“Will we see Bruiser?” Every time we visit Strawberry Point, that is forefront in our minds, and in many other people too, the anticipation that maybe, just maybe, we will see Whidbey’s only and lonely bachelor elk, nicknamed Bruiser. He lives in the neighborhood. The first time we came here, we saw him at the edge of the meadow not far from the trail where we stood. That magical encounter set up what has become almost an expectation for every visit now. Also in our mind is the hope and expectation of finding a tranquil forest and meadow full of life, because that is also what we have experienced every time we have visited. After a week of warmth and clear skies, this day dawned with clouds that threatened a little precip. We could use it. Along the way to Strawberry Point we stopped at a highly rated pet place and toured the facilities with the office manager. We will be spending our first anniversary next month taking a long hike, a situation not suitable for Murphy, so we needed to find alternate care for him. Dogs of all sizes barked and jumped at us as we walked through the cages and walkways and around the grounds. The cacophony of noises drowned out conversation. Afterwards, Kath said the place looked to be professionally managed and the dogs well cared for. I had flashbacks of jails I have been in – no, not as a convict; just part of my previous work life! – but I couldn’t shake the impression of the dogs being in prison. Kath nodded her head; it’s not home, that’s for sure, she said. The still-fresh echoes of dozens of dogs barking made the absolute dead silence of Strawberry Point Reserve a shocking counterpoint. The quiet was palpable. No walls, no limits, no noise, just wild freedom, a land set aside for wildlife. We started out whispering to each other as we hiked, unwilling to interrupt the reverent quietude. We began to hear small birds around us, wood-pewees and chickadees. The forest at the beginning is mostly regrowth from earlier logging. The trail is still woodsy, rough, fitting in with the landscape, though well-trod now from a year of fellow hikers. The trail leads to a maple forest, then opens into a large meadow, the centerpiece of the reserve. Once again our voices became hushed; our expectations held high that maybe, just maybe, Bruiser might be wandering nearby. The meadow trail has been rerouted to follow the upper edge of the meadow, leaving the heart of it for wildlife. Wise move. We crossed through with alert eyes and ears, hoping, anticipating. We saw no elk, but several songbirds brightened the fields. Entering the forest again at the east end, we headed to the right, wandering through a stand of firs, uniform in age, devoid of much undergrowth or life. Then the trail breaks out into a diverse mosaic forest, vibrant with old maples and young saplings, grasses and elderberry. Bird songs filled the air: Swainson’s, creepers, flycatchers, woodpeckers and more. Again we walked in silence, slowly, looking carefully, hopefully. The trail eventually rises to its high point, where we shared water and a bite to eat while we watched birds and squirrels flit and dance around us. Then down the other side and into the meadow again. One more chance to see the elk. Slowly, quietly, we crossed back through, checking the shadows and shrubs for any sign. At the west end, we took one last look, loving the landscape laid out before us, the grassland, shrubs and trees. All was peaceful, the home of Whidbey wildlife. We did not see the iconic elk. But by hiking slowly, quietly, reverently, we found a natural world alive and intact, one where we can immerse ourselves as passing observers. We can look forward to that every time. jack And check below for an alternative perspective, a 2-minute read... [Some alternative thoughts a few days later, if you wish. Is it anthropomorphic, or do we intrinsically view wildlife as beneath us, without similar values to ours?]
“Success, recognition, and conformity are the bywords of the modern world where everyone seems to crave the anesthetizing security of being identified with the majority.” Martin Luther King, Jr. Not so Bruiser. This is the name residents of Whidbey have given to our only elk on the island. He has been here for many years now, probably most of his life. He is large, and appears to be healthy and satisfied with his home. He has not succeeded in finding a mate, for whatever that is worth. To some, to the longevity of his species, it is everything. Most every elk pursues that course, and good for them to maintain the strength of the herd. But he is not “most every elk.” He has not sought out conformity, and in fact ran and swam away from it, crossing forests, farms, and fields, even Interstate 5 and a couple miles of saltwater, to arrive here. That is not the story of a conforming, safety-seeking elk. And he has gathered no recognition from the other members of his tribe of birth. He hasn’t seen them since he emigrated to Whidbey from Skagit Valley. The men of his tribe have used their antlers to measure their strength against one another, and have established reputations with the elk ladies as to their comparative desirability as a mate and father. No, this elk makes no comparisons, measures his success against no one else but his own values, and conforms to the life he has chosen, rather than one chosen for him. Maybe originally, years ago, he was looking to start a family with any female elk who may have had the temerity as he did, to leave the herd and try Whidbey as a better home. He found none here. On any day he could have given up on this dream and returned to his birthplace, ready to be like others. But he didn’t. He chose to stay here, and continues to choose that path. No, he is not a creature to be pitied, but respected for choosing the life he lives, accepting it as he finds it. Nor is he to be fawned over, as our pet wild elk, the one we can go visit anytime we wish like he’s an exhibit in a zoo, with descriptive signs posted that define his life history with letters and pictures. No, he is a wild elk, one who creates his life as he chooses to lead it, every day, in summer and winter, feast and famine depending on the habitat he finds. When I visit Strawberry Point, I seek to see evidence of him, a sighting maybe, or even a footprint. But more than that, I cherish the thought that this animal chooses to live here, to share his simple wisdom with us that life is what you make of it, so make it yours. Embrace your decisions, and if the path works for you, then that is the life to lead. If not, make new choices. This is what I meditated on as I walked the trails of Strawberry Point this week. And the trails and choices of my life in the days to come. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Directions: From Highway 20 a mile north of Oak Harbor, take E. Fakkema Rd. east 1.5 miles, then turn south onto Taylor Road, then east on Silver Lake Road, which becomes Strawberry Point Road, for about five miles to the parking area on your right, just south of Stick Point Lane. 2473 Strawberry Point Road. by Bike: the roads are rolling, fairly high speed, and narrow, but low traffic throughout much of this area. Mobility: the trail is narrow, rough and tumble through the early going, a little easier at the meadow and some of the forest trails. Some elevation gain and loss on the back loop.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
Authors
Maribeth Crandell has been a hiking guide in the Pacific NW for over 20 years. She's lived on Whidbey and Fidalgo Island for decades. As a frequent bus rider she easily makes connections between trails and transit. Archives by date
May 2024
Categories
All
|