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The Doe

by Mark Turner

Backpacking trips often include solitary excursions away from the rest of the group. This story is of such a side trip one evening in early July. It happened in Allegheny National Forest in Pennsylvania, but it could have been nearly any open woods.

We arrived at our campsite near Johnnycake Run early on a pleasant July afternoon. The second-growth hardwood forest was maturing and the woods had an open and embracing feeling to them. After making camp I started up a side creek to explore the woods away from the trail. My companions went their own separate ways so we each were alone with our thoughts and with the forest.

I walked up the gentle slope along the tiny creek, treading softly and slowly to avoid the many clumps of ferns and Indian Pipe blooming in the open woods. The sun danced in and out among the clouds, making for ever-changing light filtering through the oaks and maples.

At first, there didn't seem to be much animal life, but a moment's pause and quiet observation were all that were necessary to discover many signs of the creatures who make the forest their home. From all around came the sounds of birds, hiding unseen among the leaves. I wished I knew their songs so I could put a name with their beautiful singing.

I scanned the woods with my eyes. Up the hill on a flatter, grassy area, was that something moving? I concentrated on the spot. Were those deer walking slowly around the hill? I wasn't positive, but I decided to go have a look. I crossed the nearly-dry stream bed and then followed it up to the grassy flat. The deer were gone, as I was sure they would be, but the area was pleasant, so I kept walking.

Off to my right on the hill I saw another movement. I looked closer and saw an animal that looked to be about twice the size of a house cat, with long reddish-brown fur, and a long bushy tail of the same color. I only saw it from the back as it ran the other way, but it appeared to be a red fox. It was the first time I had seen one in the wild, and it sent a spine-tingling thrill running through my body.

The deer were probably still above me on the hill, so I kept walking quietly, hoping to come close to them. My eyes played tricks on me as I looked at a rock with a shadow underneath. It appeared the same color as the fox and I thought it was another one at the mouth of its den. I was almost afraid to go look, but then the light changed and I saw that it was just a rock.

From the rock I saw the deer again -- three this time, two bucks and a doe, all good-sized and very healthy. I wanted to photograph them, so I changed to my long lens and sighted in on one buck, partially hidden behind the trees. I made an exposure and then started trying to approach them.

The lead deer would call out to the others as I got too close for their comfort, and then all three would walk off up the hill. This happened three times, the last at a point where the hill became steeper. Then they took off deeper into the forest and I lost sight of them.

I thought that if I waited quietly they might come back down to browse on the lush grass on the forest floor. In the meantime I spotted a bright orange fungus growing out of the side of a fallen log, so I went to work photographing the Laetiporus sulphureus with my macro lens.

While laying on the ground I heard the call of the deer again. I looked up the hill and saw the doe watching me through the trees. I thought she was curious about this strange two-legged creature prostrate on the forest floor. She stood and watched until I finished photographing the fungus. But when I put the long lens back on to try to take her portrait, she answered the call of the buck from around the hill and bounded away. I took a seat on a convenient rock and began to write, still feeling that the deer would return.

I neither saw nor heard them while writing the first three pages in my notebook (about to here), but just before beginning this page I heard the cries again. Then I heard footsteps and there was the doe again, standing about 50 meters up the hill, watching me. She took three steps toward me, turned and walked slowly away along the contour of the hill to my right. A few minutes later she came back toward me, a little lower on the hillside, and approached closer than before. The late afternoon air was nearly calm, with only a very light breeze in the trees. The only sounds came from a few birds chirping in the distance. I wondered if the doe was casing me out, because she gradually came closer, making turns back and forth across the hill. I wanted to see how close she would come, so I decided to sit still and watch and write.

The light played on her face as the leaves moved softly in the gentle wind. The doe circled around to my right, taking a few steps, then stopping and waiting. She looked directly into my eyes and I stared back. Then she walked slowly around the hill to my left, stopping and stamping her foreleg in the leaves as if she was trying to draw a reaction out of me.

On the next trip to the right she reached up to munch a few maple leaves. Descending the hillside a little more, she started browsing the grass again, pausing once to get a fly off her back. After a while the doe walked slowly away on the contour of the hillside, stopping every few steps to look back at me and to eat more grass. I lost sight of her behind a large oak as she cut a wide circle around me and headed down the hill. We had been at peace with each other at the end of the day in her forest home.

I'd been following and watching for two hours when my reverent peace is been broken by human voices somewhere down below me. It was time to return to camp and think about dinner. It was 7:00 p.m.

© 1995 Mark Turner