This morning I went back to Lake Conestee Nature Preserve. I will probably go there two or three times a week until the fall colors begin to display. After that, I will try to visit several of the other parks I used to frequent, especially during color season. Right now, it just looks like late summer in this area. The weather has cooled down quite a bit; that’s why I’m able to go out into the woods now. All the bugs of summer have disappeared.
My old legs need to get back in shape, especially when dealing with uneven ground. Some trails have root systems or rocks scattered around, with small changes in elevation from time to time. Gotta get used to all of that again.
Today I went to a different spot. I did not visit the West Bay observation deck, in front of what used to be a siege of Heron nests. Instead, I went to East Bay, the largest remaining remnant of the original lake. Initially, I followed the trail that goes around the outside of the East Bay area and through an open field, a field overgrown with weeds, with a tree here and there. The field is surrounded by forest, with a winding old dirt access road that is now part of the trail system.
My destination was what they refer to as Lost Lake View. I’m not certain, but I believe the name comes from an area that had been totally overgrown with trees and weeds, completely blocking one of the best views of the lake. The park folks cleared out an area, and provided some rock seating, apparently for an outdoor meeting place. The Lost Lake View is now restored.
As I approached the open field, I noticed a lot of fog that morning. I made my way to Lost Lake View and took a few photos, one or more of which I may post later. Then I made my way through the forest to East Bay observation deck, currently in a state of partial repair. About half of the platform was roped off, with holes in the flooring in a few places, waiting for new boards to be nailed in place.
I walked out on the platform, looked around, and took a few shots. I noticed that the fog on the water was beginning to dissipate and the sun had risen high enough in the sky to light up some trees on the other side of the lake, an interesting contrast. I will probably post a photo of that scene at some point.
There’s a reason why I keep saying I will post photos later. And that’s because of what happened next.
As I stood on the platform, I began to get this feeling that a deer was approaching. I don’t recall ever seeing a deer in that part of the park, but I’m sure that’s just because I wasn’t there at the right time. Having a creative mind, I began to think about a little scenario. What if a young deer walked out onto the partially repaired platform, then I turned around and startled it, and it fell into one of those holes in the platform? I would have to do something. But what? There’s no way I would be able to pull a deer of any size out of that hole. It would’ve been trapped there with its chest crushed against one of the supporting beams in the hole.
I don’t know why I was thinking about that. That’s just the way my mind tends to work. I’m always thinking about little scenarios, scenarios that almost never come to pass. And this one wasn’t going to happen either.
I took a few more photographs of the lake, tried to capture a flock of birds flying over the water, but was unsuccessful. I kept having this sensation that a deer was approaching. I would look around but could see nothing, nothing behind me and nothing in the woods.
I was just about to take another photograph of the contrast between the foggy Lake and the sun lighting up trees across the way, when I heard something in the woods. It was a very light sound, but for some reason it caught my attention. I turned around.
At first, I didn’t see anything. Then I thought I saw some movement back in the trees. The area behind the observation deck is, in part, a picnic area. So the trees are not quite as dense as they are elsewhere in the forest. I lifted my camera to my eyes, hoping that the 70 to 200 mm lens might help me see what was causing the movement.
And there it was.
A young doe was eating some leaves about 50 feet from where I stood on that deck. I clicked off a few shots, but she was so far away that I knew the photos would not be very clear. Then I noticed that some trees and brush were between me and the deer. The deer had already noticed me but, not feeling threatened, she went back to eating the leaves. As slowly and quietly as I could, I walked off the platform, in the general direction of the deer. After just a few steps, I could no longer see it and it could no longer see me. The only question: was I making too much noise?
I got past the trees that were blocking the view. The doe was still there eating leaves, paying no attention to me. I was pretty close to the deer by now, 20 or 30 feet away, still partially hidden by leafy trees. I clicked off one quick shot. She heard that and looked up. Then I clicked off a few more. She did not seem alarmed, so I thought I’d try to get a little closer.
That did not work.
The first step I took beyond my cover spooked her … and she was gone, along with another deer that I had not even noticed. I got one fairly decent shot; that’s what you see in today’s photo. Every time this sort of thing happens, I am reminded that a longer lens would have given me a better result. In fact, standing on the observation deck could have resulted in a better photograph, perhaps lots of good photographs, and probably would have never disturbed the deer. It was just too far away for my 70 to 200 mm lens. Hopefully, there is a Nikon 200 to 500 mm lens, or some reasonable equivalent, in my future, along with the money to pay for it.
But that is the way that life is, rarely ever perfect. You always want more, but what you get, what you have, is usually good enough to give you a worthwhile experience, if you’re willing to do your part.