GHOST ELK
(A true story)
When needed the magic will come, if asked for . . .
Walking the forest—as is my daily practice here in the wild Slocan Valley of southeast British Columbia where I live—has not been without sadness this past year, since it was logged for wildfire mitigation last Autumn. Not entirely clearcut. It will recover in time. But too much cut. With this loss I have been feeling bereft; somewhat ungrounded, disconnected; with my creative juices somewhat dry . . . and with the magic of the woodlands, that so sustains me, somewhat in retreat from me. I lost so many friends. My poor forest.
So I have been exploring, searching for neighbouring unscathed intact woods that I could navigate and haunt instead. Always I will continue to visit my old original forest, to mourn, and to keep up with its changes, and keep an eye on its comeback; but this ‘Forest Woman’* must needs spend time unburdened by grief, away in a wild woodland amongst healthy trees, for her own being, body and soul, to be healthy and nurtured. So I’ve been searching. . . . And I’ve just recently now been successful at finding it! With only a short bit of a vertical scramble, that I can manage quite handily, up from the little creek that marks the south boundary of the logged area, above the hydro power lines that run through here, there is a whole accessible mountainside of forest that I can get to and that hasn’t been touched for over a hundred years. I’m there. Feeling so blessed.
I was up there a few days ago, getting to know a beautiful Cedar tree in her prime, and exploring a bit ’round and about. I could feel my soul settling, my whole being palpably grounding. Unwinding. Coming home.
Sitting down to meditate under the shelter of my new Cedar friend, I began to ask for, please, could the magic return to me . . . I snuggled in and slept there, had a nap and asked for the magic to please return to me . . . and I circled her, and asked could please the magic be returned to me . . .
Soon after, I said my goodbyes and started the clamber down the steep slopes toward home. As I approached the power line something caught my eye in a field just across the line’s right-of-way — what was it? At first I thought maybe a goat, but it has been many many long years since I’ve seen a goat here. It was a large ungulate, and it was grey—mottled dark and light, but all grey. Then it heard me, and raised its head, to display a fine set of unmistakably Elk antlers. By the looks of them, he’s a three- or four-year-old. He is a little smallish for a full-grown Elk, no mistaking him though for anything other than an Elk — but that mottled grey!? with no pale rump, and no smooth brown colouring at all. He began to slowly move—to ‘float’, as Elk do through their lives—calmly across the field, lowering his head to graze, gliding along a little ways further, then raising his head to contemplate me again, as he silently and sedately made his way. I watched him, we watched each other, until he at last drifted off into the trees at the far end of the field.
I thought to then leave him alone, so I headed off angling away from him, to cross the little creek a short distance up from the field, and circle back toward home. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two later, as I climbed a small rise under the power line, when . . . there he was in front of me! looking down at me from the crest of the rise. Standing tall and proud, still calm, cool and completely collected, quietly considering me. I can’t imagine how he got there. In those two minutes or so he had to have made his way through a small wooded area, crossed the creek, jumped a barbed-wire fence, and scaled the slope of a smallish but steep and rocky ravine. I know Elk can move very fast, but he wasn’t even noticeably breathing, let alone out-of-breath from any exertion what-so-ever. How he materialized there in front of me like that will forever be a mystery to me.
He kept looking at me for a while, while I marvelled at him, and then he slowly, with such majesty as only an Elk can muster, turned and floated off northward, and I, after I had collected myself, made my way westward to my cabin.
Magic indeed.
Returned to me. Healing grief. Enriching life.
Upon reaching home I of course immediately consulted Google, to find out that there is indeed a rare genetic anomaly among the Elk population—there are “Piebald” Elk that can manifest as mottled grey. One-in-a-hundred-thousand Elk are Piebald! Also called “Ghost Elk.”
An encounter with one carries deeply spiritual significance. Bridging this world and the other, Ghost Elk bring messages: entreating you to whole-heartedly embrace your own unique individuality; imparting to you the strength to carry your burdens with grace; and foretelling to you of major transitions coming in your life.
Magic indeed.
~Barbara Brown
*”Forest Woman” coined from Mary Reynolds Thompson’s book The Way of the Wild Soul Woman: 5 Earth Archetypes to Unleash Your Feminine Power, Findhorn Press, 2024
