Howling with Wolves

A group of clients and I descended a steep gravel slope of a mountain we’d just summited. There was hardly any vegetation, just a long field of fine gravel interspersed with copper-colored boulders. The Kelly River Valley below was sweeping sea of red, gold, and green, while the mountains on the far side of the valley slipped in and out of showers and early snow squalls. We plunge-stepped through the rocks until we eventually reached the upper reaches of the tundra, where we plopped down on the grass for breather.

“Something is moving down there.” one of my clients said.

I pulled up my binoculars and looked down in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, there was something. A single gray wolf trotted across the rocky washout from a large stream. The animal trotted with purpose, crossing our footprints from that morning. It paused to sniff  a spot on the ground, probably one of our tracks, lifted its head and looked back the direction from which it had come. A second wolf appeared, this one nearly white. The two sniffed around for a moment, and then continued on their way up the valley. They trotted in a way only wolves seem able, effortless, in a steady, distance-devouring pace. Within a few moments they were out sight, disappeared into a stand of spruces.

We sat for a minute, relishing the experience, when the sound of a single wolf howling reached us. A second later is was joined by another voice. Both wolves, howling somewhere from the valley below. I raised my own head, and let out the best imitation I could, and a second later they responded. When I howled again a couple of my clients joined, and our discord carried down to the trees where the wolves were hidden. Again, they howled.

Back and forth, back and forth, we alternated, until eventually, the wolves tired of our game, and stopped responding.

The five of us on the mountainside laughed aloud. Not out of humor, but because sometimes joy has no other expression.

Related posts: