Simpson Lake, Yukon Territory, Canada
8/20/01

A small storm has moved in, the temperature has dropped to just under 50 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm the only one in the campground. I have every site to myself, the lake is mine, the mountain ranges, the stars. I was standing beside the fire earlier, trying to stay warm; it had just turned to dusk.

And that was when I heard the wolves. Several long howls in succession from not very far away, coming from the woods in front of me. And then another call, I think from a loon though it was different than anything I'd heard before. It came from across the water, almost as an answer to the wolves. The sound was urgent, beckoning. A few minutes later, on the shore of the lake just around the bend from me, a lot of splashing. A large animal has come down for water and I don't know if it's a bear or a wolf. I don't want to find out. I'm in bed in the Pathfinder, and I'm going to sleep. The campground now belongs to the wild things.