My Night with the Elk
I was driving home to New Mexico after spending ten days in Nevada’s Great Basin Desert. I had camped each night. During the days, I had followed bands of wild horses, taking pictures and making notes for a story I wanted to do on mares and foals.
I was exhausted and eager to be home in my own bed. I decided to take County Road 126, which is a shortcut over the Jemez Mountains.
According to the map, 126 was a paved road, about forty-five miles long. I estimated that I would save at least two hours of driving time.
I started up a mountain as the sun was going down. The road immediately climbed steeply in a series of hairpin turns. I stayed wide awake, concentrating on taking the curves smoothly.
At mile seven the pavement began to fracture and break up. At mile ten it was gone. The truck bumped and rumbled along on a washboard surface cut with deep ruts. Some of the ruts were running with water.
I continued, undaunted.
At mile seventeen the road took an abrupt plunge into a steep-walled canyon. By this time it was completely dark and I had switched on my headlights.
I peered into the glow they cast. The gray-white ribbon of road, creating a tunnel through the trees, was my only promise of home. Because I felt alone and a bit scared, I sang myself a country song. This broke the spell of fear.
At mile thirty I came around a sharp curve and found myself facing a herd of elk about to cross the road. Startled, the front line of elk stopped. But more of their kind pressed them from behind, and they sprawled on the ground with their knees bent awkwardly.
I slammed on my brakes. But before the truck stopped, the bumper hit something with a sickening sound. The instant the truck stopped I jumped out and ran forward, fearing the worst. I stood in the beam of the headlights and watched at least twenty elk bound into the forest—all but one.
The fallen animal’s neck was twisted in an unlikely way. I stared at the elk, shocked and horrified. I was convinced that I’d killed an innocent animal.
At the same time I wanted to cry with selfish frustration. All I wanted was to be home in bed, not alone in the wilderness with a dead elk that I was responsible for killing.
I ran to the elk on the ground. I didn’t stop to think that this huge animal might wake up and injure me in a struggle to get up and away. I dropped to my knees and felt its neck for a sign of life. The heavy fur on its neck felt like a poodle’s. It had the powerful musky smell of a wild animal.
I found a pulse! The elk was not dead.
I sat back in surprise, aware that I had a new set of problems. What to do? I could not simply leave. I worked my hands over the shorter, denser fur of the animal’s legs and ribs, but I couldn’t find any broken bones. The only injury I saw was a bloody gash on its brow.
Hoping the animal would recover, I stayed. My plan was to wait for dawn, then try to find someone who could help.
I covered the elk with a tarp and sat down near it, wrapping myself in blankets.
It was then that I took in the silence of the forest, and the darkness. To save energy I kept the flashlight off. Above, I could see only a strip of starry sky, so close were the walls of the canyon and so dense the growth of ponderosa pine.
Slowly but surely my heart began to beat faster with an unreasonable fright. What was there in the woods to cause me harm?
Nothing.
Still, I shook with a mixture of aloneness and terror.
I began to sing again. When I was a child, my nursemaid sang to me whenever I was worried or afraid. I had sung to my dolls and stuffed animals. Singing had worked before, and it worked this time, too.
I was close enough to the elk to hear its labored breathing and its occasional quivers and shakes. I knew I had to stay alert in case the elk woke up and leaped into a standing position. If the animal became frightened, it could hurt or kill me with its hard hooves.
That night was one of the longest I’ve spent. It was also eerily beautiful. My fear came and went like waves on a shore. I sang, grew tired, pinched myself to stay awake, briefly looked at the elk with the flashlight, and sang some more.
Dawn was breaking when the animal came around. First its legs began to move as if it were dreaming of running. It lifted its head and then lowered it. I could tell it was in pain, and I wondered if the collision with the truck had wrenched its neck muscles.
Finally the elk staggered to its feet. I smiled at it and said softly, “Come on, you can do it. You’ll be fine. Just keep on waking up!”
When the elk got up, the tarp slid off. The animal stared down at the heap of fabric. Then it looked at me. After a long moment, it took an unsteady step, and then another. It appeared to be wondering what to do next as it stayed poised in the middle of the road.
Tears ran down my face as I watched it. I nodded at it and said more encouraging words. The elk stepped ever so carefully, tentative and unsure, until it reached the trees on the far side of the road. Before it slipped away into the forest, it looked back at me.
I sighed deeply, worn out but happy. I returned to the truck and slept a few hours. After waking, I drove the rest of the way home. Now that all was well, I was glad to have spent those few hours of wildness with the elk.
