ROBERT MATT BRIGNER
Guest Blogger
Growing up in Hilliard, Ohio, in the early 1970s, wildlife wasn’t something I saw every day. The town was small, surrounded by farmland and livestock, with residential and commercial lots beginning to take shape. By the mid-1970s, the population had grown to around 7,000 and the landscape was changing. South of us, Battelle Darby Creek Metro Park expanded greatly, by the end of the decade, to more than 2,700 acres of largely untouched beauty.
Shows on television like The Wild Kingdom, Jacques Cousteau’s ocean explorations, and quite frankly any show featuring animals, was all that was needed to pull me in. They were windows to a world where I wanted to be. Then, visits to my grandmother’s house in Delaware Ohio changed everything. During those trips, deer were spotted at times, which made the ride enjoyable with good memories to share. Just the sight of whitetail deer for me, even for a moment, was mesmerizing.
My curiosity deepened with time. Around 1994 an old camera with a couple of lenses was handed down to me from a sister. It was just the tool I needed to take the first real steps into observing wildlife. It started simply—taking photos of whatever came into view. But soon, it became clear that the whitetail deer was the primary study of interest. It wasn’t just about snapping a picture; it was about capturing their world. The more time spent in the woods, the more there was to see—small behaviors, subtle movements, and patterns that revealed themselves only to those who took the time to watch.
Observing deer in the park has been a process of patience and persistence. It has meant long hours in the field, sitting quietly, becoming part of the environment, learning to move with the woods, not against them. Early on, books and magazines provided a foundation of knowledge—about deer feeding habits, bedding areas, travel routes. But reading only takes a person so far. The real learning happens out there in the field, where theories are tested against reality.
Photographing deer has been about more than just taking pictures. It’s about telling a story. A buck chasing a doe through the frost-covered grass, the mist rising from a creek at sunrise, the cautious steps of a young fawn venturing away from its mother for the first time—these are moments that reveal something deeper. It’s not just about capturing the deer but also the setting that tells their story. The way the light filters through the trees, the texture of the undergrowth, the quiet stillness of an early morning in the park.
Trail cameras became an extension of my work. With the proper off-trail permits and volunteer entry, I was able to study the deer in the field while adhering to the park’s regulations. At first, the cameras were just tools for logging information, but over time, they became something more. Setting a camera wasn’t just about getting an image of a passing deer; it was about composing a scene, envisioning how the landscape and the animal would come together in a single frame. Placing the trail cameras in unique locations, experimenting with angles, and reviewing the results became part of the process. Even without being physically present, the cameras allowed for a deeper understanding of movement patterns, individual buck growth, and social interactions within the herd.
The work hasn’t just been about observation—it’s also about asking questions. One area of interest has been the role of solitude for doe separated from the herd structure, particularly near the confluence of Big Darby and Little Darby Creeks. A theory began to take shape: Could these isolated doe be raising male whitetails in an isolated setting? It’s a question that hasn’t been widely studied, but it’s one that deserves further exploration.
Years of fieldwork, thousands of photographs, and countless hours spent studying deer have led to one conclusion—this knowledge needs to be shared. Through writing, photography, and continued study, my goal is to help others understand what they’re seeing when they spot a deer in the woods or along the road. To encourage awareness of their behavior, their struggles, and the impact humans have on their habitat.
The future of whitetail deer depends on the choices made today. In areas like Battelle Darby Creek Metro Park, where urban expansion presses towards natural spaces, maintaining a healthy balance is crucial. History has shown what happens when deer populations grow out of control, as seen in places like Sharon Woods Metro Park in the early 1990s. Due to the lack of natural predators and the park’s protected status, the deer population grew beyond sustainable levels. Proper management, public awareness, and thoughtful conservation efforts are necessary to ensure these animals continue to thrive.
This journey started with hearing stories—tales from hunters, from family members, from men who spent their lives in the woods. Those stories inspired the desire to create personal experiences, to step into the field and live them first-hand. The difference was, instead of a bow or a rifle, a camera became the tool of choice. The goal was never just to observe but to document, to understand, and to tell the story of the whitetail deer in a way that others could appreciate.
There’s something special about knowing an animal so well that patterns become second nature. Recognizing a buck from 100 plus yards away based on antler shape alone, predicting where a group of doe will emerge at dusk, sensing the shift in behavior as the seasons change. It’s a connection built over time, a relationship formed through patience and dedication.
Now, with 30 years of knowledge and the personal accomplishment of studying and photographing whitetail deer at Battelle Darby Creek Metro Park, I hope to inspire the next person who sees a deer walking a tree line and feels that spark of excited curiosity as I did as a child. To give them the tools to take their own first steps into the woods, to observe, to learn, and maybe the confidence needed to tell their own story someday.
Awesome. VERY interesting and informative.