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Excerpt from an
article written in 1996 "I can't help but wonder if his days are coming to an end. "Moose," the big bull elk I befriended almost eight months ago during the autumn rut, is lying in the shade, looking ragged and tired. He's paying me no attention, continuously letting his head flop to either side as if he hadn't the strength to keep it upright. The most telling sign of his ill health is his gut; it looks big and full, yet he's not chewing. I've watched him from a distance all winter and he hasn't been eating as well as the other bulls; he's always appeared a step behind. His bloated gut is a sure indication that he doesn't have any food left to chew on, that it's been a long hard winter for the king of the Minnewanka rut. I want to feel sorry for Moose, but I find myself thinking otherwise. He had a glorious run this fall fighting off big bulls and maintaining a harem of close to forty cows, and now here he lies, perhaps ready to pass on and renew the cycle of life. As much as I hope he makes it and returns for another year of glory, I hope that if he is to go now that he does so in a manner befitting a majestic monarch. I don't want Moose to die on the tracks or on a road, and I don't want him to starve alone in a dark gloomy enclave in the trees. Instead, I want him to die at the mouths of a hungry pack or in the jaws of a grizzly. I envision a great fight to the death, where Moose uses up his last reserves in a valiant struggle that ends in death for him, but life for the multitude of creatures that depend on death to live." "Moose" died about a week after I took this photograph. Unfortunately, my favourite elk did die alone in a tightly wedged stand of trees. In the years since, I have watched closely as the new young bulls began to grow antlers, hoping I might one day see another rack of moose-like palmated antlers and another great bull like "Moose." |
