I’ve always been fascinated with wolves. Today, my sons and
I went to see the movie The Grey and I remembered why those elusive beasts have
intrigued me so. It was a very visceral movie with beautiful scenery,
nerve-wracking suspense and a strong lead performance. I didn’t care for some
of the fatalistic views on faith and I felt downright cheated at one point in
the film. But, do you know what I loved most about the film? The wolves. Yes, they
were killing people. Yes, they were vicious. Hey, they are wolves. This is what
wolves do in the wild. They hunt and they defend their territory. All that
aside, I loved the mystery and the chill that the film evoked about the wolves.
You did not see them much, but you heard them… and you felt them. You knew they
were there even when they weren’t. The movie brought back such memories….
I grew up in a family of hunters. I have always had a very
deep love and respect for animals. But, I’ve never been squeamish about hunting
for food or survival. I can skin a rattlesnake without batting an eye. As a
kid, I heard many tales (and tall tales) about hunting. My favorites were the
wolf stories. My cousin Lonnie would tell me about wolf hunts that he had heard
in the woods near his home. He would lay in bed listening to the wolves calling to the pack and the hounds baying on their trail.
My favorite story was told to me by Mom’s brothers, my uncles
Junior and Jim. I heard the story from both of them at different times. I
remembered that story today and I decided I needed to write it down. I hope
that I remember it well enough. I know that both times I heard it, we were
sitting in the woods at night by the campfire… cold to our backs and warmth on
our faces. As the story goes, Junior and
Jim were staying with their Aunt Mable and Uncle Pete near Paris, Texas. They
were young men and there were still wolves in that area back then. Late one
night, the two men heard the wolves howling in the nearby woods. Hungry for
adventure, they grabbed their guns and a light and headed out into the dark.
They followed the howls, hoping to sneak up on one of the brutes and get a
shot. The howls got more intense with pack members calling to each other. The
sounds got louder and the men knew they were getting closer. As they drew near,
there were snarls and growls and then silence. Junior and Jim moved ahead
slowly, watching and listening. Their light fell on a strange heap and they
moved toward it to see what it was. Suddenly, they realized it was a fresh
kill. The ground around it was covered in blood and wolf tracks. Then they
heard the wolves all around them, moving in the trees just beyond their light.
My uncles knew they were in a bad place and they began to back out the way they
came. They had each other’s backs with their guns up and ready to fire, but the
wolves let them pass. They went back to the house without a trophy that night,
but felt fortunate just the same.
Both times I heard this story, I could sense the awe and fear
in my uncles’ voices. Both times it gave me chills. I would ask them about it
again and again over the years. Junior’s eyes would get wide and he’d tell me
how he had nightmares of wolves after that. He told me about one dream where he
was in his truck and the wolves were eating their way through the floorboard to
get at him. I didn’t ask Junior much about it after that. Jim would talk about
it whenever I asked, though. He’d admit how scared he was, but excited too. Jim
loved adventures!
Just last week, I came across the old Clint Walker movie, The
Night of the Grizzly. I love that movie. As I watched it last week, I
remembered watching it with Uncle Jim back in the ‘70’s when he lived with my
family. I had seen the movie before, but he hadn’t. I told him he had to see
it. He enjoyed that movie so much! After seeing it, he was determined to go
bear hunting! That’s all he talked about. He read magazines about bear hunts.
He and I talked about bear hunts. Jim finally got to go black bear hunting in
Colorado in about ’79 or ’80 (I think). He was so excited! When he got back, he
told about the one time during the hunt that he actually came upon fresh bear
tracks and could hear the animal in the woods; but he never got a shot. He said
it was a scary feeling and he was shaking all over. I asked if it was like the
night with the wolves. Jim looked at me with big eyes and quickly shook his
head no!
I have my own wolf story. Jim’s in it, too. I’m afraid it
doesn’t hold a candle to the story of him and Junior, but it was enough to
haunt me for a lifetime.
When I was young, we spent most weekends at my dad’s ranch
near Jacksboro. Lots of family would come to the place on the weekends to help
my dad with the work, or to hunt, or to ride motorcycles. There were still some
wolves around back then, before they all got hunted out. My brother, uncles
and cousins would talk about hearing the wolves howling in the woods at night. A
time or two, I actually heard them myself, way off in the distance. I loved the
sound. I could never get enough of it. It was easy to enjoy it when I was
standing at the house listening to the wolves run the river bottoms way down
below. It was safe. There was one late night, when I was thirteen or so, that I
offered to help Jim run his trotlines in the river. We drove Dad’s pickup down
into the woods and parked it. Jim and I climbed over the barbed wire fence and
walked about fifty feet to the river bank. I held the flashlight as he checked
his trotlines and found them empty. The woods were dark and quiet. It always
thrilled me to be in the woods at night. It was so mysterious and captivating. Jim and I returned to the fence and had just crossed over it when we
heard a low, moaning noise. It was the eeriest sound I had ever heard. We both
froze. “Is that an owl?” I whispered. Just then another voice joined in, closer
than the first. It was a classic howl, round and deep, rising up through the
night. I recognized it just as Jim exclaimed, “wolves!” More voices cut into
the night filling it with an otherworldly harmony that chilled me with a primal
fear. The truck was only a few feet away, but I think I cleared the distance in
one leap. I managed to climb inside quickly, but quietly. The window was down, and
I whispered to Jim to get in the truck. He walked up next to me and simply said,
“Listen.” I can still see him standing in the dim moonlight, smiling. I
listened. The wolves were across the river from us. Their voices had been
scattered at first, but were gathering now and moving closer. The woods
resounded with their howls and calls. It was amazing! I was absolutely exhilarated!
They sounded so close that I expected to see them at any second. When I shared that thought with Jim, he told me that he hadn’t heard them cross the river. He said they
were probably at the spot where we had just checked the trotline. “They can
smell us,” he said as he grinned. “Get in the truck!” I responded. Finally, he
did. We sat in the truck, listened and waited for them to appear out of the darkness.
Apparently, we were not interesting enough to investigate. The wolves quieted a
bit and headed further up river. We waited until we could not hear them any
longer; then we began to laugh, quietly and nervously at first, then loudly and
full of excitement. We talked about every detail, how we felt, what we thought,
and what it sounded like. Jim and I finally gave up and drove back to the
house. We talked about that night for years afterward.
Jim and I became very good friends over the years. He taught
me a lot about hunting. He called me Bear because I hibernated in my room too
much and I called him Skunk because he was a stinker. Jim died of lung cancer
in 1982. He was in his thirties. I wrote a short story for him after his passing.
Maybe someday I’ll find it in a box somewhere and post it here. I’ve missed him
this week. Movies of bears and wolves have reminded me so much of him. Jim
would have loved The Grey!
I sat in the theater today, gazed into dark woods once again
and heard the voices from my youth. Wolves singing through the night. It gave
me chills. It exhilarated me. They still fascinate me as much as ever. They are
beautiful beasts. They can be savage, yet tender to their young and devoted to
their pack. I looked at our dogs today and was amazed at how closely they
resemble their cousins. They have teeth that could rip me apart, but they
remain loving and faithful. I have no doubt that our dogs would defend a member
of our family with their lives. I am honored that I am part of their pack.
Is there a moon out tonight? I think I need to go howl a bit….
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| Jimmy Ray Clark, "Uncle Jim" |
Notes of the Painting: "Night Visitors" by Carol Rasor Welch, oil on canvas, 24"x36", Copyright 1991
