Rain, Elk, and Everything In Between: A Wild Day That Gave Exactly What It Needed To - April 3, 2026

There’s something about an overcast holiday day that calls for an adventure. Not sunshine. Not perfection. Just the quiet pull of the wild. So Finn, my Aunt, and I piled into the car with a simple goal in mind: find Roosevelt Elk in Youbou, BC.

Of course… nature had its own plans.

Rain followed us the entire way.

Elk are elusive on the best of days—and in the rain? Even more so. But that’s the thing about wildlife photography… you go anyway. Because you never know. We made a stop at a local marsh, hoping to find tree swallows dancing across the water. Nothing.

Pussy Willow

A hummingbird sat perched at the very top of a branch, completely exposed to the rain. Tiny. Fragile. And yet… completely unbothered.

Just existing. Enduring.

Lesson from the hummingbird: You don’t have to be big to be strong. Sometimes resilience is quiet—just holding your place through the storm.

Further along, I captured a few photos of Finn walking the trail on his leash, completely in his element.

Curious. Brave. Present.

There’s something so grounding about sharing these moments with him. Not rushing. Not chasing. Just moving through nature together.

Lesson from Finn: Stay curious. Stay close to the moment. You don’t need a destination to have a meaningful journey.

And then… it happened.

As we drove into Youbou, a small herd of female Roosevelt Elk crossed the road ahead of us. We stopped instantly. I grabbed my camera, 600mm ready and stepped out into the rain. They were enormous. Quiet. Calm. Powerful. And curious.

Did you know?

Female Roosevelt Elk often live together in herds made up of other cows and their calves, creating a strong, cooperative community where they watch for danger, share knowledge of the land, and protect the next generation together?

For a brief moment, we simply watched each other. we, standing still in the rain. Them, assessing me with soft, alert eyes.

I kept my distance. They deserved that space. Then, just as gently as they appeared…they meandered off into the forest.

Gone. But not really. Because moments like that stay with you.

Lesson from the elk: True strength doesn’t need to announce itself. It moves quietly, confidently, and leaves an impression without force.

We tried for blue jays next hearing them overhead but they stayed hidden in the canopy. So we shifted gears. Another trail. Another chance to just be.

Finn kept up with us as we made our way to a small waterfall, the forest wrapped in that deep, saturated green that only rain can bring.

And there it was, a massive mushroom growing out of a moss-covered log. Turns out, it's a bracket fungus, most likely Ganoderma applanatum (commonly called Artist’s Conk).

This shelf-like fungus grows on dead or dying wood and plays an important role in forest ecosystems by breaking down trees and recycling nutrients. Unlike typical mushrooms, it can live for many years, adding new growth layers annually. Some species, like Artist’s Conk, have a white underside that can be drawn on and are known for releasing millions of spores. Their presence is a natural sign of decay, renewal, and a healthy forest cycle.

Lesson from the bracket fungus: Not all growth is visible or fast. Some of the most important work happens slowly, quietly, breaking things down so something new can begin.

Everything felt alive. Dripping. Breathing. Quiet. In that moment, it felt like the world had disappeared. No noise. No rush.

Just the three of us… and the forest.

On the way to our next stop, we heard it before we saw it. Ravens. Loud. Urgent. Communicating. At first, we weren’t sure what was happening… and then we looked up. A bald eagle soared overhead accompanied by two juveniles, circling the area.

Bald Eagle

Juvenile Bald Eagle

The ravens were not impressed. They called back and forth, their deep voices echoing through the trees. I managed to capture one perched on a mossy branch.

Ravens are something else. Their feathers hold an iridescent sheen, blues, purples, hidden within black. Larger than crows. Deeper in voice. Full of presence.

Lesson from the ravens: Use your voice. Speak up. Connection and communication matter, especially when something feels out of balance.

Lesson from the eagles: Rise above when you can. There’s a bigger perspective waiting if you’re willing to lift yourself higher.

On our way home, we made one final stop, a place known for small birds. And despite the steady rain… it delivered.

I captured several portraits.

Red-winged blackbirds perched and feeding.

Hey! What are you looking at?

Spotted towhees waiting to get their piece.

Golden-crowned sparrows hopping through the wet ground and in the bushes.

And a Dark-Eyed Junco waiting for his turn.

They didn’t mind the rain. They just carried on. And I stood there, soaked, camera in hand, grateful.

Lesson from the birds: Life doesn’t stop for imperfect conditions. Keep showing up. Keep moving. There’s beauty in the ordinary moments.

Not Perfect. But Exactly Right.

By that point, the rain had soaked through everything, and it felt right to head home. We didn’t capture everything we set out to. No dramatic skies. No endless wildlife encounters.

European Starlings

But we found what we came for. The Roosevelt Elk.

And more than that…we found moments. Quiet ones. Unexpected ones. The kind that don’t shout—but stay with you long after. And maybe that’s the real lesson of the day:

You don’t always get the adventure you planned…but you often get the one you needed.

I’m incredibly thankful for Finn and my Aunt being my birding partners. There’s something special about experiencing these moments together, through the rain, the stillness, and the unexpected, side by side.