The echoing calls of two different bull elk rang out about an hour before daybreak – one calling from each side of the Snake River. Even though their “bugles” sent chills down my spine, I had become all too accustomed to this start to my morning. For nearly 50 mornings over the course of the past five years, I had carefully crept out to the the banks of the Snake river and crawled into a Willow bush about 90 minutes before sunrise with the hope of capturing an iconic elk crossing – an image to properly memorialize one of the most inspirational natural phenomena I’d ever witnessed. The problem was, I had witnessed many, many crossings and taken thousands of frames – several I would consider gallery-worthy – but I still felt “the one” had yet to reveal itself.

In truth, that morning, I was sitting in my blind, fighting back the cold and also fighting back a very legitimate doubt – I had begun to question my decision to commit so much time towards a single unknown and unlikely image. I had a team to support back home. My collectors were waiting to see the next great image. My newly opened gallery needed my leadership. Was this too high a toll? Had the tenacity that had yielded my best work been met by an unachievable pursuit? These questions had been playing on repeat in my mind the entire week.

Somewhere in this mire of doubt, the light of morning arrived and my attention quickly shifted to an echoing bugle on the right bank. A massive bull elk with his harem of five cows descended into the river, a scene I had frankly witnessed many times. But then it happened – I was gobsmacked to see a second bull emerge from the left bank. The proud challenger boldly waded out into the water, stopping the dominant bull in his tracks. As the cows continued to cross to the left bank, the bulls faced off, posturing mid-river. I felt as if lightening had struck. It was only then that I took stock in my surroundings. Mt. Moran was draped in the dramatic fog of morning, a dusting of fresh snow was on the river bank and the ever-active wildlife of the Snake River was dancing about in my viewfinder – the moment that I had waited for so long had finally arrived.

So what happened next? Did they fight? Which elk won? Moments after this exposure was taken, both elk exited stage left and I could hear them fighting among the willows. I have no idea which elk won. For me, it didn’t matter as I had finally captured a moment that I felt translated the spirit of that sacred location with the drama of the elk rushing all around the river banks in the height of the rut.