Trick or Treat Elk
Then We Heard a Thump
Our first year living in Estes Park, we made an October mistake. Coming from suburban Iowa, it was expected that we would have a fall, Halloween pumpkin on our front porch. Everybody, I mean everybody in Iowa has an orange fruit on their front porch in October. Something to celebrate the season like a carved up face of fright, a colorful, jovial statement of a pagan religious celebration turned sugar energizing kid fest. Why would Estes Park be any different?
Remember as a kid, the excitement of carving a pumpkin? Your mom would cut around the stem to create a hole in the top. Then you would reach in and pull out the slimy clob of stringy pumpkin filling intertwining the seeds. Scraping it clean, you couldn’t wait to begin to carve the pumpkin.
Would it be a happy Halloween pumpkin like the kids running from front door to front door in anticipation of sugar or would it be a scary pumpkin honoring its pagan history. A jack-o-lantern with one tooth or two?
That was the expectation of a suburban Iowa Halloween. So during our first October living in Estes Park, we had a pumpkin on our front step. It was picked for its perfect roundness, smooth orange color, and healthy stem to carry it. With it, we’d met our October festive decorating obligation.
On a late October evening, we sat in our living room watching a new episode of Law and Order: SVU. Olivia was intently determined to right the wrong as she pursued the quilty. Our dogs were sleeping comfortably on the couch, and all was quiet except for the voice of righteousness coming from the TV.
Then we heard a thump. The dog’s heads shot up, and my wife, Carolyn, looked at me. My brow frowned. Thump. I frowned again and paused the sound coming from the TV. Thump. Someone was on our front porch.
Cautiously, I moved from the couch and grabbed the handle of the front door. Slowly, I turned it, pulling the door open. It was late with the sun fading in the season of pagans. Would there be a tiny super hero at my door? Spiderman or Wonder Woman? Maybe a wicked witch with a pointy hat, the white sheet of a spooky ghost, or a beautiful princess in glass slippers?
The door opened. He was massive, his chest bold, eyes intent, and antlers threatening. The incredible bull elk stood a few feet from me looking up from the bottom step. Shocked, I jumped back, closing the door.
“Who is it?” Carolyn asked. My eyes were wide as I answered, “There’s a Kahuna sized bull elk on our front step.”
We live near the Big Thompson River, a river the elk follow from Moraine Park into Estes Park at the end of the rut. It’s not unusual for us to see elk, but this guy looked like he was ready to climb the steps to join us for a legal rerun.
“He’s right there,” I told her. “Right outside our front door.”
I went and grabbed my cell phone, and both dogs jumped to the back of the couch looking out the window. Back at the front door, I reached my phone outside and peeked through the opening.
There he was, the impressive bull elk with his antlers held high as he watched me capture his picture. Then I saw it. By his leg laid the remains of a half eaten bright orange pumpkin. A sweet, fruity treat for this oversized trick-or-treater. He dropped his head, took a big bite from the luscious treat and chewed happily.
The next day, as I told the story to neighbors, friends, and people about town, they all looked at me like I was crazy. Then one finally said, “With all of the wildlife in town, you don’t put pumpkins out.” Adding, “Pumpkins for elk are like honey to bears.”
While we didn’t have elk in suburban Iowa, we certainly do in Estes Park. The message was clear. My mistake was evident. In Estes Park, you don’t decorate your front porch with brightly colored edibles unless you are expecting massive, wild, six tine trick or treaters. If you are, and you leave a pumpkin on the front step, the trickster might not be a treat.
