Last year, Rachel (my girlfriend at the time) and I made what we thought would be a normal trip to the Wichita Mountains. I planned a hike for the day and hoped to show her my favorite back country spots deep in the refuge. It was late October, the sky was overcast, and the two of us were even caught in a mild downpour for about an hour during which we cooked food under a small shelter made out of my rain jacket hung across two branches. After the rainfall we began to hear what I feel is the most beautiful sound in nature: the elk call. Their voices surrounded us, and combined with the cool foggy weather made for an eery, haunting environment. I loved it and became eager to find and stand before an elk. We hiked for hours and towards the end of the day we found ourselves extremely close to one of the calls. We followed it through some trees and finally came upon a giant buck. It was standing just over a grassy hill making loud mating calls. The animal was powerful and was only about 50 ft in front of us, tempting me to walk closer and intimidating me into running a way. We walked closer and stood in the animal's presence for a few frozen minutes. That day was an awesome experience and I immediately planned to go back the following year to find more elk.
Two weekends ago marked the exact date that I would go back, this time with friends William, Mady, and Laura. We did not see any elk, nor did we hear any calls, and after talking to park rangers we learned that we had just missed the rut (which apparently occurs from September to mid October). The Wichitas never fail however, and the four of us still had a great time. We spent two days wandering aimlessly, looking for bugs, learning songs, and enjoying a long dramatic sunset.
