3 Among the Wolves by Helen Thayer Page A

strip off my soaking clothes and boots. Under a warm sun, we vigorously rubbed circulation back into my limbs.
    â€œNow we know why the wolves fanned out to cross the river,” I said. “They were smart enough to know the ice was weaker than it looked.”
    Soon four ravens arrived and circled overhead as I put on the spare set of clothes I always carried in my day pack. The birds landed on a tussock mound a few feet away and cawed softly.
    â€œDo you think they’re concerned by our close call?” I whispered.
    â€œIf they are, I’m ready to believe anything,” Bill said.
    Two ravens waddled toward us through the cotton grass, still chatting quietly. Charlie lay down, making no attempt to approach them. Considering his intense dislike of the birds, we were surprised.
    As I finished dressing, two ravens hopped to within six feet of us, still cawing gently. Soon all four circled us on the ground, talking softly, their black eyes fixed on us. After ten minutes of circling, the ravens flew to the top branches of a spruce tree and raised their voices in a loud, hard-edged cackle.
    A wolf—Alpha—howled from the far bank. Surprised, we turned to see four wolves looking on as Alpha howled again. A few flaps of the ravens’ huge wings lofted them over the river to the trees above the wolves. As the wolves disappeared into the forest, the ravens followed overhead. A quarter of a mile away the ravens circled once, then descended below treetop level to what we presumed was a kill site.
    Mystified, we pulled out our snacks and tried to make sense of all that had transpired. “The ravens and wolves must have been close enough to hear us shouting,” Bill said, munching on a handful of peanuts. “They must have sensed that we were in trouble.”

    â€œThe ravens seemed concerned,” I agreed. “But what about the wolves? How do they fit in?”
    The ravens understood our predicament, we guessed, and as soon as the crisis was over had called the wolves. The two howls seemed to represent some sort of communication between the species.
    â€œRemember Billy McCaw and what he told us about ravens?” I said as we headed back to camp.
    Billy was an elder of the Gwich’in First Nation whom we had met two years ago. He had told us that wolves and ravens talked to each other. So old he could not remember his own age, Billy had spoken to us in a raspy voice with a faraway look in his faded eyes. “Ravens call the wolves and lead them to prey,” he said. “After the wolves eat, the birds take what’s left. Ravens will call the wolves to an injured animal too. They know more than all the animals in the north.”
    When I asked him if ravens helped humans to hunt, he had replied, “Sometimes they do. It is said that they will help only those who respect them. It is said that a long time ago my grandfather’s dogsled overturned and hurt his leg. Ravens who followed him on the hunt flew two miles back, and screeched and circled until his brother paid attention and followed them to my grandfather. Many of our elders can tell when a raven is serious and is talking.”
    Now we understood what Billy meant. After witnessing what appeared to be their real concern over our welfare, we could no longer regard the ravens merely as a camp nuisance. We would always remember them as our friends and protectors.

Above
    A T 5 A.M. IN THE FIRST WEEK OF JUNE, four of the wolves gathered at the den to set out on a hunt. After the usual lively display of tail wagging and what looked like smiling—the corners of their mouths were turned up slightly—Denali began a brief howling session. The others soon joined in, joyful and exuberant. They frisked around Mother, rubbing her shoulders and licking her muzzle. After several minutes they headed out: Beta and Alpha, with Denali in the lead and Mother following right behind him.
    Hoping they had located prey close by, we