The Six-legged Elk

     At Mammoth Campground in Yellowstone one June 4, none of our favorite campsites was available but we were still grateful just to get in. That afternoon Shirley and I celebrated by rolling out the awning and were enjoying a sip of Elijah Craig with some of her excellent home-made pimiento cheese on crackers. A woman from Palo Alto stopped to chat, shyly eyeing our Elijah Craig. An elk cow came walking down the road. Then her ears came forward and she broke into a trot, headed right for the Palo Alto lady--who made good use of her fluorescent orange running shoes. I took off my hat and ran after the elk waving it and yelling, “Hey! You play nice now!”

   So, she did. Plopped down in some sage brush right at the edge of our site and started chewing her cud. Which is why Shirley started calling me the Elk Whisperer.

   One of the reasons we like Mammoth Campground, in addition to the nearby hot springs, is that elk come through in herds of 40 or 50 on their way up to the tender irrigated grass in the town of Mammoth. Many elk calves accompany their mothers. Some are born right there in the campground. It is part of the charm of the place. Literally thousands of elk (or the same 40 to 50 moving back and forth) have never given us a lick of trouble.

Elk routinely move up from the Gardner River to feast on the irrigated

lawns up the slope in the town of Mammoth.

They pass right through the campground on their way. That white

bar is the support for our RV awning.

In spring, elk cows use this copse of junipers in the campground 

as their delivery room. It is relatively safe from bears there.

   Shirley, a former OB nurse, assures me that stories about pregnant and post-partum ladies “going all hormonal on you” are entirely mythical. Misogynistic, too. Perhaps. Or perhaps elk ladies are different.

   At any rate, this particular elk lady was rather grumpy. A man with a small boy on his shoulders came up the road. She jumped up and chased them around to the back of our RV. Then she was distracted by some young guys setting up a tent and charged down the slope to welcome them to the neighborhood.

   Soon we noticed that she had a calf concealed in the sage only 25 or 30 feet down that slope. So, maybe she wasn’t all that grumpy, just protective and socially misunderstood.

   The next morning there was an elk cow lying in the sage just across the road. When she stood up I saw what at first I thought were the remains of placenta on her rump. Not so. It was two legs hanging down and concluded she was very near to giving birth. She moved off a short distance to a more private delivery room hidden in the sage and junipers. I told the kids from New York in the site next to us to keep watch for a six-legged elk. There would soon be a baby. But it is amazing how an animal as big as an elk can just lie down and totally disappear.

   When we returned from fishing that afternoon, the New York family had been replaced by some people from Utah. Grandma and five-year-old Kiley saw an elk up the slope and went to get a closer look. It turned out to be good old Mrs. Grumpy Elk who greeted them in her usual fashion. I grabbed my trusty elk-taming hat and ran up yelling as loud as I could. (Given my age, the steep slope, and the elevation this probably sounded more like the mewing of a kitten.) I told Grandma to circle slowly towards the protection of some junipers and then make her way slowly down the slope so as not to further excite the elk. The plan was for me to keep Mrs. Grumpy occupied while they made their escape. Which worked just fine. Except there was then nothing between Mrs. G and me but a waist high sage bush. Her ears were up. Her nostrils were flaring. Her eyes were glaring. Was I daunted? Not a bit. I am a married man. A crazy elk woman doesn’t have much new to show me.

   That evening two women came up the road on their way to the restrooms. Mrs. Grumpy came down to encourage a somewhat livelier pace.

   The next morning, we went to Gardiner, MT for groceries, gasoline, and to use the free Wi-Fi at the Chamber of Commerce. Back in camp there was a herd of tourists gathered at the entrance to our site looking up the slope at the six-legged elk. She had not given birth yet after all.

   Soon two rangers arrived. They said they had been keeping track of her for several days. They concluded that the calf was turned the wrong way and had died. This meant the cow was going to die as well. They radioed for expert advice. Another ranger arrived with a shotgun to euthanize her. In the first place, they did not want her to suffer. In the second place, they did not want a carcass that would attract bears to the campground. A truck with a winch came to take her to a remote location where the bears could play their role in the cycle of life and her death would not be in vain.

   Thomas Hobbes tells us that life in a state of nature is nasty, brutish, and short. Hobbes cannot be accused of being a Romantic. Even so, there are those who are more offended by the death of an elk and her baby than they are by the death of a baby human—also half born. One of the numerous benefits of taking kids to the national parks is to learn that “natural” is not always innocent or pretty. (Parents should decide when their children are mature enough to cope with the less pleasant aspects of the natural world.)

   A little later, as I sat writing this, there was a search party looking for a man who went for a walk on the nearby Rescue Creek Trail. (How is that for irony?) Dogs. Rangers on horseback. Rangers in helicopters. Later we learned his body was found at the base of a cliff. Hobbes would appreciate that life is not always just a walk in the park. Whether you are a six-legged elk or a two-legged man.