Naked Amongst Elk

Bears Ears, Utah #44

2024-06-11

Elk!

We’re camped up in the White Mountains of Arizona at one of our favorite spots next to a great field. We’ve decided to sit in the great field and take photos of the sunset colors on the trees, which define its borders. We have a camera and cell phones, as we take steps, we’re aiming for our usual spot, a pile of volcanic rocks. We are wearing nothing else, barefoot. We are intent upon soaking up the moment in all of its sensuous gifting. The line from the bible rings true,“Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy grounds: Exodus 3.5”. We’re immersed simply, barefoot all over.

We slowly make our way into the great field, each step deliberate, being careful to avoid the sharper rocks.

There is some faint trail left from our footsteps, consisting of mashed clumps of grass and the avoidance of the same brutal treatment of the young greens and flowers. Our feet are directed to thick litter of pine needle piles. These feel like a plush carpet. The contrasts have a sensuous appeal as my feet step down. Each step is calculated by the body; some strides are longer than others, or heading different directions. This is what my Cub Scout manual taught me, “Walk like a warrior.” We leave only subtle traces of our presence and naturally remain quiet. This allows me to hear, to experience the sounds of the forest, any wind, but more than the rest, amplify and know the calming quiet and serenity. This kind of travel also doesn’t alert the wildlife.

At the pile of rocks that we like to spend time on, we’re standing, looking out, looking up. It has been a while since this was our nightly gathering spot. It is as if a new experience. Memory’s accuracy has faded with time. “I don’t remember all of these holes in that rock.” “There are four in that one. “

I’ve been focused on the ground. Focused, as I said, on where my next step is, planning out the route to avoid the numerous rough volcanic stones along the way. As I’m about to sit down, DF wonders quietly but out loud “What’s that?” She points across the field.

Not yet sure. I turn around. It’s an elk, always an excitement.

As we squint to adjust to the light and shadows, we can see four on the far side of the field! We stand and watch, still, not to spook them. They are browsing, just coming out of the shadows of the forest and into the grassy field.

DF’s camera does telephoto. She begins to zoom in for a better look. I zoom in with my phone. We detect more. A big fat bull elk is out front.

After about 15 minutes, I decide to risk missing a moment of this spectacle and sneak back to camp. Stored in the tent are the powerful binoculars which were found abandoned in a remote wash at the beginning of our trip, now a month ago.

When I return with these and our chairs, I can count one, two, three, four, all thin and all boys. They have antlers. These are big boys. The mass, the bulk, the lean strength of them is amazing. In the past, their size has always felt intimidating.

Then scanning, I see more. Two look to be twins and one has dark fur, unlike the lighter brown youth and females. This less lean male is the apparent biggest. He looks mighty as he browses next to the others.

Then, even more appear. We watch through our enhancing equipment, “Perhaps the back-end that I see is female?” We’re taking a tally. Because the images through the cameras and binoculars localize what we see, I start a couple of times, to be sure that I don’t count anyone twice. To the right, there are a total of three females in a group. They are escorted by seven males.

They are all browsing on the tall grasses. I’d suppose that they spend a great deal of time doing just that in order to sustain such bulk. I hear a motorcycle far in the background. They stop to listen, one at a time, sometimes two. Then the sound ends and all concern drops back to the forage below them.

We sit, being still across the field, passing the binoculars, amazed and in stealth. They are browsing, slowly trending out into the field bit by bit. I figure that they will stop at the edge of the bright green lines where moister has not let the grasses dry, the better eating. One by one, they come out of the shadows of the trees. One is staring, pointing its head right at me. “Will I spook it?” “Does it see me?” For 45 minutes to an hour, we watch as they creep toward us, ever closer.

The big bulls occasionally stop and appear to stare our way. Two lumps, each dark blue with flesh, we seldom move. I wonder if they are looking at us, or would they look in our direction with their eyes at the side of their heads. Are they just listening, or do they see something unusual here on other side of the field.

One goes out left as if to flank us. The group of girls keeps an eye out, watching the boys. Somebody is always looking our way as they continue to graze. They seem to take turns. They seem to read each other’s movements. Their communication is amazing to watch. They each have had individual past experiences, individual perspectives in the moment to bring to the actions and collective knowledge of the group. Collectively, they will react to danger. More heads are better than one. Their actions are both individual and as a group and will be less predictable by these same factors. It is an ancient survival method and apparent that it works.

Still they creep closer. Within 300 feet of them, looking through these 8X24 binoculars, it feels like 20 feet. It is like being within a very few paces to reaching out and touching them, being amongst the herd, too close. The image feels a bit scary. We don’t know how they might react or behave.

I think, “How close are the females?” “Would they protect females?” One boy turns around in a circle. Could this be a ruse, a signal to us, or others? Could it be an attempt to roust us, or a challenge? Would they charge? My mind is moving fast. I figure a charge is for protection, a last resort. Most survivors will leave to live for another day. But, I don’t know this guy really, or how he behaves. I can surmise, but these animal’s behaviors are unpredictable.

Eventually, from a stronger flank, the circling young bull has its head pointing at us, too. DF has been getting worried. I’m rationalizing my fears, keeping my cool, observing, evaluating, but these unknown critters have a scary threatening effect on me, an absolutely naked and defenseless human.

When the big one displays alert, nobody else moves, not even an ear, frozen. We realize that we’re doing the same. He is king.

In another ten minutes they are closer. At this point, I heed DF’s concern. We’ll be better safe than sorry. When we move they will probably alert and run away. BUT again….

We grab our chairs carefully, so as to not swing them too much. They don’t know our game either and may react in this close range, as we stand up and move. They do react.

The women turn to walk swiftly away, heads up, watching us from their side setting eyes, smaller beings. Three body guards come between us and the princesses. We see their butts for the first time, they’re moving away. Two turn in circles, then prancing, raising their heads more into the air to trot off. I watch those black eyes, watching us from the sides of their heads intensly, with alarm.

Finally, the left flank crosses, following the now more distant others. I don’t know if they had been standing guard, acting as a final line of defense, or just waiting for the fear to catch them, or simply leaving to stay with the others, following the herd. By their timing and their alert gaze, I think standing guard.

As we walk off of the field, we are still in awe. Wondering what might have happened, if we had stayed quietly in our place. At what point would they bolt, or charge, or would they have simply roamed around us, the strange furless animals in their midst, deemed harmless?

Looking Back:

I have dreamed for years that I might see a herd of elk with a grand-master ahead of them on this field. That has been one reason to camp here. I’ve looked every day. It has seemed the right place, scat all around, half eaten small trees, baby aspen pulled out by the roots, hoof prints. We’ve seen the aspen trees pushed over, their bark stripped away and we know the fearsome strength of these massive animals.

The aspen grove with the black scratch marks now makes better sense. Their marks are plenty. It would take a herd of bears to do that, but there is a herd of elk. They came out of that very grove, the place furthest from the roads, with the greenest grasses and plants near a spring and water catchment. They pranced away quickly and the massive, tall beings disappeared like ghosts. They knew the place, the field, the grove.

When the big one was on alert, nobody else moved, not even an ear, frozen.

Here is the story of the aspen grove:

Exploring the Mystery of the Aspen Grove

So, this concludes this series of stories about our 2024 trip to Bears Ears National Monument. The next day, we drove home through the familiar pine forests, the red canyons and the pinion pine in grassy fields and into the high deserts, to our homeland of saguaros.

Now, I’ll continue with our 2025 trip into Southern Utah, peppered with some other recent naked adventures and thoughts.

I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.

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