Beware: Aggressive Elk

The sign said to beware of aggressive elk. I had been warned.

I just didn't expect to see them there in the middle of downtown, sprawled across the median, through the street, and over toward the concrete parking lot. They congregated in small clusters, like teenagers loitering at a strip mall. Some seemed to be showing off. Others looked on lazily from the grass.

Not one of them appeared to be lost or scared.

After all, Estes Park had been their home first. Before Stephen King stayed at The Stanley. Before my husband and I got married at the Della Terra Château. We had planted aspen trees to commemorate our nuptials, a meek apology to the earth.

My toddler pressed his cheek against the window of the car, awestruck. His eyes widened. He squealed with delight. He laughed and laughed, amazed by his own good luck.

Naughty elk, he thought. Silly, naughty elk blocking the road. Rebels. 

Snuggled tight in her car seat, his baby sister offered only the most casual sidelong glance. Nature wasn't so novel to her; as a baby, she was closer to the light and still an innate part of it herself. 

She saw no reason why the elk shouldn't be here. We're here, too, after all.

I rolled down the windows, put my feet up on the dash, and settled in. The road was clogged up as far as I could see. There were a few police officers directing traffic. Unfortunately, there was little they could do to hurry things along just yet. Elk, I suppose, did not fall under their jurisdiction.

There was a single outsider laying down by the edge of a path. She was lazy and peaceful, so still she appeared to be sleeping. I joked that she was meditating. Then, I realized, that might very well be exactly what she was up to.

Animals would be better at that by definition, right?

My husband and I watched a group of sunburned tourists approach her. Gleefully, fearfully, and with a great sense of superiority, we realized they thought she was a statue.

Boy, were they spooked when she gently lifted her head.

Silly tourists, we thought. We shook our heads and mapped our trip home from the cabin we'd rented alongside them. City people; east coasters, maybe.

Over the next hour or so, the situation lost its comedic value. It was the heat of summer. The kids had grown impatient, and they were getting very, very loud. 

We were stuck.

At long last, a path had been cleared in the roadway. The elk were safely off the median, away from the asphalt, and out of the street. Their Sunday afternoon continued a short walk away. Down a grassy hill, they drank from a stream and napped by the water. No doubt they were exhausted from their earlier shenanigans.

Must be nice to relax like that, I thought. Here I was, with nothing to do and nowhere to be, feeling more agitated than ever.

The cars ahead of us started to crawl once again, ushered along by a red faced police officer. No pictures. No slowing down. No stopping to take in the nature scenes. That's what the mountains down the road are for.

This is how I found myself hanging out the window, being scolded by a very joyless agent of the law as I attempted to take a photograph from my slowly moving vehicle.

When would we be this close to elk again?

Most of them had already made their way to the creek. A few, however, stood guard by the roadside, loyal, defending their friends' good time.

I locked eyes with one of them.

Her lips curled back to expose her teeth. They were bigger than I'd imagined. Move along, she seemed to snarl. This is our spot. Don't you dare ruin our pleasant afternoon in the park.

Aggressive elk, indeed...or defensive, maybe.

These aren't teenagers after all, I realized.

They're mothers - and they'll do what it takes to make the adventure happen for their family.