An unexpected adventure in romance, rivalry, and really bad timing at Sachuest Point National Wildlife Refuge.
I almost got run over by a love-struck deer.
Actually, several.
And judging by the size of their antlers, I wasn’t particularly interested in discussing the matter with any of them.
Welcome to November at Sachuest Point National Wildlife Refuge.
Where love is in the air.
Testosterone is through the roof.
And the local bachelors have apparently lost their minds.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It all started with a Bald Eagle.
My first Bald Eagle sighting at Sachuest Point!
There it was, perched majestically on a huge rock outcropping along the coastline.
A magnificent sight.
A spectacular photographic opportunity.
And I was determined to get there before it flew off.
I headed toward a shoreline access point with dispatch.
Forty pounds of photographic equipment.
Two cameras.
Telephoto lenses.
A tripod.
And one very excited photographer.
What could possibly go wrong?
Well.
Apparently, everything.
I rounded a corner.
And stopped dead in my tracks.
There stood a magnificent ten-point buck.
Looking directly at me.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
Neither of us said a word.
Which, frankly, was probably a good thing.
Now, under ordinary circumstances, photographing a mature buck at Sachuest can be quite a challenge.
They’re masters of concealment.
You might catch a glimpse of an ear.
A nose.
Perhaps a pair of antlers sticking out of the brush.
And then they’re gone.
Not this fellow.
He was standing there like he’d been expecting me.
In one sweeping motion, I opened the tripod, raised the camera, and started shooting.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Beautiful!
I had my photographs.
Time to find that eagle.
So I walked another twenty feet.
And the buck just stood there.
Watching me.
Hmm.
That’s unusual.
Then I noticed movement in the brush.
Another buck!
An eight-pointer!
Now, finding two mature bucks in the same area is exciting enough.
But something was different.
Neither seemed particularly concerned about me.
And then it dawned on me.
THE RUT!
For those unfamiliar with the romantic lives of White-tailed Deer, the rut is their annual breeding season.
In Rhode Island, it generally peaks in November.
During this extraordinary period, bucks undergo dramatic behavioral changes driven by hormones and the presence of receptive does.
They travel more.
Eat less.
Chase females.
Compete with rivals.
And occasionally engage in spectacular antler-to-antler battles to establish dominance.
Think of it as a dating competition.
Except everyone has antlers.
Nobody has reservations.
And the contestants are carrying their weapons on their heads.
Nature is remarkable.
And occasionally ridiculous.
Back to my adventure.
Suddenly, a doe bounded onto the path.
She paused just long enough to make an impression.
Then disappeared into the brush on the opposite side.
Both bucks sprang into action.
Heads up.
Ears forward.
Noses working overtime.
They were searching frantically.
Apparently, someone had just walked into the singles bar and turned every head in the room.
Now, here’s something fascinating.
A buck’s sense of smell is extraordinarily sensitive. During the rut, bucks use scent to locate does approaching estrus, the brief period when they’re receptive to breeding.
They may follow scent trails for considerable distances.
And when a receptive doe is nearby, a buck can become so preoccupied with pursuing her that his usual caution seems to evaporate.
Which explains why these fellows were paying remarkably little attention to the photographer standing nearby.
Then another doe came galloping through.
Full speed.
Across the opening.
Gone!
Good grief!
I turned and spotted another doe standing perfectly still in the vegetation.
She looked directly at me.
I could almost hear her whispering.
“Shhhhh. Don’t tell them I’m here.”
My lips are sealed, sweetheart.
I’m just the photographer.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Because suddenly I noticed movement behind me.
Another buck.
A six-pointer!
Oh, wonderful.
Now there were three bucks, multiple does, and one increasingly nervous photographer.
Waiter! Check, please!
Here’s something worth remembering.
During the rut, bucks can become unpredictable. Their attention is often focused on finding mates or challenging rivals, not avoiding people.
And a mature White-tailed Deer is no lightweight.
An adult buck can weigh well over 150 pounds, and some are considerably heavier.
Add speed, sharp hooves, and a substantial rack of antlers.
You have an animal that deserves plenty of respect.
Especially when he’s distracted by romance.
I wasn’t about to get between a buck and a doe.
Or two bucks.
Or three.
For that matter, I wasn’t particularly interested in being anywhere near the center of this romantic traffic jam.
So I began looking for a sensible way out.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Trying not to draw attention.
Which brings me to one of the great ironies of wildlife photography.
For years, I’ve invested in increasingly powerful telephoto lenses.
Longer reach.
Greater magnification.
The ability to photograph wildlife from a respectful distance.
And here I was.
Surrounded by deer.
TOO CLOSE TO PHOTOGRAPH THEM!
Seriously!
I had telephoto lenses mounted on both cameras.
And some of these animals were so close that I couldn’t fit them into the frame.
Do you have any idea how rarely that happens?
I spend countless hours wishing wildlife would come closer.
Just a little closer.
Another ten feet.
Maybe five.
Please?
And now?
BACK UP!
I NEED SOME ROOM!
I could practically count the hairs in their ears.
My adrenaline was pumping.
My heart was racing.
And I was trying to decide whether I was witnessing one of the most extraordinary wildlife encounters of my life or auditioning for a supporting role in a deer stampede.
Probably both.
But amid the excitement, there was something genuinely wonderful happening.
I was witnessing nature on its own terms.
No fences.
No staged encounters.
No guarantees.
Just wild animals responding to instincts that have shaped their lives for thousands of generations.
The bucks were magnificent.
Their antlers caught the warm November sunlight.
Their muscular bodies moved through the golden grasses.
Their dark eyes seemed to study everything around them, even as their attention remained fixed on the does.
And those does?
They were quite capable of keeping everyone guessing.
There was beauty in the chaos.
Awe in the unpredictability.
And an extraordinary sense of privilege in being there to witness it.
That’s what makes Sachuest Point National Wildlife Refuge so special.
It’s not a zoo.
It’s not a theme park.
It’s a living, breathing coastal wilderness where the next turn in the trail can change your entire morning.
One moment you’re admiring the Atlantic Ocean.
The next you’re watching a Northern Harrier glide over the grasslands.
Perhaps a Harlequin Duck is riding the surf among the rocks.
A songbird appears in the goldenrod.
Or a deer lifts its head from the brush and looks directly into your soul.
And sometimes?
You stumble into a full-blown romantic comedy starring three bucks and a supporting cast of does.
There’s no admission charge for the show.
Although I would strongly recommend keeping a respectful distance from the performers.
And never approach, crowd, or block a deer, especially during the rut.
That’s their world.
We’re fortunate to be visitors.
Eventually, I managed to extricate myself from the festivities.
My cameras were full of photographs.
My pulse was finally returning to normal.
And I was wearing a smile that probably made me look slightly deranged.
What a morning!
What an extraordinary place!
If you’ve never visited Sachuest Point, put it on your list.
Better yet, move it to the top.
Walk its trails.
Breathe the ocean air.
Watch the changing light dance across the coastal vegetation.
Bring binoculars.
Bring a camera.
Bring someone you love.
Or come alone and discover how wonderfully restorative solitude can be.
You never know what you’ll encounter.
And that’s precisely the magic.
As for me?
I’ll never forget the morning I found myself in the middle of a…
Ménage à deer.
Oh!
Wait a minute.
Wasn’t I doing something before all this happened?
Something important?
Something with feathers?
OH, RIGHT!
THE BALD EAGLE!
Well.
That’s tomorrow’s Narragraphy.
Because apparently, at Sachuest Point, even the best-laid plans can get…
Stuck in a rut.
And I loved every minute of it.
Naturally.
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