As the black sky paled to light, a brilliant sea of stars faded. And soon the millions of tiny lights like fireflies became invisible to me. I looked down from the heavens, hoping the beauty of each star, striving to shine the brightest of all, would be burned forever inside the lids my eyes. Then, the sun appeared in a line of pale red against the deep purple sky. The vibrant light silhouetted the mountain peak as I finished packing my tent. Minutes later, I finished packing then slung my manliest of satchels over my head and let it rest at my side. And then I was off.
I hiked into the depths of the forest, following the sound of water. The world awoke around me as the sun inched higher in the sky. Songbirds emerged and filled the misty morning with a dazzling array of chirping and singing, and all felt right in the world. Coming across a game trail, I turned left and followed its slim, winding path until the source of water revealed itself.
The rock jutted up from a meandering current, where water diverted from a wide, shallow stream, down a rocky brook until it filled a cavernous pool surrounded by rock slabs, and slippery stone ledges. And running down the rock face, a slow and steady trickle fell, eroding the rock and conducting the melody of several distant waterfalls. I sat on a rock, inches above the rushing current and watched the world come alive with the morning light.
A doe deer jumped out from a thicket of pine and drank ever so gently from the pool, and as I quietly pulled my camera from the middle compartment of my daypack, the deer popped its head up. I froze, feigning lifeless until she sunk her had low to drink once more. I studied the settings on the camera, judging how the image would turn out, because I knew that if I hit the shutter, the dear would bolt immediately. Finally, I managed to adjust the camera just in time as the deer crept around the bank, toward me. I aimed, focused my lens and clicked, but the deer was too quick. The young doe disappeared into the forest, and I decided it was time to venture on.
The rock jutted up from a meandering current, where water diverted from a wide, shallow stream, down a rocky brook until it filled a cavernous pool surrounded by rock slabs, and slippery stone ledges. And running down the rock face, a slow and steady trickle fell, eroding the rock and conducting the melody of several distant waterfalls. I sat on a rock, inches above the rushing current and watched the world come alive with the morning light.
A doe deer jumped out from a thicket of pine and drank ever so gently from the pool, and as I quietly pulled my camera from the middle compartment of my daypack, the deer popped its head up. I froze, feigning lifeless until she sunk her had low to drink once more. I studied the settings on the camera, judging how the image would turn out, because I knew that if I hit the shutter, the dear would bolt immediately. Finally, I managed to adjust the camera just in time as the deer crept around the bank, toward me. I aimed, focused my lens and clicked, but the deer was too quick. The young doe disappeared into the forest, and I decided it was time to venture on.
I followed the river, watching the ebb and flow of the current pulse with life and fish. And then I froze. An adult moose had appeared. I had missed its bulk in the shadow of a large, thick pine tree. He stood mere feet from me, but across the stream. If he wanted me, he had me. We locked eyes as I backed away slowly. Putting a dozen feet between us, I sat, as a sort of agreement seemed to pass between us. Birds flew around overhead, chirping happily, as I continued to watch the great creature. I moved my satchel around my front and dug through it until I pulled out a small notebook and pen. And as the moose drank, I wrote.
It wasn’t long before the moose grew weary of my company, and decided to continue on his way. I sat there for sometime afterwards, savoring the memory and recording the details that spoke to me, of my encounter and of the beautiful morning spent with Nature. It’s not everyday you see something magical. And after all the close calls I’ve had, I’ve learned you must appreciate every single experience. Otherwise, what is the point of living?
If you'd like to find out more about the NutSac satchel, click here.
Story written & Photos by Brandon Scott / Eye & Pen
It wasn’t long before the moose grew weary of my company, and decided to continue on his way. I sat there for sometime afterwards, savoring the memory and recording the details that spoke to me, of my encounter and of the beautiful morning spent with Nature. It’s not everyday you see something magical. And after all the close calls I’ve had, I’ve learned you must appreciate every single experience. Otherwise, what is the point of living?
If you'd like to find out more about the NutSac satchel, click here.
Story written & Photos by Brandon Scott / Eye & Pen
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