On the other side of the rock the Fall River Canyon may be filled with mist, the peaks of the Mummy Range soaring beyond. Even the kid down the block blows a better horn. A typical autumn weekend evening finds thousands of people crowded along the Park's roads and trails, enjoying picnics and tailgate parties in the dark while listening to a far out concert of squeals and grunts. Although listening is the principal activity, viewing is also on the program. Starlight is usually sufficient to see the buff shapes of elk in the meadows against the darkness of the forest, and moonlight is as effective as stage lights.
Autumn is the season for elk, deer and bighorn sheep to celebrate life in the rituals of the rut.
For the listeners, the song of the elk seems to be a channel to reconnect us with our primeval roots, to awaken ancient racial memories of rituals performed in our own celebrations of life, perhaps dancing in the moonlight to the throbbing beat of some pagan tomtom. In late afternoon, as if materializing from thin air, the elk begin to emerge from the forests into the meadows. Occasionally bugling, the bulls herd harems of cows and yearling calves. The cows and calves feed. The bulls are too busy with the demands of the rut to bother with mundance activities such as eating and in the coming winter some of them will pay with their lives for this omission.