Rumors abound here in the Western North Carolina Mountains about the presence of the mighty timber wolf. I confess I might have a little something to do with that scuttlebutt.
D. K. Wall:In general, biologists agree the timber wolf, the North American subspecies of gray wolf, was extirpated from the area in the late 1800s.
D. K. Wall:If you want to argue that fact because your sister's ex boyfriend's mother's cousin's friend took a photo of one, albeit blurrier than a Bigfoot sighting, please don't send me angry emails. Instead, take it up with those biologists.
D. K. Wall:If, however, you have a tale of seeing a pack of wolves walking through these mountains with a pair of humans, I might be the cause.
D. K. Wall:Those wolves are currently sprawled on my study floor, snoring contentedly. I'm referring, of course, to my Siberian huskies.
D. K. Wall:Now, if you have ever actually seen a wolf — and I have — you realize the resemblance is only fleeting. Put them side by side, and you will quickly see a timber wolf is roughly twice the size of a Siberian, sometimes even bigger.
D. K. Wall:But since the fur coats do have a passing resemblance, there are some commonalities that might lead to the confusion, sort of like that blurry Bigfoot photo.
D. K. Wall:With Siberians as companions most of my adult life, I've accepted the comparison, even embraced it at times. I'll let you be the judge, but maybe it has amused me a hair too much.
D. K. Wall:High on the Blue Ridge Parkway sits one of the most popular parking areas — the Richland Balsam Overlook.
D. K. Wall:Tucked among the great Balsam Range of the Appalachians, it is the highest point on the entire road. At an altitude of 6,053 feet, the view is astounding.
D. K. Wall:Almost every car and motorcycle pulls in, tourists mill about absorbing the scenery and enjoying the cool mountain air.
D. K. Wall:Way too peopley for my taste. We almost never stop there, but venture to the very next parking area instead.
D. K. Wall:It doesn't offer the same views, but it does have a terrific perk. A trail takes you through the stillness of the forest to the peak of Richland Balsam itself at 6,410 feet.
D. K. Wall:Despite its altitude, there is little view from the tree covered pinnacle. On the way back down, though, the path snakes near an opening that just happens to be high above that same popular parking lot crowded with tourists.
D. K. Wall:Now, sitting in the quiet above the chaos is much more my style. The view is just as astounding. And bonus! The hill is covered in blackberries. The dogs enjoy plucking the berries for an afternoon snack.
D. K. Wall:The first few times we went, we thought little of how people below us might react. After all, most people are focused on the long range view in front of them, not people hidden by blackberry bushes a 100 feet over their heads behind them.
D. K. Wall:One day, though, a little boy spied us. His eyes grew wide in surprise. He tugged his mom's sleeve.
D. K. Wall:Turns out, he wasn't looking at us. He was staring at the dogs. We figured that out because his voice floated up the hill. Look, Mom. Wolves.
D. K. Wall:We decided that wasn't really the attention we wanted. Besides, the dogs were getting full of berries. So we stood, turned, and drifted back into the forest.
D. K. Wall:We didn't think through what that would look like. The little boy, his parents, and the various strangers who overheard his observation spied a pack of wolves foraging.
D. K. Wall:Then two humans, previously hidden behind the brush, rose to their feet and disappeared into the forest, obedient wolves at their hills. All we needed was a banjo to complete the mountain image.
D. K. Wall:Once we realized the impact, though, I'll admit it became a running joke. We settled in with the dogs to see how long it took for someone to spot us. If they smiled and waved, we waved back. No problem.
D. K. Wall:But if they got that I see wolves look, well, game on. Entertainment at its finest.
D. K. Wall:Which brings us to one fun day. Well outside the peak tourism times of summer, the traffic on the Blue Ridge Parkway is sparse in the late winter.
D. K. Wall:Temperatures on Richland Balsam can often be cool, but that day was bundle up chilly weather. Plus, it had rained. So fog rolled in.
D. K. Wall:By the time we worked our way to our perch, the fog had thickened so much we could no longer see the Blue Ridge Parkway or the parking lot below us.
D. K. Wall:Not a problem. We love days like that. We stretched out and got comfortable enjoying the solitude of the moment, while the dogs scoured the plants for blackberries that wouldn't appear for months.
D. K. Wall:A few minutes later, motorcycles chugged up the mountain. A pack of Harley Davidsons drifted into the parking lot. We couldn't see them, but the motorcycles make a signature noise different than the crotch rockets preferred by the younger set.
D. K. Wall:I imagined the riders in their leather gear exuding the usual aura of toughness. Whether they were doctors and lawyers by week or full time outlaws, we didn't know. They were but shadows in the midst.
D. K. Wall:When they shut off their motors and, quiet returned to the mountain, we could hear their voices, male and female, eight to 10 people, maybe more.
D. K. Wall:They were in a jovial mood, laughing at the futility of riding up the mountain to catch the view only to discover fog had obliterated it.
D. K. Wall:They embraced the gloom. Jokes flew between them about creatures hidden in the fog, no doubt creeping up on them, sight unseen. A touch of nervousness could be heard in their bravado.
D. K. Wall:Could you have resisted this moment? If so, you are a better person than me.
D. K. Wall:Siberians aren't big barkers, but they have an extensive vocabulary of woos and chuffs sounds I can mimic with ease.
D. K. Wall:Much to the amusement of my neighbors, I've stood in my yard and debated with the dogs, each of us expressing our opinion of the other in a fluent exchange of human and Siberian.
D. K. Wall:When they get particularly surly, I caution them to be careful with their language. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they use every four letter Siberian word in the book to express their displeasure. That usually occurs when dinner is two minutes late.
D. K. Wall:I also know how much Siberian huskies love choir practice. They will sing with gusto a rousing rendition of We are wild creatures, usually right before curling up on the couch for a nap.
D. K. Wall:All it took from me that day was a few soft woos, and the pack was soon howling their chorus.
D. K. Wall:The banter from the bikers below us came to a screeching halt. The shadows shifted, turned to face us up the hill. Or at least face the sound of a howling mob because they couldn't see us.
D. K. Wall:When the dogs finally stopped singing, only silence greeted me from below. After several ticks of a clock, a very shaky voice asked, What was that? Wolves, came the confident reply from his companion.
D. K. Wall:My little prank had worked. Maybe a touch too well, but put me in the awkward position of what to do.
D. K. Wall:I considered calling out and explaining to reassure them that no wolves were about to attack.
D. K. Wall:But I wasn't sure a voice through the thick fog above was going to actually improve things. In fact, knowing that humans mingled with the wolves might make matters significantly worse.
D. K. Wall:My hesitation allowed the bikers to make the first move. So what do we do? Came a male voice. Get the hell out of here, came the reply.
D. K. Wall:And with that, we heard people climbing on bikes, engines roaring to life, and the fading sounds of motorcycles moving quickly down the road.
D. K. Wall:Did they find the nearest ranger and breathlessly describe their brush with death? Did they sit around a bar that night exaggerating their tale over beers as strangers hung on every word? Did the bartender share a blurry photo and tell of his own encounter?
D. K. Wall:I don't know. But if you run into someone who swears to you they know wolves live in our mountains because on one foggy day they heard them sing. Please do me a favor. Don't tell them it was me.