The Rut of Red Deer: Photographing Red Deer in Munich

At the beginning of the deer rut, I am always reminded of how quickly another year has passed. I can still remember the first snow of this year vividly, think of the beautiful spring days and summer afternoons by the Isar watching kingfishers. And suddenly, autumn is here. For us wildlife photographers, September is like New Year's Eve is for others. A celebration and, in our reckoning of time, the highlight of the year. As is custom, we also have good intentions. This includes creating the best image of all time in the coming year. That is what we want; that is what I want, time and time again. The moment I press the shutter is like crossing the finish line. I have worked toward this goal all year long and am now bringing all my experience to bear. I am creating a work of art; I am not just pulling a trigger. I want to create something. Something that stays in the memory.

Nevertheless, as I realize time and again, photography is not the most important thing. Even if the photo is the reward for my work, in the grand scheme of things, it is solely about the animals in their habitat. I am a guest in their home, for just a few days a year. I am allowed to sneak in, to behave responsibly, and I must remind myself of everything I have learned about the animals. The best photos only emerge when everything aligns and I am at peace, giving the animals and nature space. I must be invisible to them. That is exactly what must remain the priority.

I must be invisible to the red deer

The moments amidst green grass, surrounded by trees, must always be more important than the print on paper. And yet, the latter is also something of a trophy for me. But no, that is not the right term. I don't hang dead animals on my wall. Because when I look at my photos, the animals continue to live on in those moments, and with every image, I know where I was standing. I know what the weather was like and how the grass smelled. Perhaps, even as I look at the image, the stag is lying between the trees in the tall grass, perhaps also remembering a special event. That is what I want to believe.

And yet, a successful photo is, of course, a reward for the work of the past weeks. I invest an incredible amount of time into all my photos—as much as is compatible with a happy family life. For me, having breakfast with my wife and son has now become a fixed ritual after a successful morning in the forest. We all have our favorite places, animals and humans alike, and above all, the former deserve even more of our attention.

One reason why I photograph is also to document. People should know what wonderful biodiversity we have in our surroundings and, on the other hand, learn how fragile everything is. I have had so many encounters with people who could not imagine at all that such majestic animals as red deer live in the nearby area. On one hand, this is good, yet also not, because what is invisible will not be protected. To a certain extent, that is true, isn't it?

This year, there were some moments that were not meant to be photographed but will remain in my memory. They have burned themselves deep into my soul and join those of previous years. This includes the memory of the morning mist lying low over the meadows. The clearing dawn, the first rays of sunlight, and the calls of animals coming from all directions. And lately, I am not often traveling alone. I am no longer just the solitary photographer in the depths of the forest. Yes, I still enjoy being that. But photography has allowed me to meet great people, and we share moments that will never be forgotten.