There are moments in life when your imagination is far more dangerous than reality.
You know the feeling.
You’re in a dark room with a flashlight the size of a pencil.
The rest of the universe has called it a night.
The beam becomes your entire world.
Left.
Right.
Floor.
Wall.
And then…
You get that feeling.
Something is behind you.
Not could be behind you.
Is behind you.
Your heart immediately files a complaint with your brain for failing to provide useful information.
You don’t whirl around.
Oh no.
Every horror movie you’ve ever watched has taught you that spinning around quickly is an excellent way to meet your untimely demise.
So you turn…
Very…
Slowly…
The flashlight swings with all the urgency of continental drift.
Heart pounding.
Breathing shallower than a politician answering a yes-or-no question.
And then the light reveals…
Your dog.
Who is looking at you as if to say,
“You okay? Because you’re acting weird.”
Well…
Welcome to the Narrow River.
4:30 in the morning.
Middlebridge Marina.
Pitch black.
My headlights swept across the parking area just in time to illuminate what I can only describe as the Rhode Island Defensive End Association.
A huge coyote.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
He immediately decided he had somewhere else to be.
Frankly, so did I.
Ten minutes later I was standing knee-deep in the marsh near Narrow River Kayaks, waiting for sunrise.
Camera ready.
Watching Sedge Island wake up.
Listening to the marsh come alive.
By 5:20 the eastern sky had just enough light to separate trees from sky.
And then…
I got that feeling again.
Something behind me.
Only this time…
My dog was home.
The coyote was fresh in my memory.
I turned slowly.
Camera already at my eye.
Not a coyote.
Not a fox.
A gorgeous white-tailed doe.
Standing maybe thirty yards away.
She wasn’t frightened.
She wasn’t running.
She was simply staring at me as if she had discovered the strangest bird the marsh had ever produced.
Click.
Apparently that violated some unwritten deer etiquette.
She inhaled sharply.
Ffffffff!
Then…
STOMP!
One front hoof slammed into the ground.
Another hiss.
Another stomp.
Now, deer don’t stomp because they’re angry.
They’re issuing a public service announcement.
It’s their version of an emergency group text.
“Attention everyone! I have located something suspicious.”
The stomp serves several purposes.
It warns other deer.
It tells predators they’ve been detected.
And sometimes they’re hoping whatever spooky thing they’re looking at will move and identify itself.
Translation?
“Congratulations, mystery creature. I’ve seen you. Now explain yourself.”
I responded the only way photographers know how.
Click.
Wrong answer.
That did it.
Ladies and gentlemen…
The Olympic trials began immediately.
She launched herself into the air.
Not forward.
Not sideways.
Both.
She twisted.
Pivoted.
Changed direction while airborne.
I’m convinced she violated at least three laws of physics.
Cirque du Soleil is probably reviewing the footage for next season.
Then came the famous white flag.
Her tail shot straight up, flashing brilliant white like she had activated Nature’s Emergency Strobe Light.
That bright white underside isn’t just decorative.
It’s an alarm beacon.
Every deer within eyesight instantly knows two things:
Danger!
Follow me!
Hence the expression…
She high-tailed it out of there.
A second doe exploded from the grass as if she’d been waiting backstage for her cue.
The two of them bounded away with that impossible, floating gait that makes deer look less like mammals and more like kangaroos who took ballet lessons.
Gone.
Silence returned.
Fifteen minutes later…
Guess who came back?
Both of them.
Peeking over the marsh grass from what they clearly considered a safe distance.
Checking.
Watching.
Evaluating.
Probably wondering if the strange two-legged creature with the enormous black eye attached to his face had finally wandered off.
Sorry, ladies.
Not yet.
Once again, I never photographed what I came to photograph.
But that’s becoming one of my favorite parts of these mornings.
Nature doesn’t care about my plans.
She has her own agenda.
And almost every time…
It’s better than mine.
Naturally.
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