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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013

heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013

Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013

rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013

choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013

05 April 2008 - 23:58

checking the rocky knoll

I knew it was the right spot.

My partner, though, I suspect was not so sure.

But she hadn't circled that exact spot and passed low over it at least five times in thirteen minutes the day before.

This isn't it.

But it was taken only a mile or so away. As you can see, all the low country was still white with snow, with only small ridges bared of snow.

Awfully hard to hide an elk in whitened country like that.

A live one, anyway.

We'd found seven of the eight radio-collared elk without much trouble. Yes, their signals are getting weaker since the collars are well past their guaranteed battery life. You have to get just about on top of them to hear the steady "beep... beep... beep" that tells you where they are. But we still found all seven in a span of 17 minutes.

They hadn't moved much in the past two weeks, thanks to the heavy blizzard that hit early this week.

The eighth and last collar was the lone telemetered survivor from the lichen death zone. The other two having died on the train tracks, or from lichen poisoning.

Number eight was the one we really wanted to find.

We were disappointed we found her signal only a mile or so south of her location two weeks ago. The barren ridges in this area are still covered in lichen.

Elk died here four years ago. We would be happier if she and her friends were farther south.

But we could not find her.

After several stomach-churning turns and passes through the area, the pilot narrowed the signal down to one bare rocky knoll in the sea of white. Two perpendicular passes, probably less than 100 feet in the air, brought the same tune to our ears:

beep.. beep.. Beep.. Beep.. BEEP.. BEEP!.. BEEP!.. BEEP.. Beep.. Beep.. beep.. beep..

The signals peaked dramatically directly over the little rocky knoll, and faded quickly as we passed over.

She had to be there.

Her radio collar did, anyway.

For we could see no elk. Three pairs of eyes (we were giving the new pilot a training flight) staring at every sage clump and rock, and yet there were no elk.

Not above the snow, anyway.

More surprisingly, her mortality signal had not gone off. When one of the collars rests unmoved for a set period of time, usually 24 or 48 hours, the tempo of the beeps speeds up permanently, to "beep.beep.beep.beep." letting you know the bearer is either dead, or has dropped their collar.

Her signal was normal.

We could think of only one way to have an elk down there that was not dead, but did not stand up to be seen when a plane passed low overhead. Not once or twice, but four or five times.

And that was if the elk could not stand.

Shit.

And so, this morning found me already in town well before sunrise, once again riding out with one of my wardens with a trailer of snowmachines behind us.

After breaking my wrist, I was so sure I was done riding those damn machines that I put my helmet and goggles back in the house.

Foolish me.

Twenty miles of muddy roads frozen solid (hence the early departure time) and one flat tire (Leaving my partner to do almost all the work of changing it. Tolerating my efforts to help, even though we both knew darn well it would be faster if I and my crippled hand just got out of her way.) found us once again unloading snowmobiles off the small trailer. And heading out for the two and a half mile ride to the bare knoll.

She wisely let me lead, we both being unsure how, or whether, my wrist would even let me do this. But so long as I stayed under 20mph, I was fine. Just couldn't turn right worth a darn.

A little after seven, and we were there.

Even if I hadn't recognized the rocky ridge, the GPS confirmed we were at the right spot. We broke out the radio scanner and yagi antenna and trekked to the top. And listened.

And listened. And listened some more.

No beeps. Not a one. (And I know the equipment was working, having tested it on the collars of dead elk in our living room.)

There was no telemetry radio on frequency 664 anywhere near that knoll.

Today.

Lots of elk tracks. Some from after Monday's blizzard.

And yes, stains from red urine, too.

But we glassed and glassed, and circled the knob. And rode up to the highest nearby ridge and listened again.

No signal.

So.

Either there is a dead elk there under the snow somewhere whose radio managed to up and completely die somewhen during the 20 hours between our flight and our visit...

Or...

There was an elk there who refused to get up despite being hazed multiple times by a low-flying aircraft and who then packed up and moved off several miles during the next intervening 20 hours.

We're rooting for the latter.

But I guess we'll know when next we fly...

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