The air was crisp and clean, a hard frost glittering on every surface. Pockets of fog swirled, some areas remained clear of the swirling mists while others were thick with eddying vapors obscuring the sky and limiting your visibility.
In clear areas the sky was studded with countless stars. It’s surprising to see how many more are visible now that summer’s humidity is gone. Countless they appear in number. How small we seem, individually, when we contemplate the infinite creations above and the Power that created them. What do we know, really, about anything?
We turned up Hicks Run, the twisting, narrow dirt road winding before us, the bright beams of our headlights slicing through the darkness. The dust billowed up behind, without any recent rains the vegetation on either side of the road had become coated in a fine veneer of dust from the bone dry road.
Reaching 555 we turned toward Benezette. The skyline was just visible, the steep ridge tops forming a jagged, toothy line against the brightening sky. The inky blackness of night was fading, the heavens turning a cold, steel blue as the stars faded and vanished, bowing to the mightier light.
Turning onto a side road we pulled up to a large meadow, the sides lined with tall goldenrod touched with frost. Already, despite the hour, cars and trucks lined the road side. We parked and stepped out into the brisk air and as I zipped my jacket a high pitched, squealing roar cut the air and made the hair on my neck prickle.
A huge bull elk was standing only 60 yards away in the predawn meadow and his magnificent bugle echoed off the hills as he announced his might and majesty to all the world. Down the long meadow an answering bugle sounded, another bull with his harem and still another bugle sounded as a satellite bull bugled as well.
The elk are rutting.
These magnificent creatures, the bulls weighing up to 600 pounds or more, begin the rut around Sept. 14. The rut lasts approximately three weeks. The biggest bulls gather as many cows as they can and then zealously defend their harem from any and all intruders. But, you have to understand there’s an established hierarchy here in the elk world.
The biggest, strongest and largest antlered males, herd bulls, rule and easily intimidate any weaker or younger bulls who have no wish to receive a good thrashing and perhaps a serious wound from the antlers of a dominant bull and therefore avoid combat. These are called satellite bulls since they orbit around the dominant bull’s harem of cows, keeping in sight and hoping the herd bull may be drawn off by a rival or become distracted enough for them to sneak in and gather some affection from a receptive cow.
Herd bulls keep a jaundiced eye upon these circling bulls and waste no time in chasing these intruders away should they draw too close. Female elk are only in estrus 24 hours, making herd bulls exceedingly jealous. Chasing away any and all possible rivals, breeding and herding their harem around is an exhausting task and bulls can lose up to 200 pounds doing so.
But, this hierarchy is constantly under challenge. Last year’s dominant bulls are now another year older and may have begun to decline or they may possibly be bigger and stronger. But, every year brings new rivals. Potential contenders are almost always at least eight or nine years of age. It takes time for their bodies to mature enough to compete. Their magnificent antlers also take time to grow long, heavy and durable enough to withstand the intense shock and strain of battle. When these newcomers feel confident enough to take on the existing herd bull violent conflicts are inevitable. When one bull won’t back down, the only way to decide the issue is slug it out.
Both bulls lower their heads, lock horns and using all their weight and muscle twist their powerful necks trying to throw the other off balance and then, sensing any advantage hammering forward with every ounce of their strength attempting to drive their opponent into the earth and gore him with their massive, sharp, ivory-tipped antlers. They’re not really fighting to the death, but for dominance. Often serious strains, broken antlers and stab wounds can occur.
The strength of these 600-pound animals is as incredible as the violence of the encounter. Eyes rolled back, squealing with effort, nostrils flared, hooves pounding, digging and kicking up chunks of earth they twist, turn, feint, savagely striving for victory. The clack and rasp of their impressive antlers echo off the trees as younger bulls and cows intently watch the battle. Such a sight is incredibly awesome and a little scary, but to the victor goes the spoils.
Some of Nature’s sounds are unforgettable and seem to etch themselves on our souls. The howl of a wolf in the vast forests of the West, the forlorn, haunting call of a loon across a lonely Canadian lake and third, I believe, is the sudden, raspy, shrill shrieking, roar of a huge rutting elk. It gives you goosebumps.
We’re fortunate to live so close to Pennsylvania’s elk herd and now is the time to go and view them in all their glory.
Don’t miss it.
