Olympic mountains Photo:Brent Daily

"Be careful of the elk now. It's their calving season, ya know. We've seen campers being chased by angry mama elk from one end of the park to the other."

"Hm, mmm." The ranger's sidekick helpfully chimed in.

"Yeah, they've all over this campsite recently. So if ya see them you should keep a tree between you and the mother."

"Hm, mmm. Or a picnic table."

"Right, or a picnic table. They usually can't stick their antlers all the way through the table, though they'll try. And if you're in your tent try shining your flashlight in their eyes. That sometimes works."

"Hm, mmm. Sometimes."

This must have been what the Acme paint and anvil salesman told Wile E. Coyote. "Don't worry friend, this here paint looks exactly like a train tunnel. It'll work...trust me."

After a brief, angry elk-free night at the trailhead campground we set off. The Hoh river trail is a 36-mile round trip jaunt - the flip turn coming at the terminal base of Blue Glacier. The highlights include skirting a refreshingly cool glacier-fed lake, passing through several open, grassy meadows and traveling under a mossy green canopy. You would not be surprised in the least to accidentally kick a sleeping Bilbo Baggins.

Our journey would only take us as far as Lewis Meadow - 10 miles deep into the rainforest and just shy of the massive ascent up to the glacier. What the trail lacked in difficulty it made up for in scenery and serenity. It discreetly gained elevation, leaving the heavy, old cedars, firs and spruces behind. After a late start and four hours of hiking we reached the meadow in time to enjoy a book under the late afternoon sun. Lewis' meadow, nestled on the bank of the Hoh, lies under Mt. Olympus and her sisters. If this isn't an ideal area for calving elk, I don't know where is.

With that thought we hung our food (for the bears not the elk) and headed to sleep. Like two ostriches we felt perfectly safe in the tent. Until the rustle. Just outside the tent.

"Go check it out," asked my skittish tent partner.

"What if it's a big mama elk?"

"That's what you have the flashlight for. Remember what the ranger said?"

Beep beep. I could almost hear the roadrunner laughing at me. Reluctantly I grabbed my flashlight. And cameraÉjust in case. I unzipped the tent vestibule with a strong, quick zip. Half hoping the elk would run off because of my ability to unzip a tent with such manly strength and dexterity.

Light on. Camera on. Search. I didn't have to look far. Grazing on a berry bush not more than 20 feet away was a large, antler-free, old doe (the docile variety). Not only was she unperturbed by my manly unzipping, but she could have cared less that I was heavily armed with a small halogen flashlight.

The following morning brought on another visit by our new friend. Completely ruining any tall tales I could have concocted for my tent-mate. But for her, the doe's reappearance provided another highlight among a 20-mile trip dotted by many.

— Brent Daily, Mountain Zone Correspondent

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