Planned

In October, I went to Estes Park, Colorado, the hotbed of elk activity, to photograph the rut. There weren’t many elk around, and Moraine Park was empty.

Unplanned

Later, I was in Northern California to spend time with wild bobcats, and I stumbled upon the tail end of the Tule elk rut! Once thought extinct, Tule elk are endemic to this 71,000-acre patch of preserved land and not found anywhere outside of Northern California. Historically, large herds were found throughout central and coastal California. There are three subspecies of American elk. Rocky Mountain elk are the most common. Roosevelt elk are the largest of the elk subspecies and are found in the Pacific Northwest.

As I travel the Point Reyes National Seashore roads, it seems like there is a massive bull over every hill! When I was last here, four years ago, I only saw elk in the wilderness area of Tomales Point. I’m happy to see them expanding their numbers. There are a few bulls with large harems, but mostly, the elk are alone or in smaller bachelor herds.

Just outside the Tomales Point Elk Reserve, I encountered a sizable bachelor herd. Some were grazing, some were resting, and some were sparing – a friendly way to hone their skills for the real stakes.

Sparring

Antlers intertwined, clashing and pushing one another. It’s a wonder they don’t poke each other’s eyes out. Elk spar from when they shed their velvet to when they shed their antlers (approx. August to March). It’s a way for them to test their strength.

There are no winners or losers, even when the participants are wholly unmatched. It’s playful yet powerful.

The next day, I encountered a similar group in the early morning marine fog. With rain on the horizon, most people stayed in. I was alone in the park with these elk.

All was quiet except for the crisp sounds of clashing antlers and occasional piercing elk bugles carrying over the hills. The sounds of nature are just as impressive as the sights.

Rutting

This bull elk is all testosterone and seriousness. He is pushing his harem, posturing with his neck long and extended. Head tilted back as far as the long antlers allow as he bellows his haunting, screeching bugle.

He looks directly at me and steps forward. He bugles his disdain. I am in the safety of my car and using a long lens, but it’s still unnerving.

I grabbed a couple more images and moved on to relieve his stress.

At the end of the day, a lone bull grazed on a hilltop—a fitting end to a surprisingly elky day.

Let your sense of adventure be your guide.

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The post Tule Elk Rut appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

This year, fall has come early. The aspen are mostly bare, revealing their stunning white branching. And the elk are concerningly absent. I was here more than 24 hours before I saw one.

Last winter was harsh across the United States, unusually cold and long with persistent deep, deep snow. It affected the survival of a lot of wildlife. I was worried about the elk herds here. It turns out the elk are fine. The rut is all but over, and they’ve returned to cooler areas of the Park. The Colorado sun bakes Moraine Park even on these cool fall days.

After yesterday’s nine-mile hike around Moraine Park, a day of relative rest is in order. We thought we’d check out some of the trails in the Bear Lake corridor. The first stop was Sprague Lake. As we pulled off the main road, I saw elk standing in the lake! We quickly parked and hurried to the south lake trail. The sun was just coming up.A small group of elk cows and calves stood in the middle of the shallow lake. A large herd had moved out of the lake, grazing along the north shore and trapping a group of people on a viewing deck over the water.

One of the cows in the lake twice struck the water’s surface with her front hoof. It was a forceful, intentional action that garnered no response from the rest of the herd.

A lone cow appeared at the west shore. A younger elk in the lake began calling. The newcomer stood at the water’s edge for some time before finally stepping in. At that moment, the young cow frolicked through the water, prancing, circling, and kicking up her heels.

The calf took a roundabout way to approach the new elk, somewhat submissive. After approaching, she attempted to nurse. It was a family reunion!

I moved to the east side of the lake as the elk began to move off toward the northeast. All of the cows congregated at the northeast corner of the lake, browsing, unconcerned with the attention of the onlookers. The herd’s bull appeared, walking in from the west. He extended his neck and raised his nose as he bugled, his eerie, screeching, lonesome call piercing the dawn.

He quickly disappeared into the woods, heading toward the creek outflow, pushing his girls in that direction. I followed the creekside trail on the opposite side of the herd, trying to get a safe vantage point with the sun behind me. The bull appeared on a rise in front of me.

He started pushing the cows across the creek between me and the lake. Seeing that I could quickly become stuck here by myself between a rutting elk and his harem, I rushed back to the lakeside trail. I’ve been between a bull elk and his ladies before. It’s scary.

As the bull gently moved the herd and the girls grazed casually, I got ahead, climbing up a hillside and waiting behind a large boulder for them to come past me.

In time, they all passed by and then bedded down for a morning rest. The bull moved noisily through the woods, thrashing at branches in his way. Eventually, he settled above them, and we went on our way.

This was a unique, unexpected wildlife encounter. When I thought I would see the moraine full of elk, instead, I got elk in a lake!

If you love a place, it will love you back.

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The post A Lake of Rocky Mountain Elk appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

The Herbivores

In Yellowstone National Park, bison begin calving in early spring. Their young, colloquially known as “red dogs,” are the first wildlife babies, usually appearing in Lamar Valley and Little America in April. By early June, when I visited, it seemed like a full one-third of the bison in these vast herds were accompanied by a calf.

The size of the herds moving across the valley is nothing short of unbelievable. It’s hard to believe that the United States plains once looked like this – as far as the eye could see. They are such a big part of the ecosystem, from soil health to plant dispersal, habitat creation, and interaction with predators. The landscape is barren without them.

Twenty to thirty percent of the offspring will not survive their first year succumbing to accidents, predation, or winter stresses. They provide essential food for various wildlife; ravens, wolves, bears, mountain lions, coyotes, and more. For now, the red dogs, like all kids, run and play, spar with each other head-butting like bulls, and running off youthful energy in frenetic circles across the valley floor.Earlier this spring, a well-intentioned person “rescued” a bison calf from the Yellowstone River. It was separated from the herd and appeared to be drowning. It’d be hard to watch, but his intervention didn’t save a life. Rangers attempted to reintroduce the calf to the herd without success and, unfortunately, had to euthanize it. In another misguided encounter several years ago, tourists put a stray bison calf in the back of their minivan and drove it to a ranger station, hoping to find help. I thought I was about to witness a similar interaction in Lamar Valley. It turns out this red dog is actually a red dog!

Elk

Elk calving season comes next from May through June. They usually give birth to a single calf. Elk leave their scentless, camouflaged calves hidden in the sage until they are big enough to keep up with the herd at about 16 days of age.

I’d seen an elk cow-calf pair along the northern entrance road the last two mornings. There’s not a good place to stop there, so this evening after dinner, I went out looking. I drove along Old Yellowstone Trail just outside of Gardiner and quickly came upon a small group of elk with young. Like the bison calves and all kids, the spindly-legged, awkward, spotted elk play – running in circles and chasing each other. The elk’s individualities show in these interactions. Differing parenting styles and varying personalities are obvious.

The smallest/youngest of the three calves here stays by her mother’s side, never more than a few steps away (picture below).The boldest one roams out of sight of their mother. Periodically, her mom stops grazing to glance up and locate her calf. If the pair were out here alone, she might be more vigilant, but as it is, there are quite a few adults around keeping watch. Her little one keeps going over a hill to visit with another calf, pausing to look back to make sure it’s okay with mom.

Eventually, all of the calves come running to rejoin their mothers, where they are greeted nose to nose. The then routine repeats itself.

Meanwhile, as my attention was out the left side of my car, the rest of the group had been moving along the road, and this guy was suddenly near my passenger door!

Moose

Moose in Yellowstone usually give birth to one calf in late May or June. In other parts of their range, twins can be common. The Yellowstone National Park moose are Shiras moose, the smallest of the four North American subspecies. The moose subspecies are the Eastern (Vermont, Maine, New York, and eastern Canada), Alaskan (Yukon, Alaska), Western (Upper Midwest and British Columbia), and Shiras (Rocky Mountain states, Washington, Oregon, Utah, and southwest Canada).

Unlike most deer species, moose are solitary and, despite their size, are hard to see in the woods and willows they prefer. In Yellowstone, they are most often seen along Soda Butte Creek around the northeast entrance and near Silver Gate and Cooke City.

Pronghorn

Pronghorn are the last of the big herbivores to calve in the Yellowstone spring. This may be part survival strategy because the wolf packs are already following the bison and elk, looking for a weakness and opportunity there. When I arrived three days ago (June 6th), I saw a couple of pregnant pronghorn, but I hadn’t seen any fawns yet. Pronghorn fawns, like deer and elk calves, also bed down away from their mothers for their first 2-3 weeks of life. Just past Pebble Creek Campground, I noticed a pronghorn doe on the hillside licking her new fawn. I pulled off and set up my tripod, watching a doe, buck, and fawn. Pronghorn don’t generally congregate in family groups like this. The bucks tend to go off on their own outside of the rut. So I’m not sure what the dynamic is here.  I watched as the tiny fawn on wobbly, somewhat contracted legs from having been wrapped up in the womb not long ago, moved determinedly away from the adult pair. The adults eventually grazed in the opposite direction once the baby was tucked down safely in the grass.

Only her ears and eyes were visible once the fawn laid down, and then only because I’d watched her settle in.

This sighting completed a quartet of spring Yellowstone herbivore babies. I’m amazed and blessed to have seen them all on this short trip. Stayed tuned for more spring wildlife watching in Yellowstone stories.

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The post Spring Wildlife Watching in Yellowstone National Park appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.