Dawn arrives at 4am this time of year in northern Idaho. This doesn’t present a problem for me as I typically arise early so that I have more time to enjoy the day. On my last day at our cabin, my eyes popped open to a glorious, peach-tinged sky. Having a screened sleeping porch, the view presented an impossible to describe beauty. I’d set the coffee the evening before so I grabbed a cup and my phone and then raced to the beach to a better observation point. Pausing on the trail I snapped a shot over our boathouse then snapped another as I arrived below. In a few short seconds, the brilliance had dimmed a bit, but fortunately more glory lay ahead.
A clear, still morning with a calm lake and pluming thunderheads, I sank into a favorite Adirondack and sipped and watched, clicked and waited. After the colorful beginning I sought a photo with a reflection that whether placed right-side up or upside down, both appeared to be correct, identical. As time proceeded, a strange white line appeared through the middle of the frame. Had I printed this I would have figure I had a scratch on my screen or a flaw in the printer. Instead, I realized that I had captured the reflecting line of an opposite shore 8 miles away.
After an hour of this, and forced to race up the hill for a coffee refill, I returned to my seat to discover a slow rain trickling in. Since I sat beneath towering tree only a few drops landed on me, but the lake became a splattering vision. Trying to get both the falling and landing water beads and their ensuing ripples, my iPhone failed me. Only in hindsight do I wonder if I had videoed in slow motion if I might have caught the two. I have a good camera, but I seem to rarely have it ready at the right moment.
As I scouted further spectacles to photograph, I spied a series of deer prints wandering the shoreline. I had missed seeing them on my first trip to the shoreline, but only by a few minutes as they stood out fresh and clear and would later disappear into the waves. During my week at Priest Lake, I had the thrill of encountering more deer than ever before. Despite the long, cold, snowy winter, white-tails thrived. In the past we have primarily spotted mule deer with an occasional white-tail mixed in. I had asked Lynn how I’d know the difference and with a slight eye roll he retorted, “The Tail!” OK, I get it, but I must add that the tail is not just a tail but is truly magnificent.
The first morning on my jog I bumped into two does. They stopped and stared as did I, but then startled and up flipped the white flag as they disappeared into the brush. Naturally, phoneless so no camera, I had only my mind’s image not actually proof of the scene. Disappointed, I hoped that sometime during the week my friends would reappear. A few days later – voila! On a walk through the woods, deer heads arose from feeding and curiously gazed toward me. I quietly tiptoed forward, readied my phone, and began to take pictures. Ears twitched with caution as I drew closer. Snap! Snap! The tiny creatures, probably no more than 75 pounds, rested on spindly legs as they studied me while munch leaves.
Eventually, my own curiosity kicked in – “I have to check out the tail.” With my quick motions, my dears cooperated and up flew flashes of white, signals of departure. Wow! Amazing flicks of brushy snow exploded. Then they suddenly settled, tails drooped, to reveal a dark brown stripe surrounded by a pale white fringe, sort of like a skunk tail. These also motioned me to add them to my photo collection. I did so, proud of my patience and accomplishment.
As I walked home I celebrated my success while thanking my father and grandfather for purchasing this forested land, building our log cabin, and thus granting me this opportunity for rebuilding my internal, positive outlook and soaking in the natural wonders of our world.