Field Notes: A Wolf Pack Encounter- Mission Mountain Tribal Wilderness.

The hounds of Cŵn Annwn

We started up a creek beneath Calowahcan, a stunning horn shaped by multiple glaciers in the cirques beneath the peak.

A mature lupine field with Calowahcan in the background.

I know this mountain well from the east side, but today we were climbing from the west, in Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribal (CSKT) Wilderness.

This Tribal Wilderness is the first of its kind in the nation, and the CSKT are recognized globally for their wildlife conservation.

A couple drainages to the south is the Grizzly Bear Conservation Zone- exactly how it sounds. Situated beneath the largest peak in the Mission, named Stwéwi in Salish, and Ȼupqanǂuqu in Ktnuaxa.

Some of the last surviving glaciers of the region live there too.

On the road in, I noticed large canine tracks in the mud, and no human tracks to follow. I often mistake tracks as a novice tracker, and so logged these as somewhat unusual but nothing to stop and study.

What do you see? What I notice is that the claws are not clipped, which would be somewhat unusual for a large domestic dog. The tracks in sequence did not double on each other and traveled in a straight line. Of course, we returned to study the tracks after our encounter.

We missed our junction (navigating this Wilderness is notoriously difficult) and headed up a drainage to the north of our desired trail, noticing our error about a mile in. We had two choices, loop back and find the trail junction, or climb the ridge ahead of us and drop down into our desired basin. We chose to bushwhack: I wanted the training, my partner wanted spring king boletes.

We stopped at the top of the ridge to drink water and check our maps. Above us about 5 turkey vultures circled the updraft on the South facing ridge. Their ominous shadows cut through the dappled forest light. My partner joked, “I’m not dead yet!”

I had a thought that there might be a carcass nearby, but decided they were simply riding the updraft.

I’m 35, and one day I will learn to listen better. Wisdom is a slow accumulation of learning from mistakes.

We started down the ridge. Blooming nine bark grew thick and we couldn’t see very far. In bear country, in this kind of terrain, it is good to announce yourself loudly. About half way down the ridge we gave a couple of hollers.

At the bottom of the drainage came a response- the sound like women screaming. My first thought was a bear attack, my second thought was a homicide. My last thought came with the howls that started up the ridge towards us: wolves. At least 3 canines approached us in the thick brush up the hillside.

I’ve been around a ton of coyotes, who have circled my camp to check out the sheep hides I was tanning. While this sounded similar, the behaviors and the tone felt different.

I think I understand why the Otherwold, the Underworld, Hell, (whatever you want to call it) is generally announced by hounds in European Folklore. Silly, but in that moment in my mind I was Pwyll- so foolish in my pride- standing in the glade before the Cŵn Annwn.

We started backing up, but in the brush we couldn’t move quickly nor freely. The howls were about a hundred feet from us. A panic set in. We started shouting, I drew my bear spray.

That little can of pepper spray was ridiculous. Seriously, it felt so small and so weightless. A couple of months ago a man was found dead in Glacier National Park after a bear mauling, his can of bear spray empty.

It’s tough when you can’t see, there’s most certainly predators, and the possibility of a carcass or wolf pups in the mix. I felt the sharp edge of helplessness, of not knowing what to do.

Those moments of encounter are wild, for lack of a better word. Something in you has to give up to whatever is going to happen. You have to say your prayers.

My partner sheltered underneath a spruce tree, our most defensible position. I stood in front of the tree, heart racing, bated breath, the clip off of my bear spray, and waited for the dogs to show.

The howling stopped as suddenly as the surprise. An eerie silence. I knew they were likely watching us, or had retreated when they figured we were more a hassle than a threat.

I turned and high-tailed it, through the brush and back up the ridge.

We traveled the ridgeline in silence. Below us, hidden in the folds of the mountain, was whatever had called out from the drainage. A kill. A rendezvous site. A pack of wolves. We never found out.

I felt like a bear, chased off from a morsel and circling.

Knowing the other side of these mountains, I felt a deep sense of recognition and gratitude for the designated Tribal Wilderness. On the other side there are wolves too, but more pressure from hunting, hiking and recreation. In June, it is very well that this pack had pups to care for, and retreated to this basin.

We decided to stay on the ridge line as a more defensive position. In my experience, kills are almost always found at the lowest point of the landscape. If there was a carcass, predator activity would be heightened in the area. On the ridge line we could survey the terrain below us. Hanging just below the line, we could travel almost undetected. The sun on the south side of the ridge created an updraft that carried our scent upwards.

This is also how to hunt.

In Montana, we have the sublime privilege to hunt and to know what it’s like to be hunted.

The disorienting, bone-chilling howls aside, I think that is why hounds accompany the dead, the Otherworld, and the Wild Hunt in so many stories. Not because they are evil, but because they arrive from beyond the edge of knowing. You hear them before you see them.

Often, the signs are there, but you never see them at all.

On our way out a new set of tracks appeared in the mud:

across the stream a baby black bear hustled up a tree, spooked by our presence. Mom moved behind her baby. She was a small and beautiful black bear, her coat thick and shiny. She moved slow in the afternoon heat.

I’d love to hear from you:

Have you ever had an encounter in the backcountry that felt larger than its explanation? A moment that slipped from wildlife observation into folklore or myth?

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A few notes from the trail:.

This is the beginning of my summer vacation as a public school teacher. We’ve moved out of our rental in the Flathead Valley so it can become an Air B&B for the tourist season. In the interim, I’ll be spending as much time as possible in the mountains, gathering stories, learning new places, and continuing work on several projects. I’m currently staying in the Mission Valley on the CSKT reservation. I’m excited to participate in this community and learn more tribal history and culture.

I will be preparing for a couple of workshops this summer. I’ve been invited to open the Good Health Confluence with a friction fire ceremony, and will need to make about 15 kits. Later in that weekend I’ll be guiding an eco-printing workshop. So far I’ve sewn 30 bandannas from recycled bed sheets, and need to treat them with a good scour and a tannin bath.

These are the first workshops I’ll be teaching under my new LLC, Boreal Folkways!

At the heart of this project is my dream to one day build a Folk School for my community in the Flathead Valley, Montana.

After a brief hiatus, I am delighted to continue writing and posting here for Substack, preparing a series of posts exploring traditional relationships with the land through seasonal harvests and craft.

As always, thank you for reading and for accompanying me on these wanderings.

-Lena