Photographing Deer
After several years of searching, I finally managed to track down one of Mallorca’s small herds of fallow deer. They run wild in the Tramuntana mountains, and finding them has been a long pursuit of patience, luck, and persistence.
The history of deer on the island is a story of arrivals and disappearances. They were first present around 1500 BC, reintroduced in the 14th century, and eventually vanished again—most likely victims of hunting. The current herds, thought to number four or five in total, are scattered across the south, west, and high in the Tramuntana. Strangely, despite their deep historical ties, the Balearic government regards them as non-native and would prefer to see them eliminated.
After days of planning, I set off to a difficult, secret location in the mountains, hoping to catch the herd in the soft, late-evening light. I tucked myself under a cluster of trees, the breeze carrying my scent away from the valley below. Camera ready, silence pressing in, I waited—hoping for a glimpse of these elusive, timid animals.
Waiting is a given in wildlife photography. I settled further into my chosen spot with a drink and high hopes, eyes scanning the treeline. In the distance, movement—was it a deer or a goat? Hard to tell from that far away. Then, something stepped out of the tree line and into the open. Bingo.
A male deer, antlers held proudly, surveying the landscape before moving further into the clearing. I sat as silent as possible, the wind still in my favour, as he grazed on some leaves. My camera was ready, framed perfectly: 1/2000, f/11, ISO 2500. I began firing off shots. The silent shutter of the Z8 ensured I didn’t disturb him—any out-of-place noise could have sent him running.
Soon, a female and a faun followed, moving gracefully through the undergrowth. They seemed at peace, giving me the chance to capture several rounds of images, constantly checking focus and exposure as the fading light played across their coats.
After what felt like an age, cramp started to set into my right leg. I had to move. Slowly, carefully, I shifted position—but in doing so, snapped a twig. Instantly, the buck’s head shot up, his eyes locking on me. He stood rigid, motionless, and for nearly fifteen minutes we stared at each other, neither daring to move.
At last, he seemed satisfied there was no threat and returned to plucking succulent leaves. The light was fading fast, the air cooling after an unusually hot September day. I eased myself back, packed up my gear, and began the slow walk out—eager to return home and see the images in full resolution.