First Year Perils: The Life of Every Calf is a Cliffhanger

On a clear summer day, as I was walking a high sagebrush bench with snow-clad peaks rimming a 360-degree view, I bumped a young cow elk from a timbered edge. She blew, stomped, and high-stepped a few yards off, reluctant to move far. It was then I saw her calf, a dark ball curled beneath a small Douglas fir, not but a few hours old.

Scattered across the bench, clusters of cow elk grazed, heads bobbing up to peer to the horizon and down again to feed on greening grasses and early wildflowers. A passing ranch truck drew little notice, but a low black form trotting through the brush brought the c...