Tyler Frantz

As the sun dipped behind the mountains under a clear September sky, elk bugles echoed across Winslow hill. A large herd bull, antlers freshly shed of velvet, was busy corralling his harem away from younger suitors as dozens of onlookers gazed in wonder at the scene unfolding before their eyes.  
This very display occurred just as I imagined it would during our first night in Pennsylvania elk country. Though I’ve witnessed it several times before, the majestic sight of a massive bull in all its glory feverishly working a group of cows is such an impressive sight, it keeps me coming back for more.

As I entered the bedroom, a cool spring breeze was blowing through the open window, but something seemed oddly out of place. I could hear birdsong, which struck me as puzzling considering it was almost midnight. At first, I thought my son — who wants to be an ornithologist someday — had forgotten to turn off the bird sounds he sometimes listens to when falling asleep. But that wasn’t the case.