Commemorating the 20th anniversary of the reintroduction of wolves to the West, Howl is the story of Bird’s experiences traveling, exploring, and conversing with people who care about, work with, or are neighbors with wolves. Journeying to Yellowstone, the wilds of Montana, and ranches in the West, Bird uncovers stories of nature’s powerful influence on human lives. From wolf watchers, landowners, and biologists to conservationists to hunters, people share their beliefs and understandings of what matters most, which almost always is their connection with the natural world. Exploring issues broached by hunters, ranchers, and politicians, Bird utilizes science, facts, and ethics to support her contention that wolves must be allowed to live again on our lands. Along the way Bird works on unleashing her own wild nature, encouraging the reader to join her in learning to howl.

excerpt:

Yellowstone, November 22, 2013.  Midday.

Around the bend, I pull up behind Rick, park and unload the scope. Rick points out where the elk cow carcass is—just south across the road and east twenty yards, perhaps sixty yards away—and then turns north again to point to where the wolves are beginning to come down along a ridge. A gray comes first, then the white female, and we track them down the hillside. They’re moving east, away from us, to a spot where the ground slopes and eases them out to cross the road.

They circle back west to the carcass which lies beside a leafless tree upon which three or four ravens perch, waiting. Ever wary, the wolves examine wind and landscape, noses quivering, ears and tails alert, before dropping their muzzles to the dead cow elk. The wolves are so close their bodies nearly fill my scope, and I watch them tug and devour meat, the alpha female’s nose quickly turning pink with blood. They grab chunks of flesh then lift their eyes and heads, searching the area, lowering them again to eat.

“Susan,” Rick says, sotto voce, gesturing to the hillside where the white and gray descended, and I see more wolves. “That’s the alpha male, 712, can you see how he’s turning gray? That’s typical, they tend to gray as they age.”

The black wolf is trailed by another gray, and we watch them work their way down the hillside but instead of continuing east as the white wolf did earlier, the black cuts back to the west, and is moving through the grass directly to our left.

“He’s going to circle around us,” Rick whispers, and I stand firmly planted, watching the black wolf come closer and closer; I don’t need a scope for this.

He’s within fifty feet of us, forty, as he moves through the grass, cutting across the road on the west, the gray yearling trotting a dozen yards behind. They cross the road and circle still, leery, not hurrying to reach the carcass. There are four wolves now, all across the road, all within seventy yards of where I stand, all visible as I move my scope. More ravens have joined the few in the tree, and I lose count looking at them. Ten, maybe twelve. I center my scope back on the wolves. The white female continues tearing at the carcass, and then backs off, the gray moving with her, eventually loping back to where they crossed the road, retracing their steps back up the ridge.

Rick quietly talks with me about alpha males, how they appear to do less disciplining than the females, suggesting that they might hold back for fear that their strength is too much for the pups. They play with the pups, though, don’t they? I ask, and he tells me that an alpha male is out searching for food so much of the time, working hard to make the kills he does, that when he’s back with the pack he often just needs to sleep. In step the yearlings, the older siblings, who often fill the role of pup-watcher and playmate. Pups are nursed, weaned, fed, nurtured, and taught the ways of the world by the entire pack. It takes strong, healthy alphas to lead and guide a pack, and the Canyon pack is led by two who have years of experience.

The white female and accompanying gray wolf are moving back along the northern hillside now, sated. The black male moves in, the yearling gray with him, and they spend ten or so minutes working the carcass, tearing and chewing. The alpha tugs the carcass hard enough that the entire body moves, and I see the paucity of flesh and meat left on the bones. When the two are finished, they together move away, at which time the ravens swoop down for their turn and the naked tree is once again barren and lifeless.

The black and gray wolves return to the ridge by the same path they used on the way to the carcass, and once again I stand and watch the wolves move past me, less than fifty feet from where I am. They are studiously avoiding us, focusing on the path before them, but I sense that they know everything about us. How many of us there are, how many narrow circular tubes are pointed their way, how many large metal vehicles there are. How we feel in our hearts about them, why we’re here; possibly, who we are deep in our souls.