3 Among the Wolves by Helen Thayer

he wasn’t leading a hunt or watching for prey from a ridge top, he spent his time relaxing and keeping a low, fairly unemotional profile. Always one of the last to join in a game, he played with wild abandon; he enjoyed bowling the teenagers over and then, as they jumped to their feet, whipping around to knock them down again. Even when both teens ganged up on Denali, his astonishing ability to twist and turn usually left them racing in his wake.
    The mischievous, energetic teenagers soon discovered that playing was more fun than observing the neighbors. They mostly ignored Bill and me and only occasionally watched Charlie.
    The seeds of trust had sprouted. It was time to plan a strategy that would enable us to observe a hunt. Already we had attempted to follow but had soon been left far behind, even when the wolves were just loping along. We would have no chance when they increased their pace as they neared prey.
    At 4:30 A.M. on the last day of May, Denali, who had been scouting from the lookout since midnight, suddenly raced down the slope to greet Alpha with vigorous tail wagging. Beta and Omega quickly joined them. After a few minutes of excited milling about, the four wolves, led by Denali, trotted along the main path from the den and disappeared into the trees.
    Bill, Charlie, and I had already left camp at 2 A.M., hoping that the wolves would hunt that day. We had positioned ourselves on a low rise about three hundred yards away, with an unobstructed view of the wolves’ living area. We hoped our advantage of starting closer to the prey area would enable us to follow the wolves for at least part of the distance to their hunting site.
    The wolves cleared the trees, trotting at a steady pace, and headed north about a mile across the tundra toward an unnamed river. Nine ravens accompanied the wolves, circling ahead and then waiting for them to catch up. We jogged along an easy shortcut across the tundra, and noticed the ravens flying ahead
of the wolves as if they knew where to locate prey. Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the ice-choked river’s edge.
    The fifty-foot-wide river was bordered by two-foot-high earth banks. We guessed the water depth beneath the ice to be no more than six feet. A sheet of foot-thick ice covered the water, bank to bank. Although the ice was melting in the May warmth, it appeared strong enough to hold our weight. The wolves had already fanned out, crossed the ice, and disappeared into willow brush and black spruce on the far side.
    Charlie, always happy at the sight of ice, bounced ahead in eager anticipation. Bill and I gingerly stepped onto the slippery surface to test its strength. After we had taken a few cautious steps, the ice settled two or three inches with a few ominous creaks and groans. We called Charlie to walk behind us for safety.
    With Bill in the lead, we had reached the halfway point when suddenly a thunderous boom echoed around us. A wide chunk of ice ahead of us had collapsed a foot, and water was flooding over the top of the ice sheet. With pounding hearts we fled back in the direction we had come, Charlie racing ahead.
    All around us, the ice began to sink. Urging each other to hurry, we leaped and sidestepped the gaping cracks that kept opening in our path. Suddenly my legs plunged through the ice and I found myself in freezing water to my waist. Desperate to avoid being swept under by the strong current, I threw my arms out wide across the ice, my fingers frantically clawing at its surface. The water’s cold stab shocked my mind and body.
    In an instant Bill thrust his trekking pole into my outstretched hand. I hung on while he pulled. I levered my body up onto the surface of the ice with my free arm. Face down, I spread my weight across the ice to prevent another plunge. After sliding the last few feet to safety with legs almost numb from the frigid water, I stumbled to the bank with Bill’s help.

    As I shivered uncontrollably, Bill helped me