Feisty Elk Moms

I never thought my closest call with a wild animal would be with a glorified cow, but here we are. Here’s happened, what went wrong, and what to do if you find yourself in this situation:

The Sun was Blazing Hot, and Our Goal was to Find a Quick, Easy Hike in the Shade

I try to get out for a hike once a week. But on the heels of a particularly tough bike ride, I opted for something familiar in a wilderness area we had come to love.

The trailhead we typically started from was closed, so we headed to the other side of the park to tackle a brisk, 3–ish mile loop around a cluster of craggy rock formations called the Three Sisters.

A mess of roots crisscrossed the path beneath a sparse canopy that cast long slats of shade.

A sparse canopy cast long slats of shade over the trail, where a mess of crisscrossing roots formed natural steps up the meandering switchback. At the top — a kind of shoulder between the center and northern rock formations — we could see all the way down, over a rolling hill, to Evergreen lake. Even at this distance, a few dozen people were visible, paddling around on the shimmering water.

According to the topo map, the elevation topped out here. The back half of the lollypop-shaped loop trail would be smooth cruising down to the lot. Here on the western side of the formation, the hulking form of Elephant Butte towered over the horizon, in a way that was impossible to perceive when you stood atop it.

Elephant Butte, as seen from the Three Sisters

The path to the top involves making your way up through the denser forest in the midground of the above photo, toward the right side of the frame. From there, the trail jumps back to the left, wrapping around a little shelf just above the tree line along the rock face.

I’ve written about this particular hike more than once, if you’d like to see the route in greater detail:

Adrenaline Addiction: Rehabilitating an Unhealthy Relationship with Adventure

That's Not Your Path — But it Sure Looks Like it

The Butte stayed in view for the remained of our walk, all the way to the final trail junction, where several connecting paths wound westward, out to the temporarily closed portion of the open space I’d grown accustomed to hiking in.

Here, we paused to hydrate, glob on a bit of sunscreen, and weigh our options.

Aside from the connector trail, and the way back to our vehicle, this little nexus point also had an easy quarter mile out-and-back extension, promising an overlook with a nice view. Having made excellent time so far, we opted to take the detour, snap some pictures, and be on our way.

The path was extremely mild, with a few needless switchbacks that bought us maybe an extra 20 or 30 feet in elevation to the outcrop.

The view from Brothers Overlook, facing west. You can just make out some of the snowcapped Front Range fourteeners in the distance

A few minutes later, a gentle breeze brought in the sound of crickets, the scent of pine tar, and a blanket of cloud cover that rendered our sunscreen moot. As you may have gathered from the picture, those clouds didn’t look too friendly.

We decided to wrap up head back to the car before the storm could roll in. As luck would have it, nature wasn’t done with us for the day.

On the way back down, a beautiful elk wandered into view. It was far — grazing in a wooded area on the opposite side of an open field, maybe a couple hundred feet away. Using maximum magnification, I got a pretty decent photo of the creature.

Wow, nature really is something, huh?

Pictures taken moments before disaster

Unfortunately, when it came to Keeping a Respectful Distance, the Elk Didn’t Seem to be on the Same Page

About five seconds after snapping that picture, the Elk turned in our direction, decided it wanted to have a word, and ran straight for us. We sidestepped, putting a tree between us and the creature — which is very large up close by the way — just as it reached our original position.

The animal planted itself in the middle of the trail, unmoving.

That’s okay, just back away slowly, right? Give the wildlife some space?

Yeah, no. The elk still wasn’t quite convinced we’d gotten the message: this was her¹ turf. Each deliberate step backward I took, she followed.

My initial instinct was that this was a case of wildlife getting too comfortable around humans in a popular area, maybe from getting fed.

But that wouldn’t explain the charge.

I stayed calm, but a sudden surge of adrenaline told me we might be in more danger than I first suspected. The animal was about four feet away at that point. It was massive, shockingly muscular, and completely undeterred by my conversation-level voice.

Yelling didn’t work either. I’d later learn this was a mistake, because elk are territorial.

At this point, it’s worth remembering that we were on an out-and-back trail, and we hadn’t gotten all that far below the summit. With every inch of ground I ceded, I was slowly but surely backing up toward the cliffs we’d just come from.

A distant rumble of thunder put a nice little exclamation point on this situation. We were relatively exposed, and didn’t have the luxury of waiting out the creature until it decided to wander off.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw we were coming up to a bend in the low-grade switchback that opened up to another field. If my sense of direction wasn’t too far off, bushwhacking across it would eventually bring us to the northern stretch of the trail we’d come down on.

We beat a hasty retreat, constantly looking over our shoulders to see if the elk was following. Fortunately, it did not.

Upon looking closer at the first picture I took, I’m pretty confident I’ve pieced together what happened:

Please enjoy this visual aid of everyone’s movements during our encounter

Because the Elk was facing toward the right side of the frame, I think it was headed north along the general path of the teal arrow when it spotted us. Since it’s calving season, there may have been babies following close behind — maybe even on or near the Brothers trail.

I spent a bit of time on the walk back wishing we’d opted to skip this little extension. But after checking our path on AllTrails, I realized that our original course probably would’ve led us into the animal head on.

Once we were back on the trail, my hiking partner and I had a discussion about which way to proceed. South would’ve been the fastest path back to the trailhead, but also meant passing right by the spot we’d last seen the animal. North would mean re-summiting, and backtracking the much longer section of loop, leaving us exposed in the elements.

We decided that the latter course of action was probably safer, and set off.

The Other Hikers

About halfway back up to the high point between the North and Central Sisters, we ran into a cluster of hikers from a few different groups, and warned them about what we’d seen.

“Oh, that was you we saw running down that hill,” one man remarked. “We figured something was probably up.” He was accompanied by his wife, and two small children. Close behind was a woman with a small baby strapped to her chest. All of them opted to turn back with us to avoid a potential encounter.

There was plenty of time to talk on the walk. I learned the family was visiting from out of town, and had been trying to see as much nature as they could before heading back east the next morning.

“If you’re looking for a good place to grab dinner, I know a spot in town. Good atmosphere. Great patio by the creek,” I said. “And they have fantastic elk burgers, in case you feel like being reminded you’re at the top of the food chain.”

We had a good laugh at this.

But when you’re actually out there in the woods, miles from the closest person, it really is important to remember you’re not on your turf. Sharing this space with wildlife can be a beautiful thing. Still: these are wild animals that can behave unpredictably, even if you’ve encountered them dozens of times before.

When I sat down to write this story for you, I did a bit of background research and learned we may have had a run-in with a particular elk in the area that’s known to the locals. Nicknamed “Feisty,” she’s credited with injuring multiple dogs during encounters.

CPW considers many of these attacks to be “unprovoked.” If that’s what these guys can do when you are giving them space, I can’t imagine what possesses tourists to get right up in a bison’s business to snap a cool pic for the ‘gram.

You’re not a Disney Princess, and that thing weighs more than your sedan. Just because it prefers to eat plants, doesn’t mean it can’t crack a few of your ribs.

Actually Useful Survival Information

I found a lot of conflicting information about what you should do in an Elk encounter, specifically. Elk fit into the territorial class of creatures, as opposed to the more-scared-of-you-than-you-are-of-them category. That’s doubly true when they’ve got babies around.

Everyone seems to be in agreement on these points:

• Give them space

• If they approach, back up slowly

• Don’t make eye contact

• Don’t yell or make loud startling noises

• You can talk in a normal tone to ward them off

• If they charge, get behind a tree or solid object

• If they knock you down, protect your head and neck until they leave you alone

The disagreement comes when you ask whether you should actually run from a charging elk. Generally, the rule is that you NEVER run from carnivores, but you can run from herbivores.

Here though, some sources advise against turning your back on them. Based on my personal experience and raw instinct, I’d say if it gets to that point, try to break line of sight — or at the very least, put an object between you, before running.

My father helpfully pointed out that — unlike bears and mountain lions — elk can’t climb trees. But this Feisty Elk Mom seemed really persistent. If you go this route, you might be stuck up in that tree for a long, long time.

At the end of the day, I’m just glad our elk didn’t have antlers — those look pointy! Stay safe out there.

1. I’m assuming, based on the lack of antlers. I didn’t have time to perform a more comprehensive check