OverSixty July 2023 Digital

ISSUE 5 | JULY 2023 | OVERSIXTY.COM.AU 20 LIFESTYLE !is went against everything I’d ever heard about timber wolves One snap of her huge jaws and she could break my arm... or my neck. I wrapped my blanket around me and slowly settled onto the cold ground. It was a long time before I fell asleep. I awoke at dawn, stirred by the sound of the pups nursing. Gently, I leaned over and petted them. !e mother wolf sti"- ened. “Goodmorning, friends,” I said ten- tatively. !en I slowly placed my hand on the wolf’s injured leg. She #inched, but made no threatening move. !is can’t be happening , I thought. Yet it was. I could see that the trap’s steel jaws had imprisoned only two toes. !ey were swollen and lacerated, but she wouldn’t lose the paw – if I could free her. “Ok,” I said. “Just a little longer andwe’ll have you out of there.” I applied pressure; the trap sprang open, and the wolf pulled free. Whim- pering, she loped about, favouring the injured paw. My experience in the wild suggested the wolf would now gather her pups and vanish into the woods. But cau- tiously, she crept towards me. !e pups nipped playfully at their mother as she stopped atmy elbow. Slow- ly, she sni"ed my hands and arms. !en MORRIS HOMER ERWIN REMINISCE O ne spring morning many years ago, I had been prospecting for gold along Coho Creek on southeastern Alas- ka’s Kupreanof Island, and as I emerged from a forest of spruce and hemlock, I froze in my tracks. No more than 20 paces away in the #at muskeg [swamp] was a huge, black Alaskan timber wolf – caught in one of Trapper George’s traps. Old George had died the previous week of a heart attack, so the wolf was lucky I had happened along. Yet now, confused and frightened at my approach the wolf backed away, straining at the trap chain. !en I noticed something else: it was a female, and her teats were full of milk. Somewhere, there was a den of hungry pups waiting for their mother. From her appearance, I guessed she had been trapped only a few days. !at meant her pups were probably still alive and probably close by. But I suspected if I tried to release the wolf, she would turn aggressive and try to tear me to pieces. So I decided to search for her pups instead and began to look for incoming tracks that might lead me to her den. Fortunately, there were a few remain- ing patches of snow. I soon spotted paw marks on a trail skirting the muskeg. !e tracks led 800m through the forest, then up a rock-strewn slope. I $nally spotted the den at the base of a vast spruce. !ere wasn’t a sound inside. Wolf pups are shy and cautious, and I didn’t have much hope of luring them outside. But I had to try. So I began imi- tating the high-pitched squeak of amoth- er wolf calling her young. No response. Moments later, after I tried another call, four tiny pups appeared. !ey couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. I extended my hands, and they tentatively suckled at my $ngers. Perhaps hunger had helped overcome their natural fear. !en, one by one, I placed them in a bur- lap bag, and headed back down the slope. When the mother wolf spotted me, she stood erect. Possible picking up the scent of her young, she let out a high-pitched, plaintive whine. I released the pups, and they raced to her. Within seconds, they were slurping at her belly. What next? I wondered. !e mother wolf was clearly su"ering. Yet each time I moved in her direction, amenacing growl rumbled in her throat. With her young to protect, she was becoming belligerent. She needs nourishment, I thought. I have to "nd her something to eat. I hiked towards Coho Creek, and spot- Strange encounter on Coho Creek the wolf began licking my $ngers. I was astonished. !is went against everything I’d ever heard about timber wolves. Yet, strangely, it all seemed so natural. After a while, with her pups scurrying around her, the mother wolf was ready to leave and began to limp o" towards the forest. !en she turned back to me. “You want me to come with you, girl?” I asked. Curious, I packed my gear, and set o". Following Coho Creek for a few kilo- metres, we ascended Kupreanof Moun- tain until we reached an alpine meadow. !ere, lurking in the forested perimeter, was a wolf pack – I counted nine adults and, judging by their playful antics, four nearly full-grown pups. After a few min- utes of greeting, the pack broke into howling. It was an eerie sound, ranging from low wails to high-pitched yodelling. At dark, I set up camp. By the light of my $re and a glisteningmoon, I could see furtive wolf shapes dodging in and out of the shadows, eyes shining. I had no fear. !ey were merely curious. So was I. I awoke at $rst light. It was time to leave the wolf to her pack. She watched as I assembled my gear and started walking across themeadow. Reaching the far side, I looked back. !e mother and her pups were sitting where I had left them, watch- ing me. I don’t know why, but I waved. At the same time, the mother wolf sent a long, mournful howl in the crisp air. Four years later, after serving in World War Two, I returned to Coho Creek in the autumn of 1945. After the horrors of war, it was good to be back among the soaring spruce, breathing the familiar, bracing air of the Alaskan bush. !en I saw, hanging in a red cedar where I had placed it four years before, the now rusted steel trap that had ensnared the mother wolf. !e sight of it gave me a strange feeling, and something made me climb Kupreanof Mountain to themeadowwhere I had last seen her. !ere, standing on a lofty ledge, I gave out a long, low wolf call. An echo came back across the distance. Again I called. And again the echo rever- berated, this time followed by a wolf call from a ridge about 800m away. !en, far o", I saw a dark shape moving slowly in my direction. As it crossed the meadow, I could see it was a black tim- ber wolf. A chill spread throughmy whole body. I knew at once that familiar shape, even after four years. “Hello, old girl,” I called gently.!e wolf edged closer, ears erect, body tense, and stopped a few me- tres o", her bushy tail wagging slightly. Moments later, the wolf was gone. I left Kupreanof Island a short time after that, and I never saw the animal again. But the memory she left with me – vivid, haunt- ing, a little eerie – will always be there, a reminder that there are things in nature that exist outside the laws and under- standing of man. During that time, this injured animal and I had somehow penetrated each other’s worlds, bridging barriers that were never meant to be bridged. !ere is no ex- plaining experiences like this. We can only accept them and – because they are so mysterious – treasure themall themore. ted the leg of a winter-$lled deer sticking out of a snow bank. I cut o" a hind quar- ter, then returned the remains to nature’s ice box. Toting the venison haunch back to the wolf, I whispered, “Okay, moth- er, your dinner is served. But only if you stop growling at me. C’mon now. Easy.” I tossed chunks of venison in her direction. She sni"ed them, then gobbled them up. Cutting hemlock boughs, I fashioned a rough shelter for myself and was soon asleep. At dawn I was awakened by four #u"y bundles of fur sni%ng at my face and hands. I glanced towards the agitated mother wolf. If I could only win her con- $dence, I thought. It was her only hope. Over the next few days, I divided my time between prospecting and trying to win the wolf’s trust. I talked gently with her, threw her more venison and played with the pups. Little by little, I kept edging closer – though I was careful to remain beyond the length of her chain. She nev- er took her dark eyes o" me. “Come on, mother,” I pleaded. “You want to go back to your friends on the mountain. Relax.” At dusk on the $fth day, I delivered her daily fare of venison. “Here’s dinner,” I said softly as I approached. “C’mon girl. Nothing to be afraid of.” Suddenly, the pups came bounding tome. At least I had their trust. But I was losing hope of ever winning over the mother. !en I thought I saw a slight wagging of her tail. I moved within the length of her chain. She remained motionless. Heart in my mouth, I sat down two metres from her. !is classic tale from the archives of Reader’s Digest was "rst published in 1987 Illustration: Rickie Wu LIFESTYLE Something wonderful and a little mystical happened there in the lonely wilderness of Alaska BONUS SECTION TO SUBSCRIBE TO READER’S DIGEST, SEE PAGE 21