Wolves, do not play nicely

The Garden Fairy has been busy over recent years. Her garden walls are now maturing with lichens, the flower borders are colourful and the roses, oh the roses. Beautiful blooms with scent to die for. We are lucky to have a local rose centre where roses, suited to the climate, are developed. The large stone is our memorial for our pets, their ashes lay beneath it.

Charente mentioned wolves recently and I wrote about there being wolves in the Pyrenees. I was in a bar (now there’s a surprise) on the French/Spanish border December 1978 and decided to walk back to the French Mountain Flying School at Saillagouse. The barman advised against it. “Why?” - “Aaaaaaooooooooo!” “OK, I’ll have another beer.”
The boss and I were in Montana, I was fishing, she was totally unwinding, it was brilliant. One evening the owner of the B&B took us to meet an elderly lady living up a mountain in a small log cabin, her mains water was a stream that ran beneath the floor boards. Most would say that she lived in a state of privation, I would answer no, she lived happily, safely and was entirely in her own safe space.
Later that evening we went to listen to wolves which were being bred in captivity for release in the forests of Oregon. We could hear them moving around their compound. Elaine and I found it reassuring that there were no wolves North of Yellowstone Park. We were at that time approximately 30 miles North of the North Gate to the park, halfway along a trail leading into the Gallatin Mountain range. In order not to upset the wolves too much we decided to walk the final half mile. Don’t ask why, but we left Pete’s guns in the truck, mistake. 
As we cleared the fenced area Pete commented on how peaceful it was - “commentator’s curse.” From the mountainside opposite, about four miles slightly north-west of us we heard a pack of wolves howling. Then from a bit closer but West South West we heard a second pack. Both packs continued calling, it soon became obvious they were moving to become one pack. Our orderly withdrawal to the truck was interrupted by the sound of a rather uptight Black Bear who had been disturbed in his rumination, or sleep by a possible late supper. Oh how we chuckled…..not! 
Both sounds are primeval in the extreme, especially if you are unarmed. People describe the hairs on their necks standing on end; well mine were retreating inside my skin. 
Back at the truck we considered ourselves extremely fortunate to have experienced such a thrilling adventure but also fortunate not to meet a large pack of wolves au naturel. 
Park Rangers took Pete’s telephone message seriously as many hikers and fishermen use the area, trusting to posted alerts about wild animals. Fishermen and hikers are advised to “call bear” while walking or fishing, it’s supposed to deter the animals, it is after all, their home. Apparently it is easy to identify bear poo, it’s full of anti-bear spray and little tinkly bells, meant to deter bears.