Where the World Ends

Every year I try to do something on my birthday, something that is uncompromisingly me. This year I went one step further and spent a whole week in the BWCA. I'm guessing you already know what that stands for, but if not, it is the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and it is a one million acre protected wilderness located in the Superior National Forest of northeastern Minnesota.

If you've read Hearts of Prey you know that the beauty and wildness of northeastern Minnesota is the setting that makes the story possible. The boundary waters have been a special place to me since I went on a week long canoe trip when I was thirteen. My appreciation for the area only grew when I made a friend from Ely, Mn while going to college in Bemidji. Ely is the last town before the boundary waters begin. In my first year of nursing school I made more than one trip up there where we would step lightly into the woods by day, then try our young hands at drinking whiskey and singing karaoke at night. I have always been lousy at both, but through every experience I had, there was one resounding refrain: I belong here. I'm not the only one who hears it. The town is vibrant with naturalists, conservationists, artists and writers. In short, people who want to be near beauty. 

So when a trip to Fall Lake was suggested, one of the last lakes of the boundary waters where you can travel by motor, I didn't need convincing. We hauled my 16' foot boat across the forests of northern Minnesota, then loaded it up with a weeks worth of supplies for ourselves and two dogs, then cut across the dark water to the remote cabin we would call home for the week. 

Every morning started with coffee made in a percolator over an open flame, then swimming, maybe some paddling, an afternoon read, dinner made in the outdoor kitchen, a game of Mancala and a campfire. After dark in the cabin we could only see what was illuminated by the kerosene lamp. The call of the loon and the sound of lapping water was the easy song of the night. Is there anything better? Could anything disrupt this feeling of absolute harmony? Yes. Wolf spiders. I feel like this picture should come with a warning, so be warned, they are the stuff of nightmares. 

I cannot imagine anyone who would hold this thing in their hand, but I admire their bravery. Me on the other hand, I saw one of these things on the outside of the outhouse and peed in the woods until it had moved on the next day, then doused the outhouse with bug spray to discourage it from returning. (which worked, if you're wondering). When I first saw it I screamed and considered killing it, or more likely, using one of my seldom played lady cards and asking a man to kill it for me. But then I remembered years ago when I killed a big spider just for existing and that night my dog got sprayed by a skunk. It was karma. Now, as a general rule, I tend to not kill spiders. Even this hulking arachnid was allowed to live. After all, it was I who was the tourist. She lives here, and of almost equal importance is the fact that there were too many to kill. One less, or ten less, probably wouldn't have made much difference. 

So what does this have to do with Hearts of Prey? Well, this time the karma was good. Two days after I first noticed the wolf spiders, which had filled me with sickening dread and a hint of curiosity, I saw something I have been picturing in my mind often over the last year: a grey wolf. I was cooking dinner and my very old and very fat black lab Koda had been rooting excitedly around in the woods for the last ten minutes or so. I figured she'd cornered an unlucky chipmunk. Then I heard her yelp so I yelled for her and saw something big and grey leap through the woods. She came to me, along with my young and squirmy pit bull mix, Beans. I looked back to the woods where they had just been and standing in the trail was a grey wolf. If I ever had any notions of what I would feel if I encountered a wolf in the wild, they were all wrong but for fear. Seeing a wolf watching me from twenty feet away drained all logic from me instantly and replaced it with one thought: 'Oh shit. We're all dead.' The wolf jumped back into the woods and regarded me from a safer distance. My brain kicked back on. Step one: put the dogs inside. Step two: check the dogs for injury, and there were none. Koda had a swath of wolf spit on her neck but that was it. I wondered if they had been playing. Sounds strange but it has happens. 

This Alaskan wolf, Romeo, was known for playing with domestic dogs.

I quickly started joking that they had been making love. I know it's not that funny, but I kept at it. When I was done, I went back outside to find the wolf still peaking out of the woods watching us. My boyfriend made a loud noise and it only moved into the woods a few steps, slightly dissuaded, not afraid. It's eyes were keen. At a glance I knew there was more going on upstairs than there is with my precious house pets. It was curious, inquisitive, and it waited outside for nearly thirty minutes. During that time my fear shrank and eventually settled on curiosity slightly sickened with dread. I wondered if it felt something similar. It was cautious, timid, but definitely interested.  I'll admit, because I'm not the sharpest tack, part of me wanted to either let my dogs back outside so they could all play together as if in a fairy tale, or offer this possibly hungry creature a generous plate of dog food mixed with lunch meat. Reason won and wild was left wild. By morning there was no sign a wolf had been there at all. 

From the safe distance of a day in the future I am able to reflect and recognize how lucky I was to have the experience, which is not an altogether common one, and to have it on my birthday, not to mention two months after releasing a book about a wolf. One of my friends suggested I saw Shaka, and I like to imagine things, so I'll go there. This wolf looked exactly as I'd pictured her, a young, mid sized grey wolf. I would have loved to take a picture of him or her, but it just didn't happen. The best I can do is search out a picture that resembles it. 

 

You might think they all look alike but I looked through about seventy other pictures before settling on this one. 

So the dots are connected now. I didn't kill the wolf spiders, and in turn I got to see and be seen by a wolf in the wild. The dots point to me continuing to write Shaka's story, and holding fast to the dream of someday living on the outskirts of the BWCA. I know as well as the next naturalist that the peace and inner stillness gained from time in nature cannot replicated, nor can the value of having the limits of your comfort zone tested.