Ghosts of the Forest

Living in the Oregon Coast Range, humans share this land with many creatures, but the most fascinating of all for me are the animals nicknamed ghosts of the forest, the elk. That name is earned because they often seem to appear from nowhere. You can be standing in a deep forest, fog softening the lines of the trees, aware only of your own breath, and then you hear the sound of a branch snapping. Is that something chewing? Tearing down another branch? You hear the movement of a large body. You know they are not far away, a hundred feet maybe, but they do not want to be seen and they are not.

Often the only evidence they have been somewhere is footprints or mud on the roadway where they crossed. I have never seen them on this farm, but those who drive up the gravel road say they have watched them run across the back.

Elk travel in family groups like the cattle who carry their same names-- cows and bulls. Within fifteen miles of my home there are three different herds, each with their own circuit through the forest, apparently never mixing their ranges as they drift through the hills and cross the rivers in a circuit they will repeat year after year, knowing just where the good feed is, where the branches stay green longest in the winter, and leaves return soonest in the spring.

One year, walking up the hill behind this farm, I saw one of those herds, the smallest, in a meadow below. Down there are some marshy areas. That morning the water was warmer than the air and the steam rose from it. You could see it the cows' breath. They would roll in the pools, then run around like calves. I looked hard to see if there was a bull with them, but bulls get wary after hunting season. The bulls were likely in the woods, watching over their herd but not showing themselves.

This year, coming home from a week-end away, I saw the herd in these photos. It is about fifteen miles from the farm and one of the largest local herds. When I drive through that valley, I always look for them. They appear as if by magic, sometimes melting back into the woods just as quickly. When the herd is there, I often stop for awhile and watch. It is like touching a bit of wilderness to see them and know they are watching me. I love how they travel together, their communal nature, their beauty, and strength.

In this herd, I saw several mature bulls but one obviously was the patriarch. Elk travel together as a band, as a community. Perhaps as this bull gets old, presuming he survives the hunting seasons, one of the younger ones will fight him for the dominant position. Some elk travel in harems with only one bull but in the Coast Range, they seem to manage peace with several large bulls in the herd.

This bull will soon be at risk when the season opens-- first bulls, then cows for hunters with tags. I don't like hunting, but it is an honorable way to get meat. It can be done respectful of life. For the herd's health, thinning in some manner is essential to avoid disease and starvation. Unless the Coast Range reintroduced wolf packs, man is the only predator that can take down elk in its prime. The herd is also part of its protection.

I have been in Yellowstone and watched a single elk run past in dread for its life. When the wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone, the balance of nature shifted. A new player had entered the arena. It might seem sad to see predators bring down such a proud animal, but it is part of the ecology of a healthy forest to have predators capable of thinning herbivore populations; however, even wolves will be cautious how the pack goes after a mature elk, preferring to cut out the young.

Years ago, I had a girlfriend who had grown up along the Siletz River, which is the other side of the Coast Range from this farm. She talked of being out in the forest with her friends and being treed by the elk. Once in awhile a tourist in Yellowstone will get too chummy with them-- wanting just one more photo just a bit closer, and end up gored in the stomach.

With a herd this size, given the alert way they watched me, I didn't head across the open field for better photos. When I first got there, they seemed to be grazing, but I think they wanted to come my way and were wondering when I'd leave the gate and drive away. Reluctantly, eventually I did, and they likely continued on their circuit past the point where I had been standing, jumping the fence as though it was irrelevant because to their size and strength, it was.