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 It’s the music of the Western mountains, and this
is the only time we get to hear it. It has a hollow sound, as though
a flute were a foot thick and 12-feet long, and it is the lonely
call of the bull elk.
It starts in early September and by October becomes more of a war
chant. When winter shuts down the breeding season, the bulls go
quiet once again, and pal up with other bulls to face winter
together.
But now, the call is there. Veteran elk hunters call it “the locate
call.” It isn’t meant to be intimidating to other elk, either. The
spirit ghost of the mountains dictates the bull sends this high,
hollow note out to the world.
If I may be permitted to translate, the locate call is just a
reminder, not a threat.
“Anybody oooooo-ut there?”
That was Pete, sitting on top of a ridge near the Continental
Divide. From the bottom of the canyon to the west, maybe four miles
away, we hear an answer.
“This is She-r-r-r-r-rm. Remember me from last winter? Goin’ girlin’-n-n-n-n
soon, Pete?” [to top of second
column] |
“Thought I mi-i-i-i-ight, Sherm.
Luck to you.”
“And you-u-u-u-u-u too-o-o-o-!”
In a month, they’ll be gathering cows and Pete will threaten to
dismember ol’ Sherm with a single antler, but that’s during the rut,
and that has more grunting sounds in it.
If you should go out there and try to call one in close enough for a
picture, or at least a conversation, they would like me to remind
you they are both 12 feet tall, weight more than a ton each, and
could whip a freight train. And they’re good-looking guys, too. Pass
the word.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by A
Cowboy’s Guide to Hunting Elk by Slim Randles. Now on Amazon.com.
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