Shriveled, blaze orange leaves still clung to the twisted, lichen peppered branches of the gamble oaks, dripping with moisture from the year’s final snowfall. On the ground below the oaks, new grass was coming to life, painting the floor of the entire valley an emerald green. Nearby flame willows lined the entirety of the creek, providing cover from the sleet. The cottonwoods were still mostly bare, but little leaf buds were beginning to sprout from the highest branches. Soon, those trees would be full and green, much like the various breeds of pine trees that grew alongside them.
The rippling sound of the creek accompanied me as I carefully planted my boots into the path. Its red soil had been turned to mud, which provided the perfect environment for hundreds of nightcrawler worms to safely come up for fresh air. Not far up ahead from me, the snow covered foothills reached up into the sky, till they were shrouded in silvery-white clouds. I hoped I could follow the trail up to those clouds. They seemed to be calling me, almost as though I’d come across a staircase to heaven if I made my way through the mist far enough.
But, I was distracted by the serenity of the wilderness around me at the base of those foothills. The rain scared off most hikers, and also encouraged wildlife to come out and graze. Normally, deer and other four-legged beasts would bed down in the middle of the day. But the cool, wet weather and fresh grass would hopefully keep them lively. In fact, fresh deer tracks criss-crossed the red dirt path everywhere I looked, along with nightcrawler worms and the tracks of robins and other worm-eating birds.
My interest in the worms at my feet was thwarted by the shrill call of a nearby mountain bluebird perched up on a prairie sagebrush. After a few chips, the bluebird flew west, urging me to continue on my adventure into the nearby misty mountains.
As I carefully planted my boots in the wet soil, I heard more movement in a brushy gully to my left. When I glanced that way, I met eyes with a skittish mule deer doe, who was peering from around a flame willow to watch me walk by. She was skinny after last year’s rough winter, and little tufts of winter fur were missing from her shedding hide. Beyond that, she looked young, healthy, full of energy, and desperately ready for summer (weren’t we all). When I got a little close for her comfort, she turned tail and leapt over a boulder, crossed the trial, then cleared a worn wooden fence into someone’s (presumably empty) backyard where I lost sight of her.
Again, I continued on my journey, but only made it about twenty yards or so when I heard another noise; the snapping of twigs and a faint grunt. I jumped a bit, not yet knowing what made that grunting noise. But, I was relieved to see a young buck stepping out of the willows and gamble oaks towards me. He was much less skittish than the doe. A little too friendly for my liking. To keep my distance, I kept walking swiftly west, all while the buck stalked me for several yards, probably hoping I’d share a snack with him. However, another couple does to my right caught his attention, and he bounded their way, flicking his tail excitedly like a dog as he cantered up the face of the rocky hill.
Again, I lost sight of the deer as the trail veered to the left, taking me into the willows and oaks a bit deeper. I paused when I reached the creek, for it flooded over the trail and was at least ankle-deep at the lowest. It was also too wide for me to jump, even if I got a running start. I had two options; turn around and go home, or get my feet wet. I chose the latter, but immediately regretted it when freezing snowmelt seeped into my not-so-waterproof footwear, soaking my socks and encasing my feet in what was essentially ice. Just beyond the creek, the trail got incredibly steep and was too muddy for me to successfully climb. Trust me, I tried. But, my boots slipped on the mud with a cartoonish squeak and I slid into the mud on my ass, just barely stopping before reaching the creek.
Well, guess I should just go home, I thought as I picked myself up and did my best to brush off as much mud as possible. But, now I was cold and a little sore and embarrassed. Good thing I was the only one who saw that. Or, so I thought.
That little fiasco caught the attention of numerous deer, including the buck and does I just encountered. There had to have been fifteen of them, all standing on the crest of a nearby hill looking at me (and probably laughing at me). As I stumbled back down the mountain, quite disappointed in both myself and the fact that I didn’t get even close to the cloud-shrouded staircase to heaven, the deer followed. I could both hear and see them surrounding me on all sides, trampling the grass and mud to keep up with me. A few does and a buck trotted ahead of me, deer flanked me on both my left and right, and a few strutted behind me. It was truly a mystical experience; one that temporarily distracted me from my cold, mud-drenched body.
When I made it out of the trees and into more open prairie, I was met with even more deer ahead of me. I’d never seen so many deer at once in the valley before. My theory about the rain drawing out the deer clearly was correct. There had to have been thirty of them, all surrounding me and following me, almost as if they considered me one of their own. I paused just to stand in the cold weather for awhile longer, cherishing the company of the numerous deer, the peaceful rippling of the creek swollen with spring melt, the scent of fresh rain and old leaves, and the occasional call of a bird.
It was almost as though those deer had missed me for the winter, and were welcoming me back home.
The deer to my left.
The deer to my right and ahead.
The deer behind me.
