And So It Begins....

I was sound asleep when the cries of a calf elk rang in my ears. "Oh great," I thought, "I know what I'm doing on rove: baby-sitting elk!" And then I heard it. A terrible, gutteral noise. The worse sound I have heard all summer (except for a little girl getting a splinter pulled out of her hand - yikes). The sound of.... could it be? A juvenile bull elk just trying to get his bugle on? Hm..... The sound was such a terrible bugle, I thought for sure it must only be a young bull just trying to call. I rolled over and out of bed and stumbled downstairs. Standing at the coffee maker, eyes half closed from sleep, I suddenly realized the terrible premonition, that horrid sound, was NOT a juvenile, but a full-fledged six-point MASSIVE BULL ELK! OH NO!

The bull had his head low to the ground, his antlers long and paralleled against his back. Any easy 800+ pound bull. He was chasing the cows and calves, attacking the poor spike bull, and acting like he owned the town. A bush stuck out from his antlers. With no one else to fight, what other choice did he have but to attack inanimate objects. He let out another rasping gutteral bugle. SERIOUSLY! UGH! What a TERRIBLE bugle! I could hear him panting as he trotted around rounding up his harem. What a disgrace... at least his rack was, well, pretty good, but the last point wasn't very pronounced.

Since then he's been acting like the head honcho of Mammoth, scaring the cows and calves into submission. What a bully. At least his bugle has gotten more dignified sounding. Just wait until the other bulls come to show him what a big old mean bull looks like. They'll put him to shame.

Pretty Rangers

A pot-bellied bus driver walked up to me yesterday on the pretense of discussing elk. After he told his story, he looked at me and said, "The Park Service sure is hiring pretty rangers these days. There sure are some pretty rangers here, easy to look at." I'm okay with that, I think. Maybe it helps people listen to me when I tell them not to approach the elk.

Elk Alert!

The elk were everywhere in Mammoth today! There were about 60 of them - a combination of cows, calves, and spikes. Holy elk! Just imagine in 2 weeks when the big old bulls roll into town! Jeebes! It's going to be nuts around here. I can't wait for the bugling though. That's always a good time.

The Demise of Number 6

My cell phone beeped, announcing a text message from Matthew. Expecting some continuation to the "anal RV" game, I opened the message and to my dismay read the following words, "Number 6 died on Sunday in town. Wah wah."

"WHAT!" I exclaimed and felt the air whoosh out of my lungs. How could Number 6, the valiant gorer of cars, chaser of humans, leader of the elk herd, be dead?! Dead!

Immediately, I called Matthew for the report on our Mammoth staple's death. He informed me that the ungulate biologist received a report and went out to identify the body. The red number 6 tag hung in the ear of the massive elk. It was affirmative. Number 6 had passed on to Elk Heaven.

No wounds lay on his huge form. His antlers sprawled across the snowy ground. His eyes glazed and gazing at the distant tunnel. I hope he died with dignity, fondly remembering the multitude of cars he had stabbed, tourists he had chased, and elk cows he had impregnated with little Number 6's. A good life's work.

Some people, I suppose, will blame the wolves for chasing, terrorizing, and scaring Number 6 to death. I think it must have simply been the final winter of his long and productive life. As he dreamed of his harem, he must have laid down his great, heavy head in the snowy plain, breathed a deep sigh of relief, and fallen into a wintery sleep.

I sincerely hope next year a Number 6 the Second will rise to the challenge Number 6 left us with. May he chill and thrill us with a high, long, romantic elk bugle. May this future bull amaze us with an enormous rack. May he keep his harem safe from harm. Most of all, may he become the future star that damages cars and chases people behind trees. May he ignite respect for the wild in the apathetic mind. May he thrill and excite us with his grace, power, and bravado.

To you, Number 6, I raise a toast, a cheer, and a thanks for your amazing life.

Number 6 Is in the House

We went away for the weekend to see Willie Nelson play in Red Lodge. It was a great show and included a trip across the Beartooth Mountains. When we came back on Saturday, the first report I received about life in Mammoth was that Number 6 was in town. Both Chris and Amanda immediately told me he was there.

Number 6 is a big-old bull elk. Huge. Six point. Massive. He towers over the female elk as he clusters them into harems. This elk has been thrashing trees by Lava Creek as he strips his antlers of velvet and goes ape with hormones. He is the elk of elk.

On Saturday I walked Kelci the dog down through Lower Mammoth. On the return journey we heard the characteristic high pitched bugle of a male elk. The first call this summer. Number 6 was in the house! We walked up to view 50 elk clustered around the Administration Building, about 6 buildings from my home. I dropped Kelci off and rushed to my house as the elk stampede began. The whole herd started migrating towards my house.

Mike and I stood watching them as we waited for Chris to pick us up to watch the Olympics. Finally, I called him and reported the elk status. "Can I still get to your house?" he asked worriedly. "If you come quickly," I responded. He made it just as Number 6 was walking, full rack, straight towards our houses.

We made it safely to watch the Olympics and on return to Mammoth, a thought of the elk mob flickered thorugh my head. The elk were everywhere around the Fort, laying seige to the buildings. Cows, calves, and Number Six were representing! And they were surrounding Kelci the dog's house! How was I to get in?

We drove to the back, where the elk lay 20 feet from the door. Chris drove me to the front, where the screen door was locked with no key. Finally, he took me back around the back, where the light of his headlights illuminated the massive frame and full rack of the bull standing 15 feet from the door. "Good lord, I am not letting you out of this car!" Chris exclaimed before driving to my house and letting me out there. But the dog! I thought.

All fussed out, I went inside, took a shower, and thought about my strategy to return to Kelci's house. What to do, oh, what to do? I heard No. 6 bugle, and it sounded like it was south of the houses. Could luck have turned my direction? Commando style, I crepted from the house and ran to my car, which I drove right to the front door of Kelci the dog's house. No Number 6. Phew! I quickly opened the house door and lept inside, safely avoiding the elk!

All night Number 6 bugled outside. I imagined he was singing, "Looking for some hot stuff, baby, this evening! Looking for some hot stuff, baby, tonight!"

The madness has begun.

Getting Charged By Elk

It started as a normal, beautiful early June day. I walked happily out my door and headed towards work, proud to be sporting my snappy staw ranger hat. Briskly I made my way down Officer's Row to the Visitor Center.

A body caught my eye. Almost unseen underneath the tall coniferous tree, lay an elk. A female elk. An elk that had recently calved. A psychotic, manic, female elk mama. There is hardly anything worse than coming upon a psychotic, manic, female elk mama. Believe me, underneath that tree lay trouble.

Slowly I inched towards it, maintaining my distance while speaking calmly to it, "it's okay Mama Elk. I just want to walk to the Visitor Center, that's it, Mama Elk. Nothing else." While still over 75 feet away from her, I saw her ears go back in nasty alarm. It's already horsy mouth elongated as a feral snarl seemed ready to explode from her face. She labored to her feet, virtually foaming at the mouth. Her long legs propelled into high speed action.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed (in uniform) as I took off at full speed (in boots, might I add) around the limestone house of the Superintendant to get away from the manic female. She came after me like a speeding bullet. Images of crasing hooves went dancing through my head. Imminent death and destruction surrounded me. What a way to go down under the hooves of a crazy female elk.

I careened around the corner of the building and chanced a look behind. No sign of the manic elk. Was I safe? My pace didn't slacken as I reached the Chief Ranger's house. Much to my embarassment, Rick was standing outside (also in full uniform with an orange safety vest on) watching my sprint. He looked at me and said, "I saw that elk bolt and then you run around the corner. Was she attacking you?" "Yes," I replied. He commented, "Nothing like getting your blood running in the morning."

Carcass

A visitor reported bear tracks on the Howard Eaton Trail, which parallels the Terraces and the Upper Terrace Drive. She also reported a dead elk by Palette Spring, one of the most popular springs to view.

I scoped it out the other day. It was a beautiful day for a stroll, Clark's Nutcrackers were flitting about and the sun was shining. But my eyes were on the look out for a deader than a doornail elk. And sure enough, right at the top of the Terraces I spotted its bloated frame. Right at the end of the boardwalk it had fallen. My mind quickly assessed the situation. A dead elk and bear tracks = cause for concern. I called up the back country rangers and the bear management office to fill them in and assumed they would move the poor beast.

But, no, today I returned to the Terraces and checked out Palette to see if the elkeroo was still there. Sure enough, it was there, but now it had been chewed on... perhaps by a bear, but more likely by a wolf/coyote whos tracks were nearby. Yuck.

This time bear management moved the carcass and put up signs warning people to stay away from the dead elk. It's one of about 6 that have been moved in the last week. Visible evidence to the long, hard winter in Mammoth.