A Splendid Kentucky Indian Summer October: How A Small Little Creek Salvaged My Photography

 I had nothing better to do. The weather was splendidly fine and the late October Kentucky sky shined bright and blue. A chill filled the air early on, but I knew by mid-morning the day would turn Indian Summer warm. About 9:00 AM I scurried around and grabbed my new-to-me Sony A77 camera, an upgrade from my now older and defunct A65. With the Sigma 18mm - 50mm f/2.8 lens attached I made sure the polarizer looked clean and dust free. A quick spin and all was ready. I grabbed my venerable Minolta 75-300mm lens, just in case. Didn't plan on using it, but you never know. Rule is, if I didn't bring it, I'd have wished I did, but by taking it, it was pretty well a done deal I would not use it. A fresh battery tucked into a shirt pocket along with a pair of readers...and oh yeah...can't forget the tripod. I settled for the smallish, but sturdy AFaith one. A quick reformat of the card and I was ready to go.

Fall in Kentucky lingers way to long. Seems it just holds off, and holds off, showing only tantalizing hints of what is to come. Then almost like magic, someone waves an invisible wand and overnight the fields and woods are adorned in colors that rival anyplace you might imagine. Just three days before only a few trees showed any kind of significant color. This morning, the fall season colors exploded across the landscape including my backyard. But, I was heading to another location, A little creek known as Rhoden Creek. It's a place I frequent from time to time for I know if I catch it just right..well, just maybe there might be a photo or two in there.

The old Jeep purred on down the road passing flowing colors adorning the hills and valleys that is eastern Warren County, and western Allen County. I needed a light windbreaker for the air was still cool especially with the doors off the Jeep. The winding road passed old buildings and barns moving up and over shallow hills and along side fence rows. I took a shortcut inside Scottsville and came out on the other side of town and continued on. Before long me and the old Jeep took a left turn off the mainroad and drove on for another mile or so and took another left turn to eventually cross a low-water bridge. I parked on the other side. 

The creek flowed low but steady and danced lively to its own rhythm across a gravel bottom and slippery flat rocks. I walked across the bridge to the backside and stepped onto the gravel bank. Sometimes I simply time it right, and today it felt right. I knew something photographic would come from this. The creek was lined on one side by a row of trees glowing with fresh fall colors. Behind them a two maybe three acre field spread a gap between the creek and a shallow hillside also speckled with reds and yellows. On the other side of the creek a shallow hill rolled upward forming a tilted wall. Lined with a woodland, its sides shouted with authentic Kentucky color.

Countless fallen leaves already lined the creek and a small break line offered a tiny brook level waterfall whose motion generated the classic small creek music. With each lift of the breeze, hundreds of leaves filtered across the opening, and with each passing of moments, I was filled with the satisfying sense of being there. The water, clear and clean, rolled along near my feet. So much to see, so many angles and compositions to choose from, I found it difficult to decide where to start. I just allowed my instincts to take charge.

Visualizing a composition is one of the most difficult things for a photographer to master. Sometimes Nature all but does it for you. Even so, you gotta evaluate the sun angle, compose the frame, set the exposure, adjust the polarizer, move forward, backward, kneel lower or stand higher. But eventually, you press the shutter. I am thankful I started in photography way back in the film days. Doing so forced me to observe more intimately the landscape and composition, and that alone has contributed to my, most of the time, seeing the composition before I press the shutter. One thing I've learned over the years; There is more to capturing Fall colors than simply pointing your camera toward a pretty tree. You must capture the emotion, and express why this moment, this location, this instant of light is important. You do that by allowing the light to illuminate the story. You are the writer, director, and producer of this story and it is your vision that is captured. 

 At the first image, something began to work. Like a machine, I moved to the left, then right, then back, then forward. With each shot, the compositions matured. Not sure how many images I managed that morning, but oddly enough, when I looked more closely at the result, the first few were the ones that stood out. First impressions almost always work that way.

The sun climbed a bit too high in the sky and the light within that channel began to grow much too harsh. By the time I arrived back home, I could not wait to take a look at the results. It's not often an image I take will generate the kind of response I felt. Usually it's something like...well, this one is pretty good, or, I can maybe salvage these two. The first couple of images I brought up on the screen caused me to verbally exclaimed, "Whoa...Oh my."

A Kentucky Indian Summer October day and a small little Kentucky creek salvaged my photography for the season. I had indeed grown complacent and uninspired, but, light has the ability to change your perspective and that in turn challenges your vision.  

Until the Last Moment of Light: When Nature Says "Here I am..."

Difficult it is and sometimes downright hard it is to sit still inside a tight fitting, makeshift photo blind for several hours waiting for an opportunity to photograph a wild animal, Kentucky Whitetail Deer in particular. Your mind tends to drift, your back starts to ache, your rear-end starts to cramp, and those are the lesser of the uncomfortable symptoms. The question 'Will they even show up' crosses your mind a dozen then two dozen times. You hope they will. You've seen them in this field countless times. Their patterns vary on each visit, but, yeah, they'll most likely show up, eventually.

Problem is; I've already taken hundreds of ordinary images of them, only a few of which really separate themselves from the others. That is what I am seeking for this season-long project, and going forward; photographs that reside outside the routine. An image that captures not only the animal behavior, but one showing where it lives. Much of that depends on the deer of course. Sometimes they cooperate, most times they do not. Their senses often spoil your attempts. Even so, the challenge is what drives you, keeps you sitting there with a cramping back and stiff legs waiting for the moment to present itself. 

The afternoon drifts away toward evening and the angles of light begin to cast shadows through the tangle of woodlands that mark the perimeter of the recently harvested cornfield. The fall season colors are but a few days away from busting out. Already chilly, with some color growing across the landscape, you relish nature's transitional moments. Not quite there yet, but headed in that direction. It's easy to get distracted maybe even nod off as the warmth of Indian Summer surrounds you, but then your leg cramps and you gotta stretch it out. Not so easily done sitting inside a burlap and stick blind barely large enough to accommodate your frame, a tripod, and your camera. 

Even when hidden behind the camouflaged burlap, movements can still alert a whitetail. Their hearing and eyesight honed precisely into a keen sharpness by nature's way of survival. Even a slight shift of the gentle breeze will betray you...all of a sudden you hear it, that loud, sharp, snorting bleat of an alert doe whose nose told her an intruder is close by.  A few moments before and you felt like they would never show themselves. Now, they detected you before you even knew they were there.

You see it move to your right; not where you expected, angled away just enough so your camera cannot rotate that far without moving the entire contraption, and that would make a far to obvious commotion. So, you wait. You dare not move. She can't see you, so calms down and begins to move, head down occasionally checking the breeze for intruder scent. Suddenly, there are now three, then five. They move so silently in spite of the dry conditions.  Finally, you are able to fire off a few quick photos. They hear the soft wisk of the shutter and instantly look up all eyes locked onto where you are. They cannot possibly see you inside the blind, but they instinctively know something is not quite right. They grow agitated. Stomp the ground, snort twice, then a third time, and that subtle gentle breeze shifts ever so slightly again, they twitch, raise their tails, and bolt across the field. They run maybe two hundred yards before stopping, turn back to give you one more look of contempt before they calm down enough to begin feeding again.

By this time, the sun has settled to just above the horizon and a bit of a chill runs down the back of your exposed neck, but you don't really feel it, locked onto the moment. Maybe another five minutes of shooting light left, but the best light is now. The does are standing in the gray of cast shadows. Soft, golden, mid-October light floods the far treeline, the horizon gray shadow ever so steady, creeps across the field to the base of the woodlands.

More movement. Two, three more does emerge from the shadows across the field and meander toward the fading light. Another two minutes and the good light will end. One of them saunters to the edge of the shadowed area, hesitates, then moves across a last remnant beam of sunlight that sets her aglow as she stands beneath overhanging limbs. You focus the camera lens peering through isolated grasses in the field and lock onto her. One more step...Click.  A moment later, the light show comes to an end, and everything turns a blue gray. 

Several hours of waiting, anticipating, not knowing for sure if there would even be an opportunity to photograph these amazing creatures in their habitat. You never know for sure what will happen, how the light will interact with the deer, but, you hang on, and wait...wait...until the last moment of light...when Nature says "Here I am."

When Patience Pays Off: Photographing a Trophy Kentucky Deer

 Photographing wildlife can often be a most difficult objective for a photographer. Doing so successfully requires a persistent degree of patience. 

Kentucky whitetail deer are some of the most illusive and cunning of wildlife. With a keen sense of hearing, sharp as hawks eyesight, and an uncanny sense of smell, they are well equipped to detect intruders into their domain. One whiff of a human, and they are gone before you ever see them. A careless movement can catch their attention in a flash. One misstep, a crackle of dry leaves for example, can alert them to your presence. They rarely hesitate if any sign of danger is present and will bolt in a moment when their concern of safety overrides their better part of valor. So, getting into position to photograph truly wild whitetail deer is a daunting task even for a seasoned hunter...or photographer. Doing so for either requires a solid working knowledge of their habits and their habitat.

For many years I hunted those magnificent animals. Those years were some of the most rewarding and satisfying of adventures I've managed to pursue and they generated some of the most enduring memories. In more recent times, I've altered my approach and today I hunt mostly with the camera. But the skills gained as a hunter translate well into pursuing wildlife with a camera. In some ways, hunting with a camera is more difficult because to capture those truly amazing images, one must get reasonably close to your subject or recognize the beauty of an environmental portrait taken from some distance. Accomplishing either requires one to develop a keen sense of patience and the willingness to try again and again...and again. Doing so will over time result in success.

This past week saw the promise of a new season dawning upon the landscape, a season jump started by chilly temperatures and blustery winds. When the cornfields turn brown and the woodland trees begin to find their new adornment of color, the moment signals it's time to search for those amazing whitetail deer.  A few exploratory hikes around the cornfields and into the nearby woods revealed several scrapes and rubs...large rubs...in the area; a good indication the deer are approaching their rutting season, and at least one trophy sized deer was frequenting the area. I've seen several good ones the past few years, a few of which certainly must have matured into amazing adult animals. 

For several days I sat inside a patch of woods just behind a pond that anchors the upper end of one of the cornfields. Conditions were rough with stiff breezes whipping my scent all through the woods causing the doe deer to become quite jumpy. 

The first three afternoons I managed to see a few does, take a few so-so photos, but no bucks, but I did know they were around because of the abundance of sign scattered throughout the woods. 

The standing corn crop was finally harvested mid-week so I gave the deer a break for a day, but headed out the next afternoon. By this time, the movement habits of the deer using that patch of woods became more evident and I positioned myself in a location where I had a commanding view of a wide, mostly clear path that circumnavigated this few acres of woods. The wind was light and in my favor this time coming from the north east, just about perfect for this location. Fully camouflaged and with my 50-500mm lens attached to my camera secured to a tripod, I sat in a strategic spot demanding a good view of the open lane. I leaned up against a tree and made myself comfortable and waited.  Waiting is most difficult, and the anticipation associated with waiting can often be overwhelming. That is when other values come into play, when simply being in the woods is reward enough. Even so, your senses tune into every sound, every movement, even a single leaf floating down catches your eye. A distant squirrel shakes his tail and your eye instantly locks on. A woodpecker hammers an old dead but still standing tree. Sights. Sounds. Movements. All play out their roll across the woods.

Movement is what you look for, what you tune your eye to seek out. Even the faintest of motions causes your eyes to shift. Movement is also what you avoid doing for even the slightest of motions can catch the eye of a deer you may not know is there. I purposely turn my head with a slow arch, shifting my eyes, left and right, keep my hand movements to a minimum, and sit behind my tripod and camera which helps to break up my profile.

Not much happened for the first hour and half; a couple of squirrels, a few noisy birds, and not much else stirred. About 3:30 or so, I caught sight of some movement deep into the thick woods. Just a flash here and there, no details, could not make out what it was...then I saw the white flash from a deer's hind quarters as the deer passed across a narrow gap in the trees as the deer meandered through the woods. I suspected it would cross the cleared pathway in a few moments and indeed it did. When it first poked its head out from the tangled woodlands about forty yards from where I sat, my heart skipped a beat, or two, as this was no ordinary deer or one of the many does in the area. This guy was a trophy buck with a large set of antlers spreading high and wide. He was beautiful!

For the next five minutes I could not remember taking a breath. He moved so quickly, and stealthily, I failed to capture a photograph as he crossed the path. A few moments later, he reappeared and I managed a few quick shots before he again entered the thick woods. I could see him crossing through the clutter of trees then lost sight of him. A few moments later, there he was again reentering the open path and angled across again a bit further down. I managed a couple more rapid fire shots. The lighting was difficult as a bright sun cast hotspots all across the open pathway making the exposure setting difficult. Normally I shoot in manual mode and use auto focus, but the lighting was so contrasty it was difficult to obtain a good exposure. I quickly shifted into Aperture Priority, bumped my ISO up to 1600, and pushed the exposure compensation to a + 1/3 stop to allow for the dark areas without overexposing the brighter areas. I also switched to manual focus as there was just enough junk between me and the deer to confuse the autofocus. I had to work quickly relying on years of experience with that camera and lens to instinctively make the correct settings.

My trophy buck disappeared again, but within a few minutes reappeared, only this time he was moving toward me. Unknown to me at the moment, several does had also come on the scene and he locked on to them moving with a determined drive toward where they were, sniffing and licking the air. From this behavior, I'm sure he was close to being in full rut as were the does.

Over the next few minutes I watched as best as I could the seven or eight does meander through the woods and into the field followed closely by my trophy. Problem was, by then I was out of position and I had to shoot photos through the trees. 

After they meandered out into the field, I slowly stood and tried to move as quietly as I could to better position myself...then...buck number two showed up. At first I thought it was the same one, could have been, but i never saw him circle around and reenter the woods. This new buck's rack was also tall and wide, but consisted of thinner tines, and he was also thinner. The first buck's neck was already starting to swell because of the surge of testosterone starting to build within his system. This second deer was indeed thinner, but I was not able to obtain a good photo of him, just a single shot through a tangle of trees. He was also much more leary as he locked onto some of my movement and darted off, followed by several of the does.

I waited for a short time before deciding to backtrack and circle around the outer edge of the woods and exit the area hoping not to spook the deer. On my way out, I knew within my camera resided some good photos of a magnificent deer. Someday soon, I'd try again, but for now I'd give them time to re-settle down into their undisturbed routine.

Photographing a trophy whitetail deer requires patience, skill, and a good degree of luck. On this day, all three fell into place and I managed to witness one of nature's enduring sagas. Seeing a trophy buck in the wild is a rare event, and trophy bucks grow to that size for a reason; they are smart and stay out of trouble. Being there with a camera close enough to take his portrait is truly a magical time, a reward when patience paid off.