A Kindly Bull Elk
Calmly Staring Was a Massive Bull Elk
I have this delightful neighbor who, at 92 years old, is still as independent as she’s always been. She is a spry, energetic, and delightful soul. By spry, I mean she is often out cleaning her yard of leaves, walking to the mailboxes each day, and on snowy winter days, I have to beat her to her driveway to shovel the snow before she takes on the cold, challenging task.
We often see each other, mostly in the driveway our condos share. There, like typical neighbors, we talk of the weather and family. Here in Estes Park, we also tell stories of the animals wandering our neighborhood.
We have several deer living among us, and each spring we watch the fawns grow from wobbly legs to losing their spots. The elk often wander about, lay in our yards or rub their antlers against trees as they shed their velvet. Doing so, the bulls often shred the limbs off the trees. We also share fun stories about the occasional bear that meanders through at night, caught on camera among the trees behind our homes.
We are always cautious of the animals that share the land, land that was once all theirs. That was before we took advantage of the incredible views and land along the Big Thompson to populate it with our homes.
In the summer, it is common that groups of elk wander our neighborhood. They nibble on our trees and watch us watching them. Typically, each fall a large herd of up to two hundred elk migrate through as they move to lower elevations. Creating traffic jams as they block our roads, they nourish themselves stripping dried leaves from the aspen.
The other day, I saw my wonderful neighbor as she returned from the half-block walk to the stand of mailboxes just inside our HOA development. That is when she told me this story. In her wonderful, upbeat enthusiasm, this is what she shared.
I just walked down to the mailboxes, she explained, and in that open area across from them, there were a dozen or so cow elk laying under the trees. I hesitated to go further and get the mail, but they were resting peacefully, not bothered by “little me.”
So I waited a minute, watching, looking for the bull. I knew he must be somewhere, still hanging around the cows well past the peak of the rut. I tried to decide what to do, but I had to get the mail. Where the cows laid, most slept, and there was no bull in sight.
So, as they rested, I went to the mailboxes across the road. Sleeping in the mid-afternoon shade, the elk ignored me, so I turned to my mailbox, put the key in, and opened the little box door. As I slid my mail out, closing the door, I heard a sound above and behind the five foot steel wall of mailboxes.
I looked up.
There, calmly staring at me with his head resting on the metal bank of mailboxes was a massive bull elk. I froze, startled, but he was so sweet. He just watched me as he rested his head. Then he turned, head and antlers coming around the mailboxes as he eyed me. His antlers were huge and intimidating, but his eyes were big, brown, and soft. His look was one of curiosity, and it was as if he was smiling at me.
I was engaged and intimidated at the same time. I didn’t know what to do because for that moment I had a bull right in front of me and his harem the width of the street away. Unsure how to react, I smiled at the bull, and he seemed to be smiling back. Glancing over my shoulder, the cows still slept peacefully.
Looking back at the bull, his head calmly reaching around the mailboxes, his look was gentle in such a wonderful way. I could have reached out to pet him. He was that close, but I knew better. As calm as he was, as peaceful as he appeared, as much as he might smile, he was still a wild animal, an 800 pound bull with six sharp tines on each antler, and I could be considered a threat.
I’ve seen so many people get way too close, and here I was, a couple of feet away. Without saying a word, I slowly backed away into the middle of the street, turning slightly to move up the road distancing myself from his harem. His head lifted slightly, watching me, and his beautiful, brown eyes followed my every step. Thankfully, he stayed still, unintimidated.
A few moments later as my neighbor and I stood in the drive between our condos, I said, “This just happened.” “Yes,” she exclaimed. “Just now.” She pointed down the road. “Get your camera, take a picture. He’s beautiful.”
Then she warned, “But don’t get too close.” With her warm, engaging smile, she added, “He’s a big one.”
