Wolf Tales

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….

Jimmy Ray Clark, "Uncle Jim"

Notes of the Painting: "Night Visitors" by Carol Rasor Welch, oil on canvas, 24"x36", Copyright 1991