive observation and in situ images.  But in this case I realized I could only get the images if I could get close enough to force the fawn into hiding.  And I also knew my quick visit would cause no lasting harm, what with the mother staying a stone’s throw away and keeping a close eye on her child.
2. My apologies for my long absence from blogging.  It’s been a hectic and busy summer around the family farm.  I’ve had barely enough time to do some occasional photography, but for the most part I have worked and worked and worked with little time for anything else.  As the summer comes to a close and things begin to slow down a wee bit around here, I have ample pictures and stories to share.  And I intend to do just that.

Upon a desolate road I sat, a dirt road stretching between nowhere and no place.  Beneath the simmering sun I cooled myself in the car as I watched and waited.  Not for anything in particular, mind you, but instead I waited for anything.  That’s when she arrived, a female white-tailed deer (a.k.a. whitetail deer; Odocoileus virginianus).

Behind the windshield’s sunscreen I hunkered, behind the dark window tint I hid, and from there I watched her as she approached, finally taking station in the shade of an Ashe juniper (a.k.a. post cedar, mountain cedar or blueberry juniper; Juniperus ashei).

Repeatedly she glanced at the car, its quiet motor humming, its occupant camouflaged from view, only brief movements of the camera lens visible.  But obviously the click of the dSLR’s shutter called to her, for each photo captured brought her gaze back to me, back to the car.

Expecting her to flee the unknown, much to my surprise she turned and approached, timidly, slowly, carefully, yet always forward, always looking, always curious.

Eventually near enough for me to toss a rock to her, she stopped and stared, so docile and inquisitive, so standoffish and peculiar.  How I stared, wondering about this odd behavior, wondering what behooved her to seek enlightenment rather than shelter.

A step closer she came, still curious, but when the shutter sounded this time, her ears went back with surprise and worry, yet she remained probing and unmoving, almost meek and needful.  Finally I stopped photographing her, instead choosing to watch her, to watch this strange and timid approach named curiosity.

Never before or since have I known a wild deer to be so forgiving of human encroachment in the name of satisfying unadulterated interest.

I’ve always said I would be a terrible hunter.  And I don’t mean terrible as in I’d never kill anything; I mean terrible as in I’d be a nightmare for whatever I was hunting.  That’s because I’ve spent years photographing wildlife and learning about wildlife, both activities having given me a tremendous understanding of animals, including how to get close to them, how to get them to come close to me, and how to make them either ignore me or feel comfortable about me being there.  In the hands of a nature photographer and naturalist, these skills are paramount and rewarding, offering something better than what the biggest lens can offer (which is just cold distance rather than close-up experience).  But in the hands of a hunter, these skills would be a terrible thing indeed.

She stood drinking from a dwindling pond when I first stepped into the open.  I didn’t know she was there until she bolted up the game trail and stopped just beneath the drip line to watch me.

Although curiosity and human tendencies demanded that I turn to look at her, to identify her and determine her disposition, I denied those urges and kept my face looking forward and away from her.  I let my peripheral vision do the work so I could accurately identify her location, then I slowly raised the camera, put it in front of my face held in both hands, and slowly turned only my head so I could get the lens aimed at her—and I turned only enough so I could look through the viewfinder without facing her directly.

With her tail held downward, she indicated she was not alarmed, and by her steady gaze she indicated she was curious about what I was up to but not yet ready to run for the hills.  So I started meandering toward her, never moving directly toward her and never moving too quickly, and never looking at her to get my bearings or judge distance.

She never flinched.  She kept watching me, always with tail held downward, her gaze constantly on me.  I suspect she was confused about what I was doing and whether or not I was a threat.  I never gave any predatory signals, never indicated I was even aware of her, so she stood her ground and observed.

I closed the distance by at least half, though I couldn’t judge distance without utilizing binocular vision; that would require looking directly at her, something I was unwilling to do.  So I’m not sure how close I got, but it was much closer than I expected.  And it wasn’t until I spooked an alligator—which in turn spooked me—that she finally turned and vanished into the woods.

Had I been a hunter, I could have killed her many times over.  Thankfully for her and me, all I was shooting with was my camera.

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Notes:

1. Photos are of a female white-tailed deer (a.k.a. whitetail deer; Odocoileus virginianus)
2. I have nothing against hunting or hunters so long as the practice is done for sustenance and not sport; killing for pleasure is an indication that you have problems.
3. There are many tricks to approaching wildlife and/or making them comfortable with you.  I will never publically discuss them in detail.
4. Depth perception is a function of binocular vision.  Since I never looked at the deer except with one eye through the viewfinder, I really can’t judge how close I got, though I’ve been within six feet/two meters of one, a story I’ll share at a later time.
5. This entire encounter lasted less than ten minutes.
6. Were it not for that one dead vine hanging down and sometimes obscurring her face, these photos would be awesome.
7. I was stupid not to watch more closely at where I was walking.  I would have noticed the alligator if I’d been doing so.  I was lucky I didn’t walk up on a venomous snake, and I was lucky the alligator decided to flee when I invaded its personal space.  Lesson learned.