Light snow falls from the sky into the woodland clearing as the day’s remaining sun makes its way through the somber, gray clouds slowly drifting over the peaks above.  A frigid breeze gently blows across the treetops, causing the creak of lower trunks and branches rubbing together to create a rhythmic tune.  In the distance a lone woodpecker drums its cadence in search of a meal, and the cry of a gray jay makes for a lone lyric in the collective music of nature as it heads back to its nesting shelter for the night.

As this subtle symphony carries through the forest, the sound of a snapping twig breaks the mesmerizing enchantment, then another, and then once more.  A slow but steady crunch of snow is discerned, just barely audible through the music.  Not the heavy step of a booted foot, but the patient, methodical movement of beings who have intimately known this forest as home for time eternal.  One by one, a small band of bull elk enters the snow-blanketed glade and spreads out for a late afternoon meal that will carry them through the long night ahead.

Winter living in the mountains is no easy task, even for a creature seemingly well accustomed to it such as our majestic elk.  While herds often tend to migrate to lower elevations for the season, some prefer to keep to the higher country above the foothills.  This is more often the case for the small bachelor herds that break off from the main group after the fall rut.

Migrations tend to be spurned by a need for ample food supplies more than a general escape from the harsher climates higher up. If there is ample food available, there isn’t as much of a need to head down the mountain. 

When the smaller summer herds of females, babies and yearlings gather for the rut, they tend to remain in that larger group throughout the winter along with the herd bulls.  This larger grouping can sometimes hold numbers in the hundreds.  With a population of that size, mountain living becomes far less sustainable, ultimately forcing a move that can sometimes take them to the very base of the foothills and the far less snowy grasslands at the edge of the plains.

Bachelor herds typically consist of far lower numbers, usually around a dozen or so, but occasionally gathering as many as 20-30 or more bulls of varying age.  I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with some larger groups as they wintered around the ranch pastures on the outskirts of Estes Park.  Locally, I have only seen the smaller groupings, and those sightings tend to be rare.

Those that stay don’t tend to wander far in a given day.  Survival in the wild is reliant upon conservation of energy.  With winter food sources being scarce, long-distance travel would consume far too much of the energy necessary to stay alive.

These herds can often be found near larger mountain meadows in valleys or smaller glades in the higher slopes.  If the snow is not too deep, they will use their antlers to dig down to the grass below.  While not rich in nutrients like the lush growth of spring and summer, anything helps.  When grass is unreachable, they will turn to pine needles and twigs and even bark for sustenance.

The clearings of meadows and glades also provide a source of warmth during the daylight hours, a place to soak in whatever sunlight they may as they graze.  If conditions are good enough, they might even enjoy an afternoon bed for an hour or so. If snow is deep, they will remain close to the forest edge, as a trudge too far out into a larger meadow may consume too much energy.  They also tend to keep the forest close, retreating to the trees as the cover provides shelter from the oft brutal nightly winter winds.

When I spend time with these beautiful creatures any time of the year, I am always in humble awe at their fortitude, knowing the conditions they endure to live in this mountain kingdom.  I am often reminded of a quote about them from one of my favorite naturalist authors, Craig Childs, in his book The Animal Dialogues:

“The elk that you glimpse in the summer, those at the forest edge, are survivors of winter, only the strongest. You see one just before dusk that summer, standing at the perimeter of the meadow so it can step back to the forest and vanish. You can’t help imagining the still, frozen nights behind it, so cold that the slightest motion is monumental. I have found their bodies, half drifted over in snow, no sign of animal attack or injury. Just toppled over one night with ice working into their lungs. You wouldn’t want to stand outside for more than a few minutes in that kind of weather. If you lived through only one of those winters the way this elk has, you would write books about it. You would become a shaman. You would be forever changed. That elk from the winter stands there on the summer evening, watching from beside the forest. It keeps its story to itself.”

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Lords of Winter appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Getting involved in various events selling my nature photography provides me with many opportunities to talk about the work, animal behavior, and the stories behind the images. One image has drawn great discussion and a need for clarity both on social media as well as at events.  The image is of two bull elk, face-to-face with antlers seemingly intertwined.  With the elk rut still ongoing I thought I’d use this week’s article to clear up some common misconceptions that the image invokes.

Watching bull elk during the rut is a spectacular natural event to witness.  These great beasts strutting about their harems, chasing off possible contenders and bellowing out their iconic bugle is quite a primal and powerful display to observe.  Nature-related television shows and the more far-reaching internet and social media proliferation of natural drama create a belief that intense combat is a common behavior.

The reality is that while the drama provides entertainment and generates clicks, these ferocious encounters are rare in the grand scheme of all that comprises the rut.  While fighting certainly does take place, most altercations tend to simply be brief displays of dominance where a winner is determined rapidly.  I have had the opportunity to witness one real “battle royal” (though sadly I was too far from the two giants to capture any worthwhile images), and it was a stunning and awe-inspiring experience.  That said, one battle in years of observing the rut does not quite equate to the ranks of “common”.

Antlers do get broken, and injuries do occur.  This year there are images and videos of one of the Estes Park town bulls who has a 6-inch tip of an antler tine embedded in his neck.  These things are understandable, as the rut causes changes in a bull’s brain chemistry that increases aggression dramatically.  This is why it is stressed endlessly to give them (and any other male member of the deer family) additional space during their prospective rut season.  They are not to be underestimated, they are dangerous, and they do fight, but the frequency of intense and prolonged combat engagements is low.

Another common statement about the image is “I hope they don’t get stuck together!”  This is spurned by another over-dramatized situation that is shocking (thus getting extra coverage and generating clicks) but is also a rare occurrence.  The entangling of antlers does happen.  In fact, one would think that fighting one another with “head ornaments” comprised of multiple curved spears would create far more entanglements than what really occurs, especially with the frequency of sparring that takes place. However, as with grand battles, entanglement is quite rare.

I’ve written about it before, but sparring is quite common with elk throughout the annual duration of a set of antlers.  From the time the velvet comes off in August until the antlers themselves come off in late winter and early spring, the boys (and men) square off quite a bit.  The reasons are varied but typically attributed to herd dominance.  Often a bull will instigate a challenge by approaching another, displaying his head lowered.  These encounters are usually brief, with a bit of pushing each other about until one of them loses enough ground and capitulates, usually accompanied by vocalizing submissive mews.

There are also instances where these encounters come across as practicing, as seemed to be the case on the evening when I captured the image that has inspired so much discussion.  As I observed the small bachelor herd newly shorn of antler velvet, one of the youngest approached one of the eldest (likely an actual father/son dynamic) with submissive mews and a lowered head.  I couldn’t fathom it had anything to do with a dominance challenge, as they were clearly vastly different in stature.  It came across as though he was saying “Hey Pops, can you show me some moves?”

After a few moments of what seemed to be pleading by the younger, the elder broke from his graze and obliged.  What happened next was quite surprising.  There was initially no pushing whatsoever.  They spent 15 minutes or more simply changing head positions as though the eldest was showing the younger how to engage without poking an eye out or becoming entangled.  Eventually they moved from basic posturing to actual pushing, but there was no real aggression shown, as again, the elder was close to twice the size of the younger.

As the pair became more involved in their engagement, it seemed to inspire the others to square off as well, and next thing I knew, 3 different pairs of bulls were mewing, grunting and pushing each other about.  Having just lost velvet, it was likely the first time they’d gotten to spar with the new antlers, and they seemed to be reveling in celebration of the season.  A brotherhood, likely familial in nature, not out to hurt but simply to practice their moves and the possible safety thereof for when life and seasonal change might bring them into actual conflict.

For those concerned about the bull with an antler in his neck, by all accounts he seems to be acting as though nothing had happened.  I have a friend who enjoyed the company of this bull literally in his yard for a few days and stated the same.  I would imagine the energy of the rut and his own hormonal drives have kept his mind elsewhere.  It is hard to say how he’ll fair through the winter, but the tine will eventually work its way out, and if he has the energy to heal, I’m sure he’ll do just fine and be back at it again next year.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Practice Makes Perfect appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

I’m talking about that supposed leering “smile” that is commonly made by the animals listed above (and many more), and seen frequently as we move towards autumn.  The upper lip is curled, and the nostrils are often closed, baring teeth in a grim rictus that eerily falls somewhere between a goofy grin and an evil snarl.  This look is a display known as the Flehmen Response or Flehmen Reaction.

If you happen to be observing an animal that is making this face at you or near you, just know that while it might be because of you, it’s not necessarily for you (at least in the sense of being entertained).  If you are close enough to this animal, you may also hear a deep intake of breath that can resemble a deep sniff or even a hiss.  This may come across as odd (as well as intimidating), especially if you’re noticing the closed nostrils while it is happening and thinking “how is it sniffing?!”

All animals that display the Flehmen Response have a unique organ known as a Vomeronasal or Jacobson’s Organ.  This organ is located on the palate, between the nasal passages and the roof of the mouth.  It tends to be found towards the back of the mouth, behind the incisors or at least where incisors might be (an interesting side note seen in this image, elk do not have top teeth!).

When you see this nose-closed grimace and hear that deep sniff, the animal is taking a deep breath, forcing the air intake to flow to the vomeronasal organ.  The organ is part of the olfactory system, but as opposed to interpreting normal smells, it is specialized to detect and interpret pheromones.  The article title is somewhat misleading, as it is not in fact a smell as odors are purely defined by we humans.

Pheromones are chemicals that are secreted by an organism for the purpose of triggering a social response in a like organism.  From alert warnings to food trails, to the more popular sex signals, they are a form of communication mostly lost to humans, at least on a conscious level.  In the case of the elk and my earlier references to seeing the flehmen response in autumn, these boys are just looking for ready, and hopefully willing, love.

The vomeronasal organ can be used with the Flehmen Response intake of air, as well as by tongue, a sort of hybrid smell and taste organ.  A bull might lick a cow’s urine, thus passing it over the vomeronasal organ, to gain the same answer.  During the rut, the answer he seeks is whether the cow is in estrus and possibly ready to mate (understand that regardless of what the bull might detect in terms of a cow’s readiness to mate, it is aways the cow who determines who she will mate with).

The bull captured in the article image was part of a small bachelor herd of mostly big guys I had the amazing pleasure of spending an afternoon/evening with a few weeks ago.  While the rut was in no way in full swing, there were certainly a few behavioral signs of the season taking place.  The look seemed to be “aimed” at me as he tested the air, but I had already spent a good bit of time with them prior to the photo being captured, so he likely had a good idea of whatever I might have been giving off (copious amounts of awe and reverence…).  More likely he was assessing the air about another bull nearby who hadn’t initially been with the group.  It is also possible he caught a brief wind of a group of cows further upwind.

My instincts tell me he was more concerned with the “new” bull the group had joined in the high alpine valley.  As the small group was still entering the meadow, the loner was eagerly thrashing his antlers in the willows.  This behavior brings up another pheromone-related organ, the lachrymal or pre-orbital gland.  These are the holes or slits found in front and below the elk’s eyes (and again, found with many other animals).  This gland secretes pheromones and other chemicals used in communication.  During the rut it is common to see bulls performing this thrashing about, as well as rubbing their faces and antlers on rocks and trees, a way of marking territory and making their presence known to the cows.

Upon entering the meadow, the first move this guy made was to go to the exact same spot and thrash his own antlers and distribute his own scent and pheromones to cover the other, slightly smaller bull’s sign.  As he made his way further into the meadow, I preferred to take his passing “sniff” as a smile as he strutted past me, smugly snickering at the audacity of the “youth” he very obviously dominated.  It is also not a stretch in any way to understand that he was also letting the human know who was boss in his stretch of wilderness.  It’s sufficient to say, I didn’t need an vomeronasal organ to catch his drift.

Sources:
https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/agricultural-and-biological-sciences/flehmen
https://www.elkrutseason.com/Elk-Bull-Flehmen-Response-During-the-Rut.html

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Oooooh That Smell! Understanding the Flehmen Response appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Baby deer are well known as fawns, and baby moose and elk share the term calves for their offspring.  These wobbly little wonders are quite adorable to watch as they make their way about the wide, new world.  That said, the wandering is typically done under the watchful eyes of mama, which leads me to the heart of the article and an interesting tactic utilized by 2 of the 3 members of the family (deer and elk), the stashing of their babies.

The stashing of a fawn or elk calf is a tactic whereby the mother finds a secluded place to keep their baby(s) while they graze. It is intended to be a method of protection from predation, as while it might seem that the baby would be far more vulnerable, it allows the mother to lure a potential predator away from the baby before it is noticed.  This spot can be under a bush or shrub, or in the case of the high, treeless alpine tundra, a place a simple as a shallow divot in the ground, as seen utilized in this week’s image. 

The babies instinctively know to stay completely still and quiet while mama is away.  Adding to the success of the stash are the well known spots on fawns and elk calves which help to provide camoflage when stashed.  By the end of their first summer, they are no longer stashed, and thus grow out of the spots.

Fawns and elk calves have also evolved to have a very faint scent.  This helps to deter predators as well, as they are harder to track.  Part of the effectiveness of stashing is that the mothers can spend up to a few hours at a time away from the babies, thus minimizing their own scent rubbing off on the babies in this vulnerable time.  They will return every so often to nurse, but in general will keep their distance.  That said, they typically tend to stay withing a hundred yards or so, so never too far, and they never truly abandon their young

It is imperetive to understand this behavior.  Sadly, it is not uncommon for unknowing humans to come across a stashed fawn or calf, not see a mother nearby, and assume it has been left behind.  The story usually ends with them scooping up the baby and taking it to an animal shelter, thus separating the mother and child for life and likely ending up with the baby living its life in captivity.  At this young of an age, they will imprint too much with a human, and won’t ever successfully reintegrate to a herd.

Interestingly, while moose babies are also stashed, it is only done to a much lesser degree, and mama is never as far away as deer and elk mothers might wander to graze.  It is assumed that since moose are not herd animals, their independent life lends towards the mother being far more protective of her offspring.  Rather than try to distract a predator away, it is likely said predator wants nothing to do with an adult moose to begin with, thus leaving the mother to rely on sheer aggression to protect her young, creating the need for her to stay close. 

As most here in the Peak to Peak region are well aware, a mama moose is statistically the most dangerous and aggressive animal in the state, so it pays to be very alert when hiking or biking this time of the year, especially with dogs.  It is relatively safe to assume that if one encounters a female moose, a baby or yearling is nearby, and even if one isn’t present or at least seen, one needs to keep distance.

I mentioned earlier that the baby will stay still and silent, but the elk calf image I chose to couple with the article slightly belies this statement.  In this case, the calf was stashed quite near a tundra trail that was fairly heavily trafficked by humans.  It was quite a successful stash, as the baby wasn’t noticed at all until the mother, grazing well over 100 yards away, began to head back to the calf to nurse.  It is quite likely that had it not been for the mother’s calls as she made her way back, causing the baby to rise, it would have remained there within yards of countless humans completely undetected, thus proving the amazing efficacy of a very simple tactic of survival in the wild.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post The Stash appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

One of the biggest clues to the shift is found with our neighbors in the deer family as they have begun the annual shed of last year’s antlers to make way for the new.  I have written extensively in the past about antler growth, so it’s only fair to cover the other side of the coin as we start to see our male mule deer, elk and moose strutting around “topless”, as it were. 

As spring approaches and daylight lengthens, the additional light triggers a hormone reaction within the bulls signaling this time of “letting go”.  As the body prepares to begin the growth of new antlers, the first step is to lose the old growth.  Thus, beginning as early as mid-January and continuing into April, the antlers begin to fall off like a baby tooth being pushed out of its socket to make way for the new.  When the antler is “dropped”, it often leaves a bloodied socket of a pedicle (the “node” where antlers grow from) to scab over and heal before the next round begins to emerge as a fuzzy nub weeks to a month or so later.

The time of shedding varies greatly across the spectrum of species, as well as with individual members of each species.  I have seen some bull elk in a bachelor herd lose their antlers in late February while other members of the same herd hold on until early April before the old fall out.  Adolescent spike males will tend to keep their antlers longer than adults, anywhere from a couple weeks to a month or so.  This trait of the younger of the species also holds true when it comes to the shedding of velvet in the late summer. 

While shed antlers can be hard to find (in all my years of traipsing about the wilds in the winter, I have yet to find anything freshly dropped), it helps to know that they are often discovered in areas of winter bedding and foraging game trails.  Heavily sheltered areas in the forest near ample food sources tend to produce some of the best results, as these places are where the animals spend a lot of their time out of the winds and potentially deeper snow.

It does bear noting that Colorado is quite strict when it comes to shed hunting.  While it is legal to gather sheds found on private land (as long as one is not trespassing), the hunting and gathering of antler sheds on any public land is illegal west of I-25 from January 1^st through April 30^th (and longer in some areas).

As found on the Colorado Parks and Wildlife website:
“Violators of these regulations may now face a $137 fine per violation. The act of shed antler hunting, as well as the illegal possession of each shed antler, are now viewed as separate offenses subject to individual fines. In addition to fines, each violation carries five license suspension points that are assessed against the violator’s privilege to apply for, purchase, or exercise the benefits conferred by any licenses issued by CPW.”

This prohibition is in place to help protect the animals from being stressed and pressured out of their seasonal habitats when they are the most vulnerable.  Sheds are also a natural source of calcium and other minerals for many creatures.  Quite a popular seasonal cuisine with rodents, an antler can be devoured quite rapidly, providing much needed nutritional benefits at the end of a long season of dwindling food sources. 

In the case of the young bull seen in the photograph, he was found happily grazing with a couple herd brothers in the beginning of March, all of which had already lost their racks within the couple weeks prior to this encounter.  Just down the road, a few other bulls were found still proudly sporting the previous year’s trophies.  As you can see, this bull’s pedicle had healed nicely, and it was likely only a matter of weeks before he began the process anew.  He seemed to be sporting a gentle smile, as though happy to be unburdened of the weight, at least for a little while before his weighty new crown emerged.

https://cpw.state.co.us/shed-antler-and-horn-collection

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Out With the Old appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Antler growth in all of its phases is directly related to hormones, which are interestingly triggered by available daylight. In the spring, longer periods of light send signals from the optic nerve to the pineal gland causing it to increase melatonin production (the hormone that regulates sleep cycles) causing a slight increase in testosterone which triggers the initial growth of the antlers. As daylight increases, hormone levels settle back to lower levels and remain “stable” as the antlers develop. As light decreases in the fall, this sends another signal to the brain to produce higher levels of melatonin, which tells the hypothalamus glad to produce gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH). GnRH then travels to the pituitary gland telling it to produce greater levels of luteinizing hormone, which drives testosterone production in the testes. The increased testosterone then triggers all manner of physical changes in the bulls (or bucks, bull moose, etc., and is the same basic process for all members of the deer family) in preparation for the rut, including the shedding of the velvet.

Within a few weeks those testosterone levels reach their peak, which creates a literal craze in the bulls as they exhibit very increased aggression in their bid for the right to mate and carry on their lineage. As we are not quite in that peak yet, this shedding of the velvet allows the bulls to return to their bouts of sparring, which they tend to do on and off throughout the duration of the antlers. These sessions have always come across to me as training for the battles that occasionally take place during the peak aggression during the rut, but as opposed to training for an actual fight, these sessions have more of a feel of “fight safety” rather than “how to fight to win”. Being that the intent of the rut battle is not in any way centered around harming ones opponent and more about simply establishing dominance, safety seems to be quite key.

Watching bachelor herds perform these sessions many different times over the years, it becomes apparent over time that they seem to be practicing squaring off and “locking up” their given “weapons” in a way that doesn’t cause harm to one another, especially something like losing an eye, which would seem quite common if the fights were actually about harm (and good reason for naming the first tines on an antler the “eye guards”). This is not to say that rut battles are harmless, as injuries certainly do occur from time to time, but with any wild animal, even a slight injury can be fatal for a number of reasons, and such injury or death can also end up diminishing the vitality of the greater herd health.

These members of a small bachelor herd found in a secluded meadow high in the park were displaying just such safety measures as the younger bulls took turns squaring off with their elders to practice their techniques. There was no real aggression or even any small amount of pushing about, which seems to be much of any true rut battle. While these sessions sometimes include pushing and shoving, this particular evening seemed to focus on basic head/antler placement in ways that prevent injury as opposed to causing it, and proved a valuable and enlightening insight into the lives of these majestic creatures.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post The Gloves Are Off! appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Similar to the much larger herds of cows and young, these groups provide strength in numbers in terms of protection against predation, and also aid in honing the skills necessary for overall herd strength and survival.  While the early life of young spike bulls is spent among the larger herds of cows learning the basics of life and survival, coming of age and “moving in” with the bachelor herds is a major step into the lessons of adulthood, bonding, hierarchy and general strength and survival of the herd as a whole.

While sparring practice tends to take up a bit of time throughout the year when not grazing, this bit of bull life takes a break in the late spring and summer months, giving the antlers ample time to grow adequately and without harm.  As I have written before, the antler velvet provides necessary blood flow for growth as well as controlling body temperatures with said blood flow and damaging the velvet with sparring can have some undesired consequences in the way of what is known as Non-Typical (irregular and sometimes quite deformed) antler growth which can greatly affect their success (or lack thereof) during the rut.

There is a sense of peaceful comradery among the bulls, taking their summer days in a casual stride as they graze and care for each other.  Keeping careful watch of one another and for possible threats takes much of their time when not eating, and as with any herd, they tend to take turns, rotating “shifts” of who eats, beds down, and takes watch.  While life lessons are always being passed down to the younger generations, the lessons of summer tend to focus on the more subtle aspects of herd life as opposed to the more physically challenging training for individual “status” required during the rut, as well as the crucial survival skills necessary to weather the harsh winters that follow.

With the approach of mid-August, we are nearly to the end of this season of tranquility.  It won’t be long before the “gloves come off” (the antler velvet is shed) and another rut begins in earnest, with all of the excitement and bravado that the famous mating season brings.  This “down-time” of energy building and conservation is absolutely crucial to their survival in what will be the most challenging months of life in the wild for these majestic creatures. 

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Bachelor Life appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

The elk are a great example of this gift, as typically these animals can be skittish of human presence.  Even the local herds of Caribou Ranch and Magnolia have their limitations and will often move well away when a human is present outside of a home or car.  Herds that inhabit lands with scant humans are even more wary, and often keep themselves well hidden from human eyes.  Much of this is due to hunting, as a human seen or sensed by an elk in the wilderness often signals the very real potential danger of a predator.  The local herds in the area are not only well accustomed to human presence, but also seem to have instinctively learned over many, many generations what lands are safe to travel through, and what lands are open hunting grounds, but even that knowledge tends to have them heading away when a human gets involved.

Elk in the park tend to have a very different story.  They are now so many generations deep in protected life not only around humans in general, but a LOT of humans, that we seem to merely be a nuisance in their day-to-day.  This is quite apparent with their comforts well known in their “overtaking” Estes Park in the fall and winter.  Even deep in the mountains among herds that never leave the park boundaries, these animals are so used to their protected life and nearly year-round human presence, that they typically only show the slightest bit of wariness around us.  This provides the gift I speak of, as while it is always imperative to keep a safe distance regardless of any comfort levels, one can observe their lives with quite a bit of relative ease.

In the case of this image, I happened to be spending an evening last summer high in the Krumholtz playing with my macro lens and the wildflowers when I looked up from the colorful subjects to see a herd cresting the ridge quite near my “studio”.  As the last of the group made their way into the meadow below me, these three new additions to the herd followed the last few cows up into the low shrubbery to rest and frolic as the elders took their graze.  Their general lack of wariness towards my open presence forced me into a retreat with my gear, as the lead cows kept heading my way without fear.  They finally ceased their advance, settling into a hardy meal, leaving me a wonderful opportunity to take in the evening play of these delightful babies with the long lens (note that this image was still cropped quite close even with the lens at its maximum) as clouds and fog of the July monsoons crept in with the encroaching dusk.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Gifts of the Mountain appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

The bone structure grows from a socket on the animal’s head known as a pedicle, like the socket of a tooth.  As they begin to protrude from the pedicle in late spring, they are coated in a soft velvet skin that carries blood and nutrients to the bone as it grows.  This growth happens at an alarming rate of up to and over an inch a day at its peak, making antlers the fastest growing piece of anatomy of any mammal.  The blood flow that provides this rapid growth also helps to act as a sort of coolant as it carries blood circulation from the warmer body up into the antlers which act as a sort of radiator, cooling the blood with outside air before it circulates back into the body.  In the case of moose, it is also theorized that the paddle formation so near to the ears aids in the animals hearing and perception.

Once the antler growth finishes in the late summer, the velvet is shed by the animal rubbing it off on trees shrubs and rocks, baring the stark bone so commonly known with the animals.  The entire period of growth is controlled by light cycles, with the beginning of more light in the spring triggering the growth, and the tapering signaling the cessation. 

The loss of the velvet also signals the onset of rut (mating) season, as the antlers are a physical display of the animal’s general health which is key during the rut as the females choose which bulls they will want to mate with.  It was long thought that it was the bulls who chose their cows, but in fact the opposite is true, and the healthy, larger antlers coinciding with the battling that ensues among the bulls with said antlers is how the alpha cows of a herd make their choice.  They also make great tools for helping to scrape out wallows for keeping cool in the summer and rolling in their scent during rut, as well as digging through snows to get to available food in the winter.

The spectacular bull seen in the image this week was found near mid-July of 2021 casually taking his evening graze in the Krumholtz and making a slow amble higher onto the alpine tundra.  This rack is one of, if not the largest I’ve seen to date on any bull, and provides a stunning example of this amazing bit of anatomy.  While I spent a good bit of time that summer and fall in the area, I never saw him again, and can only imagine his prowess once the velvet came off and he was ready to win the hearts of all the females on the mountain.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Keeping His Cool appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

I often equate this transition to spring as though a great “waking up” is taking place, and many of our wild neighbors certainly seem to display just those qualities that we humans tend to associate with our own awakenings.  I specifically refer to the appearance of “bed head” that our neighbors in the deer family show as they take in their first warm days.  While most mammals tend to make a seasonal transition in their coat, some wear that change better than others. Our moose, elk and mule deer seem to appear the most “worse for the wear” when it comes to that doffing of winters garb.  Thankfully this particular winter did not show the ravages of winter ticks on too many of our moose as we’ve experienced in years past, as that look can definitely take the cake in regards to winning any potential contest on the scruffiest looks come spring.

These homely elk of the Magnolia herd were showing off their finest shag on a warm sunny morning near Gross Reservoir as a small group of the main herd took their graze near the road.  With the rise in temperature, the winter coat gives way to a lighter fur, and can sometimes be seen shaken off in great clouds of hair as the new replaces the old.  The thinning coat gives display to a more gaunt appearance, with the animals significantly thinner after a long winter of scant food.  This young male is also likely to soon lose his spikes, only to be replaced by his first real antlers, a change that will also signify his “eviction” from the herd of cows and siblings, and his own “coming of age” and induction into a bachelor herd of bulls.

Needless to say, in the realms of wildlife photography spring can be a “challenging” season, and best to transition to birding for a while, welcoming the return of our beautifully plumaged winged friends while the mammals regain their “best side”.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Shaggy Season appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.