Instinctive Detour: Red Deer Mating Calls, Pyrénées

Recorded in the Pyrenees during the CAMP residency with Chris Watson, this piece comes from a moment that blurred the line between presence and danger, where art stopped being observation and became full immersion. I had strayed, as I often do, drifting deeper into the woods, off the trail, drawn by instinct more than plan.
As night sank in, the red deer calls grew louder, darker, bolder – echoing through the forest with the kind of force that makes your skin listen before your ears do. Eventually, I realized I was surrounded. The calls were no longer distant – they were close, too close. I could feel the vibration as if the sound was crawling through my ribs.
Then came that roar – the one you’ll hear near the end. Raw, sudden, alarmingly near. Some-thing else ran off at the same time. And for a few seconds, the forest wasn’t poetic. It was real. Too real. I made noise, too – part panic, part survival instinct. You can’t always see what’s in front of you in the dark.
Later, Chris mentioned that those who got really close felt that vibration in their bodies. I did. It wasn’t just sound. It was presence. This piece is not a study of red deer. It documents what happens when you become part of their terrain – uninvited, alert, and alive.