Wonder and Wild Grace

Third day camping, I set out to explore the Maggie Valley area. On a spur road not far from the Blue Ridge Parkway, I parked near a trailhead and nonchalantly walked in between a bull elk and his cow, without knowing it. A man whispered me over to a picnic table, which I also hadn’t seen. Three people hunched motionless behind the table, watching to see when the bull would finish scraping his antlers on the trees. As I joined them on the bench, a majestic bull walked out of the woods toward a female, who waited on the road less than a hundred feet in front of us. She stood motionless and silent, sensing her surroundings with an air of utter confidence and belonging.

The man, who told us he ran a Boy Scout camp, estimated the bull’s weight at 900 pounds, with a fifteen point rack at least four feet long. Though the bull elk paid no attention to us, we prepared to run if he charged us. He was definitely in rut. He planted himself near the cow, sprayed urine on his own chest, pawed the road, and bugled. The powerful sound was unexpectedly high-pitched, a little like a whale song.

A woman at the table asked the group if we ought to crawl under the table. The other woman mentioned the bull could toss the entire picnic table into the air, if it got between him and his cow. That’s when Mr. Boy Scout rolled down a sock and pulled a pistol from an ankle holster, saying he would only use it to scare the bull if the cow should walk our way.

Then the cow began ambling toward us! We all crouched lower. Mr. Boy Scout turned into an elk cow whisperer, telling her in a drone voice to turn away, turn away, turn away. His Harley, parked directly in the path between the elk and our wooden bastion, seemed to catch the cow’s interest. The longest moment ensued, adrenaline pumping in six creatures, four of whom were puny humans.

Then the dignified cow elk did turn slightly, toward the narrow open field to the side and in back of us. The immense bull elk followed her, his massive rack waving in the air. We watched without breathing, turning our eyes but not daring to move our heads. The two of them strolled their huge bodies down the field. Finally we let out our breaths. While they walked farther and farther away from our flimsy fortress, we turned to gaze after these creatures of wonder and wild grace, our silence brimming with respect and relief.

When our moment of bonding was over, we humans again became strangers. Mr. Boy Scout and one of the women went to check their Harley for damage, the other woman got in her car, and I drove off as if in a post-coital dream. www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yYjFvBW3aI

Last day camping, the bull’s bugling still echoing in my memory ears, I end the sojourn at Mile High Campground as I began it, in gratitude and prayer for continuance, by again Blowing Smoke to the Seven Directions in a sacred manner. (See previous two posts for part 1 and 2 of the sojourn.)