Mission: Wolf

            Last summer, I found I had grown tired of the opulent Caribbean cruises and the lavish ski resorts in Colorado. The thought simply did not interest me, and I went in search of a way to spend my summer vacation that was more stimulating. After researching the subject extensively, my friends and I settled on an agreement.  Mission: Wolf, a wildlife sanctuary in southern Colorado specializing in domesticated wolves, seemed a quite appealing opportunity for volunteer work, not to mention an exciting experience altogether. We raised money all year in order to fund the expedition, and come June, we were buzzing with the excitement accompanying the feeling of adventure that hung sweetly in the air.

            We piled our belongings into two vans and set out on the first leg of our journey; the 18 hour car ride that would lead us to our destination.  IPods and CDs in hand, we entertained ourselves by singing and laughing together for two days, trapped in our cramped cars.  As I stared out the window, I began to draw a picture in my head.  I could imagine it now; the fresh Colorado air, moose and caribou grazing in a nearby meadow, and maybe a crystal blue stream that trickled delicately around our campsite.  We would meet other campers, who would teach us how to care for the wolves and this would allow us great opportunities we had never before had a chance to experience.  I sighed as I pictured this Eden in my head. I could almost smell the wildflowers already.

            My daydream came to an abrupt halt as our van slowed to a stop. “We’re here!” Some one cried from the backseat. I blinked in dismay as I took in my surroundings.  I saw no open pastures for moose and caribou, no crystal blue stream, and the air was so thin it made me dizzy. I opened the door, and like a brick wall, a cold gust of wind hit me, and I shivered. Many of my friends seemed to have the same reaction as I did to our environment.  In silence now, a rarity among my friends, we gathered our bags and made our way to our designated campgrounds. The short trek left us winded, as we were not accustomed to the high altitude. After staking out our places, a guide met up with us and offered to give us a short tour of the property.  My distress increased as he explained to us that there was no electricity or indoor plumbing, aside from a sink we would us in the kitchen to wash dishes. And the term “kitchen” is used loosely here, as it was really just a lean-to shack with a stove and two refrigerators; one for us and one used to keep the raw meat for the wolves. I prayed we would never confuse the two.  No showers, no bathrooms, only a wooden outhouse was provided for us. And as for the other campers, the only additional people sharing the remote camp with us were a few college-age interns from Europe who spoke broken English and mostly kept to themselves.

            I stood in disbelief, shivering and hungry. By now, darkness had descended, swooping over us like a bird, his feathery wings crisp and cruel.  An icy rain began to fall, leaving everything with a cold, damp, uncomfortable feel.  After stumbling around in the dark for a while, I managed to assemble my tent. I crawled inside and collapsed in my sleeping bag. All through the night, I piled more sweaters and blankets on top of myself, in an effort to keep my body heat. “How will I survive seven days of this?” I thought. “How can I?” And as my eyelids grew heavy, I could hear the eerily beautiful howling of the wolves.

            The next morning, I awoke from an unsatisfying sleep, still anxious, but in slightly better spirits.  Once we had consumed an equally unsatisfying breakfast, we began our work.  The first task to which we were assigned was simply filling in a large hole with dirt.  This job was time-consuming, labor-intensive, and seemed rather pointless. Never the less, we toiled over that hole for the majority of the morning.  We moved mound after mound of heavy, moist soil until we could take no more, until our blisters were burning and our backs were sore. And even after all this, the hole still sat, empty as ever, a glaring sign, and a constant reminder of our short fallings.

 Early in the afternoon, a truck rolled up to our campsite. The wolves yipped and growled in excitement at the very sight of the truck, for it carried a precious cargo. In the back, three large cows lay in a heap, as dead as could be, struck down by lightning in the previous night’s storm.  The cows were then hung up and butchered for the wolves. I did not volunteer to help with this job. My friends and I did, however, agree to assist with the feeding of the wolves. We carried buckets of fowl smelling cow parts up the narrow paths to the wolf enclosures. We took the meat and hurled it over the fences and watched the wolves, trembling in excitement, devour the food, hungrily, fervently, wildly. For the rest of the week, the stinging smell of the rotted meat remained in the air, creeping up our nostrils and down our throats.

When the day’s work was complete, my friends and I gathered around a small fire and applauded ourselves for surviving our first day. Tomorrow would be better, we said. Tomorrow would be different.

As I lay shivering in my sleeping bag, I starred blankly into the purple night and listened. I could here the crickets, singing around me, my friend’s incoherent whispers, and the soft patter of rain on my tent. But above all of this, I could hear the wolves. I heard each new voice, joining in the chorus, lamenting about some unknown heartache. The wild timbre of their tone sent shivers up my spine. I thought of how excited they were when we fed them.  It was gratifying to know that I had helped bring pleasure to these creatures. I fell asleep listening to their conversations.

The following day, we were allowed to venture inside one of the enclosures, to see the camp’s best trained wolves up close. Warily we entered the gate. Two young wolves trotted arrogantly around, sniffing here and there, and playfully chasing each other. As we entered, they came to greet us, pleased to see that they had company. We sat down, and the wolves came to welcome us individually. They approached us watchfully, and sensing our good intentions, licked us lightheartedly, wriggling and whining.  I felt their thick, musty fur between my fingers, and laughed as they gently licked my cheeks. It was amazing to be so close to such powerful, magnificent animals. We watched them dance and play, in awe of their grace.

From then on, my mood was tremendously improved. We continued our work, feeding the wolves, sanding and varnishing boards for a new visitor’s center, and filling the hole, always filling the hole.  Yet some how, our blisters seemed soothed, and our pain assuaged. We worked steadily, determined to make a difference for the animals. As if to thank us, we were always serenaded by the sad melody distinct to these animals.

On our last day at Mission: Wolf, we completed the hole. We finally filled it in after a week of sweating over the giant crater.  I smiled and sank down on the red earth, panting as I mopped my moist brow.  I grinned at the level space where the gaping hole used to sit.

We crammed into our two familiar vans, anticipating the hot shower and soft bed sheets awaiting us at home. But as we drove away from our humble campsite, the atmosphere was not one of relief. We would miss this, I knew.  None of us expected we would become so attached to this place, but I knew we would remember it forever.

I know that most people never get to experience what I did in Mission: Wolf. I know it was a blessing in disguise. And although I had anticipated a disappointing week, I was more than surprised at what I learned. I hope that more people can share an experience like this. I hope that when people hear the call of the wild, they answer without hesitation.

-Leslie

We came, we saw, we helped.