My husband and I moved to an old log home in the Colorado Mountains in 1988. That first winter brought elk to our property almost daily, before the animals had fully grasped that the old house now held inhabitants. Our photo albums are filled with shots of the magnificent creatures, grazing on the dry grass around our home. It was a frigid winter with temperatures dropping to 28 below at one point. We bought bales of hay and set them about and watched the elk munch gratefully, when the forest offered little in way of repast.

That spring, on tax day as I recall, my husband, Lon, glanced out the window and said, “I think there are antlers in the hay pile.” We ventured down and sure enough, a matched set of antlers lay in the hay, the joints still pink with blood. Now, it is rare to find an antler in the woods, and I have never found a matched pair. So, to have an elk knock his antlers loose and leave them in the hay could only be taken as a token of gratitude and a somewhat miraculous event.

However, the most amazing experience I’ve ever had with nature came one day when I was cruising along the mountain highway, lost in thought. A perfect Colorado blue sky created a brilliant canopy over the shimmering pine trees and quaking aspens on either side of the four-lane highway that curved and twisted through the steep terrain. My thoughts had drifted to the day ahead when suddenly, I spotted a huge eight-point bull elk on the edge of the road, coming up from a wooded hillside. I slowed to a stop to allow him room should he enter the highway. The cars behind me and on the other side of the highway did the same.

As we watched, the magnificent creature strode proudly into the middle of my two lanes and stood majestically for a moment, totally still and looking straight ahead, dark, with his shaggy mane thick and brown, his head tilted back. He was in command, and he knew it. A dozen drivers watched as he began to move across the four lanes of the highway. A rustling in the trees behind him drew my attention, and I watched in awe as a herd of cow elk began to emerge like a rolling sea of dark brown fur.

It reminded of the movie scenes where cowboys drive a herd of cattle, only instead of cowboys, these cows were shielded and guided on either side by a half-dozen bulls, prodding and protecting them as they crossed. The cows moved without fear or understanding, confident in their male leaders to guide them to safety.

There were a hundred or more in the herd, and it took them several minutes to fully cross the road and funnel down a ravine and into the woods on the other side where they disappeared on their journey toward greener pastures. I sat breathless while tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt blessed to have witnessed such a rare and magical once-in-a lifetime moment. I believe the handful of other drivers who experienced this mystical event felt the same way, as none moved for half a minute after the herd passed.

I later learned that the herd, which we travelers had often seen in what we know as the Homestead Meadow, often lingered in the grassy expanse, grazing on the lush grass on summer evenings as the children played soccer in a nearby field. They were part of the mountain family, as easy with the children and they were with one another.

Imagine my sadness when I recently read in the local newspaper, that a razor sharp arrow had ended the big bull’s life. They say the arrow did not kill him instantly, but rather he bolted into the woods where he wandered in agony for nearly a month. I guess when they found the carcass, the condition of the surrounding area indicated he had fought valiantly for his life, but finally succumbed. The poacher was after the huge rack.

They caught him, but the thought that a selfish, thoughtless hunter, unlicensed and out of season, could destroy that magnificent animal makes me shudder, and to imagine the agony of his death brings tears of sorrow to my eyes. The poacher deserves a more severe punishment than a fine and probation. He should be in prison for a good, long time to ponder, if he is capable, what he stole from that big bull and the community.