Denali had given us almost everything that day. Consolation has its own way of torture by being insufficient, fragile and inherently feeble. The flat open valley of the Toklat river that we were crossing did not help matters – the colours were mesmerizing, a stage begging to be taken over by that particular actor. “If you want to see wolves, Denali is bad. Too vast a land, too smart an animal. Yellowstone… you still stand a chance.”, our safari bus driver Jen added. I had already been to Yellowstone and failed. On the inside, I was sinking into illogical misery. Hadn’t I seen all of the rest? Didn’t that count for something? Even as I thought through this, a wave of unrest ran through the bus. Who’s that running in the heather? Who are THOSE that run in the heather? A French teenager on the bus let loose a series of howls and I knew. They were waiting, it now seemed, for me to reach that point of no-hope before they obliged. Out rushed the wolves, running ghosts on the hunt, rakish Joker smiles on their faces and an energy that pervaded through the pack. Not for them, the comforts of home and assured food. The open sky underneath the stars was good.
[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]
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