This is the earliest written observation of the flying elk. But the legend can be traced back to the mid-1600s.

Valter took a last dash of black coffee and threw out the sump of lingonberry. With the backpack over one shoulder and the elk rifle over the other, he trudged off towards a spot which had been spoken of for years. He peeked on the pocket watch. The time was 2:32 in the morning and the date was 5 October 1822. It was a misty, cold morning – the perfect weather in order to find a elk to shoot.

Valter kept a watchful eye over the clear-cut, and hour after hour he swept his focused gaze over the landscape. Dawn was approaching and soon the sun would scroll across the ridge. Suddenly there was a roar beyond the forest. The noise appeared in the pine forest west of Valters position. Slowly he pressed the gun towards the shoulder and cocked his riffle. He took a deep breath and laid his cheek on the piston. He could see the horns in-between the trees.

It was the most powerful crown he had ever seen during his 61-year-old-life. The familiar tunnel vision appeared, he hugged the index finger against the trigger. It stung the eyes, and suddenly he was dazzled by a gold-shimmering glow. For a moment he closed his eyes and bowed his head, and the next moment open his eyes again.

Bit the elk had disappeared, without the old man’s understanding. He could not hear the animal’s escape or find some traces in the ground. The elk was gone, as if it had been devoured by the sky.

An excerpt from the book “Jämtland stories”
first published 1823rd