Female Deer Like to Hear They’re Beautiful

I am certain that I am the only wildlife photographer on our block that regularly talks to his or her subjects. It’s not something I usually admit, for fear of being carted off to a psychiatrist for observation. However, as I know the readers of Life as a Human understand the idiosyncrasies of those who practice the art of photographically capturing beauty, I will pass on a few of my secrets so that you may be able to improve your wildlife photography.

I first noticed this strange phenomenon four decades ago while watching a pile of boulders a short distance from Kamloops Lake in southern British Columbia. This is sagebrush country and the particular location was a stone’s throw from the Trans-Canada Highway and an irrigated alfalfa field. I wasn’t rockhounding or prospecting. Instead, the object of my interest was a family of yellowbelly marmots (Marmota flaviventris), a common springtime sight along the roadways of southern British Columbia.

My first movement into their territory was spotted from a distance. By the time I reached a suitable boulder backrest, the only family member visible was the grand-daddy of them all. This senior citizen watched me intently, his graying whiskers quivering as I rested my 35 mm camera and borrowed 120 mm telephoto lens on my knee. An old female soon came out of hiding and carried a pup down to the edge of the alfalfa field. While she dug the succulent roots, another pup worried away at a plant nearer the rock pile. After much comical effort, he broke it loose and dragged it through one of the many entrances to the fortified home.

Yellow-Bellied Marmot 1 © Murphy Shewchuk

Yellow-bellied marmots are common in the BC Interior grasslands and parkland.

The click of the camera shutter didn’t seem to bother the colony, nor did my movement while I changed film. When I dropped my lens cap, the clatter alerted grand-daddy and he gave a short sharp whistle, stopping all activity. While pups skittered toward the safety of home, Grand-daddy flattened himself out on the top boulder and refused to move, his coloring matching the yellow-brown rocks.

I waited quietly for a few minutes and then, with little to lose, softly asked the patriarch to smile. His ears perked, so I repeated my request, beginning a one-sided conversation that would have caused consternation could the nearby highway travelers hear me. As I chatted away, he sat up on the boulder, studying me intently. A juvenile also came out of hiding and watched me for several minutes before meandering back down to the field. Obviously, I was harmless.

Yellow-Bellied Marmot 2 © Murphy Shewchuk

Young Yellow-Bellied marmot: “If I hug the boulder, you won’t see me.”

At first I brushed off the incident as an isolated bit of rapport between the marmots and me. Then, as my bank account couldn’t handle the purchase of a fancy long telephoto lens, talking seemed to offer an alternate solution to the problem of champagne wildlife photography on a beer budget.

I didn’t do too much more research on the subject until a few weeks later when I was driving through British Columbia’s semi-desert country between Lytton and Lillooet. This is rattlesnake country and when I saw a large snake sunning itself on the warm roadside gravel; I quickly brought my old van to a halt. Despite years of tramping around the bush, this looked like my first chance to see a rattler in the wild. I stopped and walked back to the outstretched snake. It was more than a metre long (estimated, of course) and about as big around as my wrist but, unfortunately, it didn’t have any rattles.

It just lay there in the sun. I knew it was alive because I’d seen it move as I approached, but now it seemed determined to ignore me, hoping I would go away and mind my own business. Not being the type, I looked around for a stick to touch it and when I couldn’t find anything suitable, I slowly bent down and touched its tail with my hand. That’s when I discovered that, despite the heat and the snake’s apparent lethargy, both of us could move damn quickly when prompted. The snake snapped into a tight curl, banged it tail against the gravel to simulate the sound of a rattler, and hissed at me in a voice that could be heard 15 metres away.

The bull snake initiated the discussion. I stepped back while trying to think of something witty to say. Then I carefully dusted off my camera and suggested that he should relax because all that pent-up energy was going to give him a bad back. He nodded his head in disbelief as I took half a roll of film, moving half a step closer each time he relaxed a little. The forked tongue kept “tasting” the air and he kept a wary eye on me, but he seemed to realize that I intended no harm. My last photograph of the bull snake was from a distance of about one metre before I decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

Talking to the animals has a few drawbacks in addition to the risk of being locked away in an institution. If the animals are big, something you say could offend them and the results could be nasty. Even small animals can get nasty if they feel cornered or threatened, but if your only intention is a genuine interest in capturing their images, many animals, large or small, seem to relax when talked to. Scientists more experienced than I in the field of communications may attribute the success of the practice to pheromones — odors animals emit that give away their intentions. If it is body language and body odor that telegraphs the intentions, then the talking probably does as much to relax the photographer as the photographed. It isn’t what you say, but how you say it that counts.

This young male moose was curious about the chatty photographer.

While hiking in the Cascade Mountains of southern B.C., I chanced upon a yearling black bear eating Saskatoon berries from a three-metre-high bush. All I had was my camera and a 50 mm lens, but this was an opportunity I didn’t want to miss. I watched for a few minutes, and then slowly walked forward, sitting on my heels and droning nonsense whenever the bear seemed to notice me. Again, I guess that the sounds of a talkative photographer weren’t threatening, because the bear finished the saskatoons and I finished a roll of film before we went our separate ways.

Today I use several digital cameras and a variety of lenses to capture beauty in Nature; however after nearly six decades on the viewfinder end of a camera, I still find that chatting can be soothing.

Just how deeply you get involved in this type of wildlife photography will depend on your equipment, mobility and interests. Your photographic hardware could include anything that will capture an image. When you decide that you have the photographic talent and the voice it takes to break into this elite group of wildlife photographers, you can expand your equipment base or trade it in for gear better suited for your needs.

Mobility can be an important factor. If you are the big, strong macho type, you may try to photograph that five-point buck that lives over the next ridge. If a wheel-chair is your normal mode of transportation, you may be able to move into a quiet corner of your garden or a nearby park to photograph the birds or the squirrels.

While you are mastering the art, pick up a few good books on the wildlife in your area. The Peterson Field Guide series on plants and animals are an excellent investment for any nature photographer.

This Mule Deer was in a cottonwood forest near Merritt, B.C. It walked right by me as I was chatting to it. Original was a 35mm Kodachrome slide.

As a parting bit of advice, female deer appreciate being told that they are beautiful. A female grouse likes a little clucking, hoary marmots will come to you if you sit still long enough and a bull moose isn’t keen on talkative photographers. I have tried them all, but I draw the line at talking to the flowers.

Photo Credits

Murphy Shewchuk Photographer Bio

Murphy Shewchuk has been exploring the backroads of British Columbia and Canada since he was a teenager (which was more than half a century ago). He has also been packing a camera for most of that time. Just for a change of scenery, Murphy and his wife Katharine have explored the backroads of Scotland, France, Cuba, Costa Rica and New Zealand. To change the scenery even more, they “did” the Northwest Passage on a Russian research ship a few years ago.

He has over a dozen books to his credit with the latest three “Trips & Trails” books published by Fitzhenry & Whiteside of Markham, Ontario. 2014 also marks 40 years of writing & illustrating “Backroads” articles for BC Outdoors magazine.

Murphy’s wildlife photography extends the full range from polar bears to wood ticks and his scenics take in anything that doesn’t move. His photos illustrate his books and magazine articles as well as contribute to iStock Photo.

Murphy and his wife live in Merritt, BC, Canada where they are both active in the community.

Murphy Shewchuk is a freelance writer/photographer with a dozen books and hundreds of published articles and photographs to his credit.

Co-Author of “Okanagan Trips & Trails”
Author of “Coquihalla Trips & Trails”
and “Cariboo Trips & Trails”

Blog / Website: Murphy Shewchuk | Writer/Photographer

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