#elkfest

BONUS BECAUSE PARTY ON YOU!!! LIKE IN BOTTOMS!!! LET'S GO LESBIANS!

Yesterday morning, just as I got up and feeling still slightly hungover, L came back from walking the dog and announced Holy shit, it's beautiful outside. Before I knew it, we packed up the baby into the car, and started our drive up to Rocky Mountain National Park, which we still had never been to. The colors had already started changing, and the landscape kept reminding me of Atacama and Patagonia, which in April had just begun to turn to fall. We often talk about how that trip into the Andes by complete chance portended our living out here by the Rockies, but never as stark as today. I couldn't help but compare the isolation of both places, and contemplate what it would mean to go "off the grid," or raise a family "in the mountains." Being born and raised in cities, the strangeness of the idea attracts me, but I don't know if I could live the reality of it. I mean, I JUST learned how to fill up my gas tank. 

As we got closer, we noticed signs warning us of the elk rut, and realized we were heading right smack into Elk Fest. Soon we saw that rubbernecking anywhere along the road was caused by elk sighting. The first ones I saw, a triplet standing in the front yard of someone's house, imperceptibly grazing the grass, were so still I almost thought they were statues. There was something about seeing them right there that stunned me, the full force of nature that makes you aware that there exists something much bigger than yourself, and much more powerful. Something that watching an episode of Nature just doesn't completely impart. 

The road was jammed with cars hoping to get a glimpse of a yearly ritual, and miles of cars were parked on the side of the road. Tripods were out, families were strolling through the fields; it started to rain. While trying to find the perfect spot that was not densely occupied, we drove clear out of the park. We pulled onto a small road to try to get back, and as we pulled into the empty parking lot of a Methodist church, I caught the antlers of a smaller male in the corner of my eye. He stood across the street, placidly grazing on the grass. We jumped out of the car, staring at this young beast, separated from us by a strip of road. I held my breath and imagined him galloping towards us, antlers leading the charge. But these younger, smaller males were probably chased out of a harem by a stronger bull. He slowly ate his way through the patch of mind, paying us very little mind.