“Elk Hollers, Moonshine Fumes, and Otto Frog’s Big Scare”
(Told by Baja Troy’s Kinfolk Chronicles)
Now lemme paint ya a picture.
It was one of them foggy fall nights down in Coonjaw Hollow — me an’ my distant kin Otto Frog was layin’ low after a batch o’ fresh white lightning went wrong. The revenuers was sniffin’ ‘round the hills like coon dogs on a biscuit trail, an’ we was hidin’ out deeper in the timber than a tick on a hound’s belly.
It was one of them foggy fall nights down in Coonjaw Hollow — me an’ my distant kin Otto Frog was layin’ low after a batch o’ fresh white lightning went wrong. The revenuers was sniffin’ ‘round the hills like coon dogs on a biscuit trail, an’ we was hidin’ out deeper in the timber than a tick on a hound’s belly.
We had our six-shooters, a half jug o’ corn liquor, an’ a whole heap of nerves.
Every twig crack sounded like the law creepin’ up on us.
Every twig crack sounded like the law creepin’ up on us.
Then — outta nowhere — came this unholy scream from the ridgeline. I mean, it weren’t no bobcat, weren’t no fox neither. Sounded like someone gettin’ kidnapped by haints. Otto dropped his cigar, near set the tarp on fire, and said, “Lordy, they done found us! Them revenuers is torturin’ Uncle Clyde’s ghost!”
But I listened close. There was that long, low moanin’ start, then it shot up into a wild, hair-standin’ scream that made the dogs back home whimper in their sleep.
I grinned and said, “Otto, you dang fool — that ain’t no ghost. That there’s a bull elk tryin’ to sweet-talk his ladyfolk.”
Why Elk Sound Like They’re Hollerin’ Bloody Murder
See, durin’ the rut — that’s their love season, runs from September to October — them bull elk get to singin’ for the gals and warnin’ other fellers to back off.
They start with a low moan, stretch it into a high-pitched screech like a banshee ridin’ a freight train, then finish off with a string o’ grunts called a chuckle.
They start with a low moan, stretch it into a high-pitched screech like a banshee ridin’ a freight train, then finish off with a string o’ grunts called a chuckle.
Sometimes, you’ll even hear ‘em glunkin’ — that’s a low, bubbly sound they make to their herd, kinda like burpin’ underwater.
And them cow elk? They’ll toss in barks and mews to keep the gossip flowin’.
And them cow elk? They’ll toss in barks and mews to keep the gossip flowin’.
Other Critters That’ll Make You Think the Woods Are Haunted
Now, elk ain’t the only spooks out there.
If you’re campin’ and hear somethin’ that makes your britches tighten, could be:
If you’re campin’ and hear somethin’ that makes your britches tighten, could be:
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Red foxes, soundin’ like a banshee got stuck in a briar patch.
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Bobcats, yowlin’ like a lady gettin’ her hair yanked.
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Coyotes, laughin’ like drunk hyenas in the dark.
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Barred owls, hootin’ out “Who cooks for you?” like some midnight philosopher.
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And them screech owls — sound like ghost babies cryin’ up a storm.
How to Tell Beast from Bubba
If ya ain’t sure whether it’s an elk or some feller lost in the woods:
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Listen close — a hunter’ll use both bull and cow calls, but a real elk sticks to his own tune.
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Watch for movement — real elk don’t sit still like hunters; they wander the hills makin’ noise.
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Check the time o’ year — if it’s September or October, and the woods are full o’ wails, you got yourself a lovesick bull, not a backwoods ghost.
Otto Frog never did sleep that night.
He sat clutchin’ his pistol, mumblin’, “If that’s what flirtin’ sounds like, I ain’t ever fallin’ in love again.”
He sat clutchin’ his pistol, mumblin’, “If that’s what flirtin’ sounds like, I ain’t ever fallin’ in love again.”
We made it through the night, revenuers none the wiser, elk still hollerin’ for romance up on the ridge.
And from then on, we learned:
And from then on, we learned:
“When the hills scream, it ain’t always the law — sometimes it’s just love gone loud.”
Alright, pull up a stump and pour a nip o’ white lightning, ‘cause this one’s an old mountain tale about The Legion of Poachin’ Wood — and ol’ Buster Bahzellsword, the still master who went missin’ ‘round Deadman Creek.
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