A family of deer, and a very dark sky
A cold, misty morning at Lassen, three deer who weren't in a hurry, and the darkest sky I've stood under.
We were out before the light was. Cold, with a low mist over everything that hadn’t yet decided whether to lift.
The fawn came first. Alone, close, and completely unbothered by us. Then its mother, a few steps behind, watching us rather than watching it. And then a male further back at the treeline, who we decided was the father on no evidence whatsoever.
I don’t have a good way to describe how a fawn looks at you.
Bambi, come alive, and entirely unconcerned. We stood still for a long time — longer than we needed to, and longer than was comfortable in that cold.
Then the sun came over the ridge and caught the fawn full-on. Gold, still, not quite real — the kind of light you’d assume had been added afterwards. It lasted a few seconds.
Then they were gone, all three of them, quick and without fuss, and the meadow was empty again as though we’d made the whole thing up.
After dark
The nights were colder still. Lassen sits in a Bortle 1 zone — the darkest class there is — and you can feel the difference before you can photograph it. You look up and there is simply more of everything than you’re used to.
A cold morning, a colder night, and a lot of standing very still in between. I’d go back tomorrow.