Having failed to see any moose whatsoever in Canada, we have been making a concerted effort to see as many other large mammals as possible. Sadly, although the area is famous for its killer whales we're not in the right season for them, but the Olympic National Park seemed like a promising place. We went elk hunting, in a park covered in warnings about elk charging people who got too close.

Six hours of walking later, we had seen precisely one elk. It was very dead indeed, and festering. No living elk. What we did find, though, was moss. Moss? you say. Why should anyone care about that? You get moss everywhere.

Oh yes, but not moss anything like what we found. In the Hoh rain forest, moss drips from trees in huge clumps. Every horizontal surface is covered in it, dangling and diffusing the light until everything is covered in an eerie green. It's beautiful, and otherworldly in the creepy sense. No good faeries would live in that forest.

We spent hours among the moss, feeling it slowly advancing upon us, ready to grab at a foot and rush up our bodies until we were just another moss-covered miscellaneous forest item. I bet that's where all the elk were.

All expect that lone one, stood right in the middle of the road, which we finally saw on the drive out of the park. I can't show you a picture of that one; I was at the wheel. Bastard elk.

Originally published at Where Is Greg?.