deer

Mammal Month

| Rebecca Gibson

What a month! It’s usually birds that take up most of my camera’s memory card, but over the past few weeks I’ve been lucky enough to get some fantastic mammal sightings, including the second rarest carnivore in Britain…

Badger

Recently I visited a friend’s private hide. I arrived at 2:30pm and enjoyed squirrels, siskins and jays. Seven hours later, I glanced up and saw this badger approaching the clearing. You know that jolt in your chest when you see something absolutely incredible and rush to get your camera ready but your hands seem to move at half speed? That was me. Luckily this little one was in a meandering mood and took its time snuffling along the grass towards me. Obviously I kept as quiet and still as I could (despite the manic joy) but it still glanced over at me. There’s no fooling wildlife!

Roe deer

Roe deer prefer the seclusion and shelter of trees. Although they meander into open fields, they rarely stray far from the woodland edge. They are associated with Cernunnos, a Celtic horned god of wild animals and fertility. Deer were thought to have the power to pass to and from the Otherworld! Their antlers, shed each year, represent rebirth and rejuvenation. I saw this gorgeous buck from the same hide as the badger, which allowed me to get such intimate views. For me they’re one of Britain’s most magical creatures.

Rabbit

I’d been filming seals hauled out on the beach but there were some very grumbly clouds heading my way so I quickly packed up and hurried back to the car. Just beyond the sand was a dense area of gorse so as I walked I kept an eye out for stonechats and linnets. But instead I spotted a rabbit feeding out in the open. I was just marvelling over how darn cute he or she was when something caught my eye and this bundle of perfection appeared at the mouth of the warren. I’ve never seen a baby rabbit before and it was just as eye wateringly cute as I imagined. As a result of me stopping to take these photos I got caught in an absolute downpour before I made it back to the car, but getting soggy was totally worth it.

Red squirrel

I haven’t posted a squirrel photo since January so this is way overdue! I’d just enjoyed a swelteringly hot day in the Cairngorms. Aviemore was swarming with tourists so I made a hasty retreat back home. On the way I popped into my all-time favourite forest. It’s the sort of place you can get hopelessly and wonderfully lost in. I was tired and hungry after a long day but I thought I’d have a quick wander in case I spotted a squirrel. I walked for less than five minutes before I heard a crunching to my left and turned to see this little cutie at eye level, positively glowing in the sun. It was one of those right place right time moments.

Pine marten

Although I wish I could open my window and draw in all the animals with my angelic singing (while a pie cools on the windowsill), I’m not actually Snow White and the real world isn’t like that. For certain creatures, a little more effort has to be put in and a hide is the only way to go!
The pine marten belongs to the mustelid family with stoats, weasels and otters. They’re Britain’s second rarest carnivore after the Scottish wildcat, making them (in my view) as special as unicorns. I’ve been lucky enough to see them twice in the past, but both times were in the dark so photos were impossible.
Recently I achieved a huge goal of mine and got my first images of a pine marten! Despite their leisurely-looking lollop, these cat-sized animals shift at a fair pace. Luckily I managed to catch this lovely female running straight towards the hide.

Since posting this photo on Instagram, I was approached by Countryfile who then shared it on their account! I was incredibly chuffed.

The Rut

| Rebecca Gibson

For years it’s been a dream of mine to watch Scottish red deer in the autumn so last week my boyfriend Steve and I journeyed to the west coast to find some. We saw deer every day but they were often on the peaks of the hills and too far away for photos. Even if the sights weren’t great, the sounds were fantastic. At night in the chalet I’d pause during dinner after hearing a faint mooing sound from outside. It wasn’t cows but the bellowing of breeding stags on the hill across the loch, working hard to protect their own harems of hinds or attempting to steal someone else’s. They bellowed long into the early hours and several times I woke up disorientated, wondering if I had dreamt it.

A distant hind on the crest of the hill.

On the last full day of the trip after yet more distant silhouettes on the horizon we turned around and started driving back to the house, just about ready to accept defeat. In an almost cliched “nick of time” moment Steve suddenly spotted a stag with his harem in a field not far from the road. Naturally there was nowhere to pull over so we ditched the car in a layby, walked back up the road and crawled the last few metres on our bellies to avoid scaring the deer.

A stag bellows in front of his harem of hinds

After several minutes of crawling I discovered that my hands were covered in roughly a dozen ticks, all tiny and luckily unattached. However, the ticks, mud and poo were all worth it for the views. The stag in the field below was in full rut mode, bellowing every minute or so and chasing the hinds around. None succumbed to his advances but he persevered, even jumping the hilariously named “deer proof fence” with ease. As well as the larger stag, there were also several younger stags feeding on the hill at eye level with us. They stared us down every time we shifted position but seemed content to carry on as normal and let us watch.

After several days of hearing deer without seeing many, getting to spend a couple of hours being completely surrounded by them was the perfect way to end our trip. Deer are one of those Marmite animals for some people, but I think they’re exceptionally special and I relish every encounter I have with them.

Day and Night in the Forest

| Rebecca Gibson
IMG_4699-2

With all the dolphin excitement recently, I’ve been sticking closely to the shore on my walks and neglecting the forest. I’ve always been worried that I’ll walk for miles and then get an alert saying there are leaping whales in the complete opposite direction.

But, the other day I decided to take a chance and walk the dog in the forest for a change. Within five minutes, I saw a flash of rosy red and my heart did the familiar jolt that happens whenever I see something unexpected. And this was certainly unexpected: a pair of bullfinches not twenty feet away from me.

I’ve been trying to get a decent photo of a bullfinch for years. They’re one of my favourite birds but I’ve only seen them a handful of times. On every occasion they’ve either kept their backs to me or been concealed behind branches. I’ve taken a few blurry shots that prove they were there, but they’ve never been good enough to post. Now I was being treated with both male and female. While the male is more conventionally striking, I find the dusty brown plumage of the female just as beautiful. I just love their short, stubby bills, which are perfect for cracking hard seeds.

During the entire encounter my dog was amusing herself elsewhere, completely indifferent to my excitement. I stayed with the bullfinches as they hopped around logs and fluttered up to low branches. I could have sat and watched them for hours, but after a while I left them in peace.

IMG_4692

Still buzzing from my sighting later that day, I decided to go back to the forest for an evening walk. There would be fewer humans and hopefully more animals to see. Roe deer were another of my favourites and a few weeks ago I saw a flash of brown fur as a doe pelted past me. I was keen to get a good photo of one – they were another animal that I’d never managed to get a proper glimpse of. So, despite the warm evening I wrapped up and headed out again. The sun wouldn’t be setting until 10pm so I had plenty of daylight left. In fact, it was prime golden hour and the broom – a shrub similar to gorse but without the spines – was glittering.

IMG_4780

It seemed I hadn’t run out of good luck. After walking for less five minutes I saw movement through the trees. Four of the skinny saplings weren’t trees at all but slender brown legs. I froze where I was, conscious of every snappable twig by my feet. She was moving slowly, leisurely. I dared myself to tread up a grassy mound for a slightly higher viewpoint. There was so much dense ground foliage that I couldn’t see her very well. She headed to my left, straight towards a clearing between two columns of trees where I’d be able to see her perfectly. I lifted my camera slowly to my face and waited. When the moment came, the click of the first photo caught her attention and she turned to face me. For about ten seconds we stared at one another. Her pricked ears were huge satellite dishes on an otherwise skinny face, punctuated by large eyes and the characteristic roe moustache. The light was fading and I stretched to a slightly higher ISO than I would have liked. I knew the images were going to be a little grainy, but my deer was posing magnificently.

Eventually, human voices cut through my moment (of all the 1700 acres they could have chosen!) and the deer darted back the way she’d come. With such a slow shutter speed I had no hope of capturing her at that pace, so I just watched her springy legs disappear into the trees.

IMG_4768

Inspired by such an early sighting, I pressed deeper into the woods, keeping my ears open for any unusual sounds that I wouldn’t hear during the day. The fantastical idea of pine martens popped into my mind but I pushed it away. To see a wild pine marten on my first evening forest walk would something close to miraculous. But a fox or perhaps an owl might be more likely, so I stayed as quiet as I could and did my best to avoid noisy leaf litter, although my stealth skills left a lot to be desired.

It’s astonishing how soothing a forest can be, if you let yourself align to its peace and quiet. I regularly stopped to listen to the birds, which at 9pm were still going strong. Far off, a blackbird perched on an overhead wire. If I closed my eyes, I could easily have been sat on my garden porch in Hertfordshire. A blackbird used to sing in the holly tree every evening without fail, and the sound became a firm part of my childhood. Elsewhere in the forest tonight was a chaffinch’s downward running tune, a wren’s bolstering trill and a chiffchaff whistling its name. I took recordings on my phone of all the assembled voices.

I walked and sat in the forest for three hours, until eventually at 10:15pm I began to feel the chill. Even so, the light was close to what it had been when I arrived, just without the bright sun – everything was lit with a milky glow that carried on long into the night. Moray is situated on the same latitude line as Gothenburgh in Sweden so during the summer months, the days last much longer and nothing goes completely dark. It’s a phenomenon I haven’t gotten used to yet. Many nights recently I’ve gone to bed and it’s still been light outside.

IMG_1699
Taken at 10:17pm

I decided to call it a night. Looping back the way I’d come, I headed down the straight track that was lined on both sides by thick clouds of broom. I glanced briefly through a gap in the foliage and saw a face. Freezing, I stepped slowly back and came eye to eye with a male roe deer. My fingers itched for my camera, but there was no real chance of getting a photo. I could barely make him out with the naked eye. Most of his body was shrouded in shadows cast by the trees, but his face and antlers were dimly lit enough to spot. Again, we stood eyeing each other for a few moments before he took off, bounding down the ditch and up again. Then a sharp, gruff bark broke through the trees, which I realised was the deer! I’d never heard their barks before and couldn’t believe how canine they sounded. I wondered now if perhaps I had heard it and just dismissed it as a dog. It was haunting, especially in an ever darkening forest, but I loved it.

When I broke out of the trees and onto the open field, the spell broke. I felt a physical difference between the forest and civilisation. For hours I’d immersed myself in a place where people weren’t the most abundant presence and it was unbelievably refreshing. I decided, during the summer at least, to make my evening forays a regular thing. Daytime walks are good – I’d seen my bullfinches that morning after all – but there’s something far more mysterious and captivating about the night.

The Red Rut

| Rebecca Gibson

As the mornings grow gradually colder, signs of autumn such as emerging fungi, clusters of conkers and grass crunchy with frost can now be seen. A seasonal highlight among wildlife during this colourful season is the deer rut, where red stags and roe bucks compete with each other for the right to breed with hinds and does respectively.

The deer rut is regarded as one of British wildlife’s most impressive spectacles, especially that of the red deer – the UK’s largest land mammal, reaching over one metre at the shoulder. From late September to early November, testosterone-charged stags spend many weeks bellowing at dawn and dusk in an attempt to ward off rivals and also to bring hinds into heat (oestrus). They will often thrash in vegetation, gathering foliage into their antlers to increase their size. A slightly less glamorous habit is wallowing in their own urine. This olfactory stimulus also triggers oestrus among the females.

If two stags are equally matched, they will parallel walk alongside each other to assess size and strength. Stags will also clash antlers and shove each other – the victor of these battles will claim his harem of females and win mating rights. Due to its high risk of injury, physical contact is often only a last resort, carried out towards the end of the rut when the dominant male is near exhaustion. The rut is a huge physical drain for stags and they can lose up to 20% of their body weight as a result of being on constant guard of their harem and therefore not eating or resting.

IMG_1827
A red stag grazing in Woburn Abbey Deer Park earlier this month – in a few weeks’ time his strength and endurance will be put to the test to win a harem of females

If watching red deer during the rutting season, it’s important to take care and keep a respectable distance. Stags can be aggressive and unpredictable, so it is essential not to get too close when watching the event. This autumn I would love to witness my first red deer rut. After my incredible encounter with a roe deer at Tring Park recently, I’m keen to continue learning about these often under-appreciated animals and witness more of their natural behaviour out in the field. While many good spots for deer rutting are in the wilds of Scotland, more accessible locations include Richmond Park, where over six hundred deer can be found.

The usual suspect, work, has meant that I’ve only managed to snatch the occasional walk outside in nature over the past few weeks.  It’s been a while since I’ve been up with the dawn for a wildlife watch and it’s high time I got back into it. For the deer rut especially, it’s the early bird that gets the reward. 

Doe, A Deer

| Rebecca Gibson

The first wildlife I encountered when I crossed over the bridge into Tring Park was the grasshoppers. They were everywhere, their electric buzz sounding from every direction. The pale grass in which they were concealed was jungle-thick with a million places to hide, but a particularly noisy individual drew me in and I knelt on the grass and studied the ground intensely. Suddenly I found the culprit, rubbing its legs together with fierce ferocity. I just managed to take a few quick photos before the insect propelled itself into the air, leaving the leaf bouncing with the impact.

IMG_4112

As stunning as the open parkland was – with butterflies flitting through the grass and red kites wheeling in slow circles overhead – I sought the shade of the forest, already beginning to perspire in another bout of sweltering August heat. The cooling cover of the trees was instantaneous and I made my way up the hill. Sloping overhead from left and right, the trees sighed as a breeze whistled through them. The canopy was a blend of greens, browns, oranges and, where the sun was shining, molten gold. Further up the hill I found a small clearing speckled with sun and shade and set down my blanket. Blue tits churred up in the trees and a distant jay screeched into the silence.

The first activity came from two grey squirrels who came darting at full pelt straight through the clearing. One continued right past me but the second wasn’t nearly so trusting. Hopping onto a nearby tree, the squirrel studied me intensely. After a few moments’ deliberation, it decided to take the long way round and shimmied up the tree in fragmented bursts, pausing every so often to stare again, bushy tail twitching. I’d obviously plonked myself in a squirrel playground and this one was making sure I knew it.

P1000474

After the branches had stopped shivering from the squirrels’ antics, the forest fell silent. My eyes kept catching on long lines of spider web that sparkled each time the sun touched them. They were mesmerising; delicate gossamer threads lifted by the breeze. Behind them, voices permeated through the forest and a group of dog walkers marched past, each dog’s nose on overdrive with all the enticing aromas. Another squirrel foraged close by, exploring the leaf litter in small hops and tail twitches.

Every so often a single leaf would fall, twirling slowly to the ground like confetti. It seemed that no animal had disturbed it, so it must already be the beginning of autumn. Soon, the leaves would explode into warm colours and tumble to the ground before the first frost.

P1000495

There was another rustle to my right and I glanced up, expecting to see another dog walker or jogger. An involuntary gasp escaped and I watched in disbelief as a female roe deer headed straight towards me. She briefly disappeared behind a tree and when she emerged suddenly spotted me, stopping dead in her tracks three metres from where I was sat. For several long moments we stared at each other, both equally incredulous. I willed her not to be scared of me but she was naturally rigid with unease. My camera lay right next to me within easy reach, but I knew the second I moved she would bolt. So I ignored my photographer’s instinct and stayed frozen.

We continued to gaze at each other and I took the opportunity to admire her beautiful face with its large, black nose and literal doe eyes. Eventually she skirted around me, falling back to a safer distance and emerging onto the path, her elegant legs moving in long strides. As she retreated I grabbed my camera and snapped just before she disappeared, although of course my real photo opportunity was long gone.

P1000510
Proof that it happened!

There comes a time when an encounter is worth not getting the picture and I believe that was one of those times (or so I kept telling myself afterwards). Not only would reaching for my camera have startled the deer unfairly, but it would have undoubtedly shortened my time with her. For those few precious seconds I ignored all distractions and savoured the thrill of engaging with a wild animal, especially one as naturally wary as a deer. Experiences like that don’t happen every day and sometimes it’s best to simply be in the moment, even if you pass up the possibility of a killer Instagram post.

Long after the deer had gone I buzzed with excitement. The afternoon was warm but goose bumps had risen on my arms as I sat relishing the encounter. I’d always been captivated by the elegance and composed beauty of deer. In a way I found them near mythical. Despite their supposed abundance I very rarely see them, so to experience one so unexpectedly close and without any warning was exhilarating.

Golden Hour

| Rebecca Gibson

The light was still faint as I drove through fields of green. Cars tore past in a work-fuelled rush, while I cruised leisurely in the opposite direction. My focus was on the forest today – my only objective to walk through trees and listen to wild sounds.

A flash of copper caught my eye and a stunning red kite appeared in the sky, wheeling over the rolling hill as it hunted for unsuspecting mice. I pulled over in a layby – the mud sticky before the sun reached it – and spotted three more circling in large, overlapping loops. Occasionally there was a squabble, and two birds would tussle in the air, cascading downwards and surging back up. It was easy to forget that bounty hunters and egg collectors almost pushed the red kite to extinction only a few decades ago. Now, you could drive down most country roads in Hertfordshire and see at least one. I had never seen four so closely together, and savoured the opportunity to watch such an inspiring conservation success story in the flesh.

Soon the kites drifted further off, reduced to dark flecks in the sky. I left them to their hunt and drove on, arriving at the edge of the forest before anyone else that day. As lovely as dogs were, I didn’t need their boisterous presence this morning. I pulled on hat and gloves and slung camera and binoculars around my neck, then crossed the road towards the woods.

To my delight, the species I’d come to see was already here in abundance. Grazing in a field beside the cows was a herd of fallow deer around seventy-strong. I have always been fascinated by the variation in fallow deer pelts. When I first saw deer at this site, having previously seen photos of white-spotted Bambis, I had thought they were a different species altogether. These fallows were two-tone; dark brown on the top half and a lighter brown on the bottom half, as if they had waded flank-deep in mud. I hastily took to the cover of the trees, creeping as quietly as I could along the fence to get a closer look.

However, these deer were no fools. The next time I stopped and snuck a look through the binoculars, there were several faces turned my way, ears pricked upwards and eyes gazing down the lenses. My cover was blown. I decided to carry on with my approach, heading diagonally and pausing behind each tree. Ears twitched, and after a few more moments of studying me, the herd moved off, first at a trot then at a gentle canter. Among so many deer, there were only two males; as the herd bounded in loose procession across the field I watched two sets of antlers bobbing among dozens of ears.

I continued deeper into the forest, dulling the sound of passing cars with birdsong and wind-rustled leaves. The trees were gently swaying, creaking eerily like squeaky doors. The breeze played tricks on me, sending leaves skittering across my path in a perfect imitation of birds. The thrum of a woodpecker echoed through the cold air. A buzzard called faintly in the distance.

Suddenly there was an invasion of grey squirrels, bounding over the leaf litter and across fallen logs. Two of them darted in a reverse helter-skelter up a thick trunk, their claws scratching wildly in the chase. Another was saving his energy, choosing instead to perch and chew on a shrivelled leaf, twisting and turning it in his tiny hands.

I left the squirrels to their play and headed further along the fence, glancing between the trees to see if the deer might have come back. They hadn’t, but there was a sprinkling of brown birds foraging in the grass, dotted among the cows. For a few moments I couldn’t figure out what they were. Speckled like thrushes, but I’d never seen a large group of thrushes before. Just then the sun appeared, illuminating bright red patches on the birds’ sides. Redwings! My first this winter, and what a show. There were around forty of them, hopping around in the grass. They were too far away for a decent photo, but close enough to watch through the binoculars.

After a while, a startling screech made me jump. The only culprit I could think of was a barn owl, but I was sure they would have finished their night’s hunt by now. I followed the voice further down the trail. It was an ungainly, dinosaur-like squawk that sounded deafening in the tranquil forest. Suddenly, as I was scanning the canopy overhead, a crow-sized bird with white, brown and grey feathers shot out of the leafy cover. I hadn’t seen a jay once when I’d lived in Cumbria, so it had been about four years since my last sighting. I was desperate for a good photo of a jay but this one wouldn’t be cooperating. It darted from tree to tree, pausing only for a few hoarse shrieks before taking to the air again, soon disappearing completely from view. Undoubtedly the prettiest of the corvids, but not the sweetest singer.

Soon the forest was nearly silent again, with just the gusts of wind disturbing the trees. The morning was rolling on, and golden hour had arrived. Between breaks in the cloud, rich yellow light illuminated the trunks, throwing their gnarled, twisted bark into stark relief. It was a glimpse of magic that only lasted until a cloud muffled the sunlight and the forest fell back into shadow.

The cold was beginning to bite my fingertips, and I could already hear the first dog walkers. It was a good time to turn back. I made my way slowly through the woods, past the field and the squirrel tree, looking forward to warming up back home. I was just scanning the trees one last time for any small birds when my eye caught on two more pairs of ears sticking up. The deer were perfectly camouflaged, and after we stood watching each other for a few more moments, the doe stepped out from her hiding place and began picking her way through the foliage. The buck took one more look at me before following her, just as the sun emerged again and made their brown fur shine gold.

There was something undeniably magical about watching deer in a forest. They were elegant and beautiful animals, their habitat just as serene. As I stood watching them stride away out of sight, I felt a strong connection to the forest and the creatures that lived within it. Although I didn’t truly belong here, for just a few short hours I felt at home.

Trip Down Memory Lane

| Rebecca Gibson

There’s nothing more fun than looking through past hard drives and finding old photos. Most of the gems I find are too embarrassing to mention, but I was looking through my photography from years ago and stumbled across a photo story I created for a university application. At the time I was fiercely proud of it, and even now I enjoyed seeing the images again.

The brief stated we needed to tell a story in ten images. I chose to visit Ashridge Park in Hertfordshire and told the story of a morning. I hoped to capture the wildlife awakening and the day beginning. At the time it was midway through winter, so the frost gave me ample photographic opportunities, as well as some other sporting volunteers who came out to say hello.

IMG_5503IMG_5661IMG_5499IMG_5358IMG_5386IMG_5451IMG_5588IMG_5598IMG_5365IMG_5244

Scottish Deer Centre Photoessay

| Rebecca Gibson

Although humans damage the natural world, there is evidence of companionship between mankind and the animals we endanger. In a TED talk (2011), photographer Paul Nicklen described how a leopard seal repeatedly attempted to feed him penguins. This inspired me to research other examples of this behaviour.

Gregory Colbert’s film Ashes and Snow (2002) contradicts everything we believe about wild animals. Elephants and cheetahs become tranquil beings that share their world with humans. I wanted to replicate this unique take on wildlife photography.

I photographed Sika deer – “introduced to Britain… 100 years ago” (Ratcliffe, 1987) – and Fallow deer at the Scottish Deer Centre (SDC), a site of “environmental education and research” (Scottish Deer Centre, 2011). Visitors could hand-feed the deer, so my story is based on this mutual trust.

 

Establishing shot – Large depth of field

IMG_2074

This shot introduces the main subject. The large f-stop meant both deer and the background were in focus. I crouched for a low angle shot. This emphasised the stag’s dominance but he was backlit – the bright sky darkened his features. In response, I dimmed the sky and lightened his head in post-production.  

 

Detail shot – Shallow depth of field

2

A large aperture eliminated distraction from the background and accentuated texture to avoid a dull, two-dimensional shot. With a small f-stop, the shutter speed needed to be slower for correct exposure. A tripod eliminated camera shake, producing a crisp image.

 

Filler shot – Slow depth of field

3

This is the beginning of the interaction. I wanted to portray movement using a slow shutter speed, without over-distorting the subjects. I captured a stationary deer in the foreground, forming contrast between clear and blurred individuals. My shutter speed should have been slightly faster – the stationary deer is still hazy.  

 

Closing shot – Fast shutter speed

4

The feed was the story’s conclusion. I used a fast shutter speed to catch when the deer took the food from the visitor’s hand, and emotion in the subject’s expression. I would choose better composition for this shot – it appears imbalanced with the human subject positioned too far to the left.

Some of my ideas for this project were altered. During winter, the talks I planned to attend at the SDC weren’t running. For the small aperture image, I wanted to photograph visitors watching the tour guide, for intricate detail. However, a close-up of the food seems more fitting to the story, as food was what encouraged the interaction between the deer and the public.

I like the theme I chose, exploring the relationships between animals and humans. I want to find more cases of this interaction being photographed but from a negative viewpoint, such as the damaging relationship African farmers have with leopards killing their livestock. This would develop my research so I can appreciate both sides of the story instead of just the positive argument, which is what I wanted to see.

To capture people interacting with shy animals, it was necessary to use captive individuals, as wild ones wouldn’t usually approach humans. I want to photograph contact with wild animals, to see how the story might unfold differently. After seeing Gregory Colbert’s work I’ve learned that, with trust, a relationship can be formed with any animal.

References

 

Deer Walking

| Rebecca Gibson

In the nineteen years that I have lived in Hertfordshire, a thirty-minute train ride from London, I have never been to Richmond Park. This realisation dawned on me last week when I was home for Christmas. I was due to return to Carlisle that Sunday, so I seized my last opportunity and invited my friend from Wildlife Media, who lives in East London, on a trip to the park to see if we could see any deer.

I wasn’t quite aware how fiddly the tube journey to Richmond was – the District line is what my grandfather would undoubtedly describe as a ‘tricky customer’. But, after only getting on one wrong train, I found where I needed to be.

Finding the park was another challenge, but eventually we arrived, just as the rain started. I wasn’t sure how easy it would be finding any deer but within twenty minutes we’d stumbled across a herd of Fallow deer (Dama dama) about sixty strong. Not quite believing our luck, we set up and sat hunched in the rain for over two hours, barely noticing the time fly by.

IMG_2708

IMG_2876

IMG_2503

We were positioned by a group of very relaxed bucks, who would occasionally butt heads almost lazily, as if inconvenienced by some extremely important responsibility. Often they wouldn’t even bother standing up, and instead opted to fight awkwardly whilst laid out on the grass.

IMG_2787

IMG_2862

We were sat by what we thought was Head Honcho, Buck No.1, judging by the size of his antlers. Therefore we were surprised when a buck further away began bellowing and chasing the does around. Buck No.1 did stand up at the commotion but didn’t respond, so led us to believe that although he was a very impressive looking individual, he wasn’t the dominant male in the herd.

IMG_2825

When our legs were finally dead and a group of tourists had started to approach brandishing selfie sticks, we moved on. After walking about quarter of a mile, we saw two Green Woodpeckers (Picus viridis) and a whole group of chattering Ring-Necked Parakeets (Psittacula krameri). I’d heard about captive Parakeets escaping and colonising in the wild, but I’d never had the opportunity to see any.

IMG_2444

A little further on we asked some dog walkers if they’d seen any Red deer (Cervus elaphus). Just after they told us they hadn’t and went on their way, they called us back and pointed over the hill to a large group of Red stags lounging in the sun.

IMG_2924

There my friend and I were, trying not to jump up and down and shriek. Instead, we set up again and began capturing some shots. I was a little more intimidated this time because those stags were big old brutes. Luckily, they seemed to be in their golden years as they weren’t nearly as active as the Fallow bucks.

IMG_2984

After a time we settled down for some food, and were joined by a pair of Egyptian geese (Alopochen aegyptiaca), which I’d never seen before. At the time I had no idea what they were, but I was astonished that a goose could look so beautiful.

IMG_3027

By then it was mid afternoon and we were both cold and tired, so took the long route out of the park (unintentionally) and back to the station. A good day had by all.