Elk's Sparring With Photographer Caught on Tape (Headache time)

A North Carolina photographer dove headfirst, literally, into his assignment when he came face-to-face with an elk.

James York was photographing elk at sunrise in the Cataloochee Valley of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Gatlinburg, Tenn., when one of the elk on which he had his lens focused approached him.

"He came up peacefully enough," York said. "I was hoping he might just take a little sniff and move away but he didn't."

Instead, the elk began nuzzling York, sniffing at his leg and forcefully nudging his antlers into York's head, which York did his best to keep down.

"I'm thinking, 'Don't show him fear,'" York said. "He was prancing and digging his hoofs in the ground and then bouncing back and forth and lowering his horns down and coming at me fairly aggressive."

We use to raise goats and a couple were aggressive. Seemed like when I took em on from the side they didn’t know what to do.

Grab their horns and pull their head to the ground and hold it till they bleat. That usually took the cocky attitude away for a few days LOL. I also carrier a big stick to rattle their horns with if needed. Goats, the ones not debudded can be very violent at any given time. They'll kill each other and they can kill you. Mine had their horns. I never allowed my grandkids in the lot without me being there. I also had one Billy. Never again LOL.

Yep.

My mom wouldn’t allow my youngest sister in the yard when them bass turhds were on one of their testerone rages.

One became such a lil fkr, attacking suddenly, and using our cars to pkay king of the mountain so my brother asked me to grab a knife, hacksaw and a tarp.

While I was looking for them I heard a gunshot. Moron shot that punk.

When I came back from the barn he was just looking at it and said “Dinner!”.

Sadly, he didn’t kill it clean and that punk started moving. My brother raised the gun and I yelled “stop! Let’s make this easier and bleed him out”.

Ran back to the barn, pick up some rope and a come along. Hooked that punk up by his back legs and hoisted him.

Took my knife and slit his throat. Done in a minute or so and let gravity do the rest of the job.

Once he was bled, took him down and re-hoisted by his front paws.

My brother and I laughed telling each other how much we hated that punk but, gave thanks to God and we gutted him, skinned him and butchered him.

When Mom came we told her what we had done and she had just come the grocery store. She was dissapointed, as she wanted one of the rabbits but, simply said “Goat Cacciatore”.

He was delish.

My brother traded the skin for two used tires.

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