The Legend of the Windy Ridge Runner
Imagine a valley filled with green set at the foot of the Rocky Mountains hundreds of years ago. Thousands of Buffalo grazed on the tall grasses. Bears, mountain lions, and wolves stalked their prey on the valley floor and in the mountains above.
During the summer, Native Americans came to hunt buffalo and elk. They had journeyed far to reach their hunting grounds in the Rocky Mountain West. Fathers sat around fires telling stories to their sons. Some of those stories survive to this day.
According to legend, a phantom walks the Rocky precipices of the high mountain peaks. Hunters have sought him from one generation to the next, but he always eludes them. Even the proudest, best hunter has only caught but a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of this Great White Bull Elk. They call him the Windy Ridge Runner because he runs the Rocky cliffs, leaving no trace of tracks behind. They say he has no vertigo, and his bugle call challenges all to find him.
The land has changed since the Native Americans hunted the valleys of Wyoming. Small towns now dot the landscape. Winter snows invite those who love snowmobiling and skiing. Summer brings crowds of tourists who want to catch a glimpse of the majestic snowcapped peaks of the Rocky Mountains.
There’s something spiritual about this land. When all is quiet, you can almost hear the bugle of the elk. He may come to you in your dreams–that is, the great one, the Windy Ridge Runner. You can see him in your mind’s eye prancing along the edges of the rocks. The wind whispers gently and the water roars loudly. Or is that the call of the elk? You look up, and there he is for just a moment, a second, perched on a ledge. You see it, exactly what the natives have said about him. His antlers are the largest ever seen, the tips lightly brushed in white. In an instant, he is gone. Then you wake up to realize it was all just a dream.
When the fireside stories about the Great White Bull began to fade, someone else would mysteriously catch another glimpse of his amazing rack. They would bring pictures to prove their stories.
The Native American tribes say the Great White Bull is just a glimpse of what once was–a reminder of an ancient past. His story will never die, as long as there are Native Americans and hunters passing it on to their sons. He will live on as artisans carve the image of his antlers into native wood.
The spirit of the great Mountain West, the Great White Bull, invites you to come and see his land; to come and breathe the fresh mountain air and see the unspoiled beauty of glacier peaks, winding rivers, and lofty pines. He’s proud to have you come and see what peace and serenity is all about. Just leave no trace behind and respect his home, the wilderness– his domain.