Babies Will Be Born Soon
Mothers are Protective of Their Young
Baby season is coming upon us. It is a time of miraculous beauty and sensitive caution. Like any good mother, the deer family of mule deer, elk, and moose are protective of their young.
We in Estes Park have learned to co-exist with these incredible animals. They live among us because this has always been their land. They’ve been nibbling grass in Bond Park for thousands of years before it was Bond Park.
Once the first of us arrived in Estes Park 175 years ago, deer probably looked up wondering, what’s that? It walks on two legs, makes its own fur, has feet so tender it must cover them, and communicates like a magpie squawking a warning.
So when their babies are born, they protect them from all dangers, and in their eyes, we can be a danger. To deer and elk, when I walk our twelve pound dog (who’s about as intimidating as a scurrying chipmunk) on the walking path near our home, a chance encounter may happen. Then, the mother’s memory flashes to its past experience with a coyote. Immediately, their instincts turn to protection.
Big bucks, bull elk in rut, and massive moose with sixty pound antlers are not the greatest concern. But a doe deer and cow elk…I remember when I was a school superintendent meeting with families. Two parents. A big, burly man, powerful and strong, and a mother, smaller in stature with a kind smile until she became “mother bear.” Guess which one was the most intimidating.
So it is with nature’s mothers.
Late May through mid-June is the peak birthing season in the Colorado rocky mountains. Baby deer and elk are dropped wherever the mother may be. Along the river, in the middle of town, in our back yards, or in the protection of the wilderness. Moose do not often venture into Estes Park, but we hear reports every year of people being attacked by a cow moose protecting her young.
I’ve had my own harrowing experience. A year ago, weeks after the typical birthing season, I was walking on a well traveled trail behind a nearby campground. Camera in hand, the strap over my shoulder, I heard a noise behind me. Turning, a cow elk was sprinting down the path toward me. I knew enough that this aggressive behavior was a mother protecting her baby.
Jumping off the trial, I hid behind the scant protection of a scraggly pine about five feet wide. There I was, looking through the branches at a threatening cow elk glaring at me from the other side. As I moved one way, she paralleled my movement, trapping me and ready to defend her child. Back and forth we moved, dancing like boxers determined to throw a lethal punch.
It felt like five, two-minute rounds of boxing. Maybe more, maybe less, I don’t know, but I was scared. Elk hooves are remarkably sharp, capable of inflicting serious injury. I, on the other hand, am old and slow, incapable of out running any animal, and she was in “mother bear” mode, intent on protecting her child.
Then, from around the tree she came at me. Reluctantly, I used the only defense I had. I didn’t want to hurt her, I wanted to respect her, but I was on the verge of being stomped like a rag doll. As she lunged, I did the only thing I could. With reluctance, for many reasons including trying to explain it to my insurance company, I held my camera strap tight, swinging $7,500 of solid equipment toward her.
I didn’t want to hit her, but I had to return the intimidation. With the first swing, she backed away. Then she lunged again, and I swung again. She backed further away, and so did I. Thus became the stare-down from across the boxing ring. Seizing the moment, I walked clumsily backward as her eyes stared in anger.
Eventually, she let me go, but my nerves remained on alert. How do they say it? “I had been scared…” I learned later, she had given birth two days before. Since then, she had been a threat to campers, stomping on tents and declaring her protective intentions.
Over the years with my camera’s zoom lens from a much greater distance than I had experienced with the mother elk, I have captured beautiful images of nature. I have photographed fawns in the middle of town, elk calves in my yard, and moose babies in a late spring snow. Each image has been captured at a distance striving not to disturb mother and child while appreciating the beauty of new life.
The birthing season is a time of nature at its most beautiful, babies at their most vulnerable, and mothers offering their greatest protection. We must be cautious, aware, and respectful even with a camera in hand.
