Wolf Remembered

WOLF REMEMBERED
By:  Richard Brigman

Stepping out on the Skaters Cabin back porch, I closed my eyes and lifted my face to a tepid but welcome sun in a peerless blue winter sky.  I gazed absently down the shoreline of the frozen lake and set up my camera tripod, briefly noting in the distance a man, a woman and a tight group of dogs.  Near the man and woman, two unfettered dogs gamboled while one large dog stood apart, watching the revelry.  Like many who came with their dogs, the man and woman ignored Forest Service advisories to keep them on leashes.

The human-canine tableau was muted into gray monotones by a cheery swirling wind tossing curtains of snow, but I took a few pictures to check camera settings.  Then, as I worried over the back panel display, adjusting for glare and depth of field, the big dog howled.

I stared at the scene and the hoped for the unexpected object of my trip on this cold pristine day.  The large dark fur ball seen through the gauze of snow, was the wolf.  After my brain finally re-engaged, I disconnected the camera from the tripod, flung the camera strap around my neck, wheeled blindly, and stutter stepped down an icy ramp to the snow-bound lake.  The heavy camera and lens thumped preventative CPR against my chest and the tripod legs folded, became my walking stick as I slogged down the knee-high drifts toward the cross country ski trail snaking across what I prayed was a solid lake of ice.

I gained the hard-packed trail and turned.  In an age-addled trot, I hurried toward the couple, their dogs, and the wolf, now a still-life etched on soft white down. As the wind relented, the wolf's black winter coat snapped into sharp focus.

"Closer.  Get closer!" my mind commanded.  The wolf, perhaps sensing my rasping advance, glanced my way, then returned his attention to the man, woman and dogs.  He seemed to be inviting the dogs closer and warning the humans away.

Drawing even with the human, canine group, still many yards across deep snow, I saw the woman toss a tennis ball.  The dogs gave chase; the wolf watched.  As the dogs scuffled for the prize, the wolf howled again.  Tennis ball  forgotten, heads down, tails between their legs, the dogs skulked toward the wolf.  The man ordered them back.  Reacting to the man's voice, the dogs retreated from the wolf a few yards, and sat on their haunches, their heads at an uncertain tilt, their attention shifting from human to wolf and back again.  After a few beats of my thumping heart, the wolf seemed to harrumph, turned his back on humans and dogs and began moving away.  He was coming toward me, yet moving diagonally away.

I ignored a deepening wheeze and maintained a determined shuffle along the edge of the ski trail, hearing or imaging deep booms of shifting ice.  If we kept the same pace, the wolf would cross the trail about 20 yards ahead of me.  Then, with a brush of air and flashes of fur and forest green, a young woman, accompanied by three unleashed dogs glided past me, her long skis chirping crisply with each practiced stride.  "Jake, Jenny, come", she called out to two over-grown pups that had paused to assess my potential for fun.  Another dog, a big roan-colored shepherd-mix that the young skier called Maggie ignored me, and loped effortlessly at the skiers' side.  "The wolf's out," I warned.  Without breaking her graceful rhythm, the young woman peered ahead.  "Isn't he gorgeous?" was all she said.

Huffing now, I moved as quickly as my equipment and girth would allow.  I didn't want to crowd the wolf, so I stopped, picked a likely spot on the trail, paused, opened the tripod, attached the camera, and tried to slow my breathing.  I tracked the wolf through the view finder as he gained the ski trail and looked my way.  Elated, I mashed the shutter release.  The lens took up the chase, locked on the wolf, and the shutter began a rapid fire chatter.

To the wolf, I was probably a nuisance, but I was not a threat.  I was one of many who sought him out, one of many who marveled at this creature so perfectly adapted to this environment.  But I wanted more.  I wanted picture proof that this wolf and I once occupied the same space and time.  I hoped we would occupy our space and our time for a long time but I knew I had a better chance than he.  His niche was fraught with potential peril.  Aside from the free-range dogs, there were stories circulating  that some ill-advised souls were surreptitiously offering the wolf tasty treats to draw him near.  This prompted more Forest Service warnings, but like the leash rule, some didn't see the harm.  Sooner of later, someone would do something really stupid; they would get too close, the wolf would react, and the wolf would disappear or more likely, die. 

The wolf continued to the middle of the ski trail and again glanced my way, then turned and cantered away from me, up the trail.  The young skier and her dogs were upwind.  The dogs should have sensed the wolf by now.  One already did.

As the wolf moved away, after a few photos of his shaggy butt, I disconnected the camera, abandoned the tripod, and began to trail him, hoping for another look at his face, and for a picture that captured his eyes.

The young skier was skiing smoothly and had pulled steadily ahead until she and her dogs were at least 100 yards away.  Jake and Jenny, still coursed frenetically around the skier, but Maggie had stopped, turned and was staring down the trail.  The young skier called Maggie to her.  Maggie didn't respond.  Tongues lolling, Jake and Jenny stopped and taking their cue from Maggie, began tasting the air.  Down wind, something was coming, something out of their past.  Heads up, eyes fixed ahead, the wolf saw Maggie looking back at him, and his whole world changed.  His pace quickened every so slightly, his hackles rose, and the hair on the back of my neck rose in sympathy.  The young skier stopped, looked back the way she came, and began jockeying around her cumbersome skis.

Still moving ahead, I raised the camera and triggered the shutter release.  The wolf displayed and nipped at Maggie.

Maggie displayed and nipped back.  Repeatedly the young skier snapped "Maggie, come!".  Each command was more plaintive than the last, but Maggie ignored them all as she and the wolf postured and maneuvered away.

I made a shallow arc around Maggie and the wolf and continued to take pictures, until I stood next to the young skier, now flanked by Jake and Jenny.  As the distance to Maggie and the wolf grew, the young skier fumbled with her bindings and stepped out of her skis.  Looking at me, her eyes pleaded "Do something!".  Lamely I could only say "Stay back".

Unnecessarily I murmured what ever creature there already knew "Maggie will decide".

A native Texan, Richard Brigman moved to Juneau five years ago, became a certified interpreter, guided biking and wildlife tours, and recently worked as a Tongass National Forest interpreter for the Alaska Marine Highway.  Writing and photography are his tools of choice for capturing the wild, green wonder of Southeast Alaska