I decided to visit a campground on the Olympic Peninsula that was known for its resident elk. Being an elk fan, I was hopeful I’d see a few.
But like any good traveler, I know that encounters with animals— even with the best-laid plans, are not guaranteed— and I tried to be realistic about the odds of seeing a herd. Though, as you can see from the below photos, I didn’t have to be lucky, or search deep into the forest surrounds– I saw plenty of elk just hanging around the campsite.
And so did Mac. He got so used to looking for elk, he’d scour the side of the road for them as we drove.
The early fall season meant ‘rutting season’ was on in full affect— meaning, the elk come down out of their higher-altitude perches to find mates. Once they do, the big bull elks will keep a ‘harem’ of sorts for himself, traveling with an allotment of does (like deer, lady elks are called ‘doe’) that is roughly proportionate to the size of his hulking body and his massive rack of horns.
Bigger bull elk? Bigger horns? More females.
Smaller male elk, or adolescent? Less females, maybe even none.
If you’ve ever been near one of these creatures in the fall, then you know— the bull elks can be very protective of their packs, and will charge at anyone who appears to be too threatening. They need to be constantly vigilant for threats from younger male challengers, who hang around the outside of the pack: the bulls need to them off regularly.
Dosewalips State Park is not a pretty place to camp, in itself— like many state parks, it’s a paved wonderland, with nice, clean facilities like toilets and showers. Hardly rustic, it’s some of the more “on-grid” camping one can do, which was perfect for me that week in September, as I had an onslaught of work to deal with.
Firing up my Starlink, I worked for most of each day I was there, taking a few walks on the trails around the campground to stretch my legs (and Mac’s).
I got away from work for long enough to take a few excursions, the first to the Hood River Canal with a friend who loved to swim outdoors…. in frigid water. Because if frigid water was NOT your thing, September would not be the time of year to swim in the Hood River Canal— a deep passage of water that is cold enough to house huge swaths of sea lions and seals.
No matter— she headed right out into the deep, and swam practically alongside the sea lions— who, miffed at losing their fishing spot, headed to a nearby area instead.
The walk out to the sea was beautiful— with plenty of opportunities for clammers at low tide. A sign that read “Fill your clam holes”— made us laugh hard (and childishly), as we passed it.
We found a local pub called The Geoduck— named for the ancient and gnarled mollusk that one can find in the waters. A local watering hole, we grabbed a couple of beers and sat out on the back deck as the sun began to set. Of course, being near sundown, the wildlife were active— so we watched sea lions bob around the marshes, fishing for their dinner. And observed a very presumptive pack of raccoons as they emerged hungrily from the bushes— at which point, idiotic patrons began throwing French fries at them.
For a balanced raccoon diet.
It took a full day for the elk herds to come and visit the campground.
At dinner one evening, a huge bull elks with his respective harem of females walked RIGHT into the campground. Mac, who was absolutely enthralled with the elk by this point, stood at attention and wagged his tail happily (as if I was going to let him go visit the 1800-pound bull elk?).
When I say they walked RIGHT into the campground, I mean it— they strode right up to a couple who were eating dinner at a picnic table and proceeded to eat all the delectable grass around them. They couldn’t have been more than 4 feet from the elk, and knowing good wild-animal-etiquette, hardly moved a muscle (and certainly never moved quickly). After the elk got their fill in a 30-minute chunk, they moved to the next big patch of grass, and the next.
These elk were clearly a little too accustomed to humans, given how their grounds overlapped with the state park. While rangers did try to protect the herds by closing certain sections of the park when the elks were around, it was a futile exercise— ultimately, one was likely to nearly run into an elk when walking out of the bathroom building.
My buddy, who was sleeping in a tent with netting atop, woke in the middle of the night to discover her tent was surrounded on all sides by grazing elk— and despite having to use the toilet (quite badly), she stayed right where she was until they moved further away. Surprising an elk with a spontaneous bathroom break is never a good idea!
We did see a small pack of 3 adolescent male elks, who had clearly banded together in order to have some solidarity in a harsh environment. Since none of them were large enough (or had enough horn volume) to warrant a doe of their own, they mostly hung around the edges of the bigger bull’s harem, hoping to find a doe within that would mate with him.
You can imagine how this went down with the bigger bull elks— not well. We watched as one massive elk that was built like “The Rock” chased off a would-be younger suitor time and time again. The younger guy knew better than to attack the bull elk head-on, but hoped his stealthy ways would pay off over time.
At least from what we saw, they never did. Poor guys.
While most of the time I was at Dosewalips was devoted to a busy workweek, it was a reminder that even busy working spells while living in a van can create space for some pretty awesome experiences. The way the elk just popped by like a nosy neighbor was really fascinating to observe (even when they did stand between you and the bathroom building). Their dynamics were fun to witness (from a safe distance), and if you’re in Washington State, it’s worth a trip to Dosewalips to see them.
Posted by Sun
