I found myself back in the quiet cradle of Fyledalen before the rest of the world had even hit snooze. I wasn’t joking when I told my friends about the numbers here; this morning, I counted nearly 150 deer moving through the mist.
For hours, the light refused to cooperate. The shadows were too deep, the clouds too stubborn, and most of the sightings remained mere silhouettes in the gray. I was packed up and ready to head home, heart full but memory card mostly empty. Then, Fyledalen gave me a parting gift. A massive herd of fallow deer broke into a gallop, charging straight into the rising sun. In that moment, the light turned to liquid gold, and I finally got the shot I came for.
