So much of what happens to us in life is determined purely by random chance.

Over 270 elk have gone down from this mysterious affliction in the desert. Scattered over 30 square miles of open scrub, dense brush, and rocky ridges.

Some of these have been in places easily found, and were quickly killed when the decision was made to begin doing so. Or to use the lingo of the profession, "euthanized" or "dispatched."

These were the lucky ones.

Others have been in the wrong place, hidden in a draw, or deep in greasewood, or farther south in deeper snow. These have died more lingering deaths, from either starvation, dehydration, or exposure.

On our flight on the 20th, I spotted one cow down in a snow-filled draw on top of a ridge, far to the south of the majority of the losses. She looked up at the plane, and watched us pass, a snowdrift curled across her back.

We have not been able to reach her.

I have not been able to reach her. The closest we could get was three miles away, but that might as well have been three hundred. She's dead now, I'm sure.

I hope.

Many of those along the single road which has been occasionally drivable were among the first to be put down. Three of these, however, were left alive, for observation. One was a cow I have mentioned before.

But being accessible has its drawbacks as well, and she, her condition deteriorated, was sacrificed a few days later for more samples. Small, tiny bits of her flesh and fluids taken in the hopes they will provide answers on what was killing her and her kin. The third elk under observation met the same fate, for the same reason.

But the second elk, she was a tough one. First discovered near the road on the 25th, the pile of fecal pellets showed she had already been there for many days. She had consumed every blade of grass within her reach, down to ground level.

Then she had drug herself down the slope, and bared another patch of ground.

And then another drag across the frozen ground, to finally reach the meadow along the creek, which she also began to lay bare with her teeth.

To top it off, she survived at least three visits by the media. Of course, the hay and water delivered on one of those trips probably didn't hurt.

Yesterday, when I made a check on her, I had a West Coast reporter in tow. We could see the cow was still alive and active, but still immobile, from 300 meters away.

To her credit, the reporter announced that was all she needed to see, and that we shouldn't disturb the elk any more. And that was certainly all I needed to know.

The elk's condition was still unchanged...

And I liked this reporter. A lot.

But the close proximity to the road, which had led to merciful deaths for some of her kin, had a completely different effect on the fate of this elk.

Today she got a sleigh ride.

Or more accurately, a trailer ride. Five miles of gently bobbing behind an ATV, blindfolded and hobbled. Followed by an hour or so of examination, and two and a half liters of IV fluids on a soft, warm bed of straw.

Followed by another hour and a half trailer ride, and delivery to the research station at the university. Where perhaps her living tissues and fluids will tell us more than those of her deceased kin, and where perhaps the menu of treatments they have proposed will finally give us an answer.

And if the weather will clear tomorrow to allow the chopper to fly, perhaps we can bring her some company.