The Buck Stopped Here

Despite all the cautions for a deer in the wild, Halibut Point State Park has been a hospitable  home this year for a doe and her fawn who have become increasingly comfortable with human encounters.

Speculation naturally arises as to the whereabouts of the fawn's father. Is he a visiting swain only during rutting season? Does he leave his offspring to be single-parented through the trials of youth and coyotes? Or is he around, invisible, masterful, protective, enabling?

Early last month, damage to tree bark at shoulder height confirmed that at least one antler-rubbing males is in the area. It's mating season.

The other day the doe loped out of the woods and crossed Gaffield Avenue into the meadow. I waited with camera ready, in Big Sit mode.

Soon a very differently proportioned deer emerged onto the road to size me up. I was looking eye-to-eye at an eight-point buck. It scrutinized me and my equipment. Inborn caution made it wary of a man squinting through a scope.

The doe waited at the far side of the meadow. In these uncertain circumstances the buck crossed the field to join her, white-tailed signal fully erect.

It turned to face me again, it's masculinity on full display, senses and limbs quivering. Its attention focused completely on decisions of life and death importance.

For just a moment the buck stopped here. Its eyes surveyed the world around it. They gave a lens into the beast and its ancient lineage. Those dark pools looked variously black, or bronze, or purple, or verdigris.  I stared into their intelligence and life force.