A Taste of Travel

Elk and the problem with the poop

I have a love/hate relationship with the elk at Yellowstone National Park.

Well, mostly it's a love relationship. They're majestic and beautiful. But my first encounter with a big bull elk was not exactly peaceful.

It was September, rutting season, when the big bulls try to impress the ladies by bugling, rounding up harems of cows, and chasing off other males.

My husband and I had driven up to Mammoth Hot Springs, the northern gateway to the park, which sits at about 6,000 feet above sea level in Wyoming.

Mammoth is famous for its thermal features — colorful hot springs, steaming fumaroles, and travertine terraces that look like something from another planet. And elk. Lots of elk.

The town of Mammoth is also home to the Yellowstone Park headquarters, a handful of historic stone buildings, a small inn, and a general store. During September, the elk basically take over the town.

Touchdown, one of the big bulls, had his harem of about 15 cows resting on the lawn in front of the visitor's center. Named for his antler shape, Touchdown was a veteran of many ruts. He was enormous, probably 700 pounds, with a massive rack of antlers.

My husband wanted to get a closer look. As we approached, Touchdown lifted his head, looked straight at us, and let out a bugle — a sound that I can only describe as something between a whistle and a scream. We backed up quickly.

Later, we encountered Rasputin, another bull, near the hotel. He was sparring with a younger male, their antlers clashing in a display of dominance. A park ranger made sure tourists kept their distance.

Twigs, a younger bull with a smaller rack, was trying his luck near the general store. He'd round up a few cows only to have them wander off. Poor Twigs.

That evening, we'd reserved a table at the Mammoth Hotel Dining Room, a lovely old place with big windows and views of the terraces. I'd been looking forward to their famous prime rib all day.

We were seated near the window, prime rib ordered, wine poured, when I looked outside and saw Touchdown walking directly toward the dining room. He stopped just outside the window, not six feet from my face, and stared at me.

He was spectacular. His antlers were enormous, his dark mane ruffled from the day's activities. He breathed steam into the cold evening air.

And then he turned around and — how shall I put this delicately — fertilized the lawn right outside my window.

The prime rib arrived. I pushed it around my plate for a while.

Love/hate. Definitely love/hate.