A Wolf Story

Years ago, or actually decades ago, I fished Northern Manitoba. It was a very memorable trip. The window to fish is only six-weeks long, and then a quarter of a million caribou start their annual migration through the area, and the camp I was at converts to its primary purpose—a caribou hunting camp.

We were very far north. In fact, on the way, our plane stopped in Churchill, Manitoba— the town known as the “polar bear capital of the world”, which lies at the edge of the Arctic tundra. The days were about 18 hours long when I was there in mid summer. I went out at 10pm one evening to fish a few hours before dark for grayling with my Inuit guide. As he skillfully maneuvered the boat up a stream, it seemed surreal. There were no trees. I’ve been blessed to be on more than 20 fly-in trips to Canada, but this was the first one for me to be in a tundra region.

I saw the remains of a wooden cabin, so I asked where the wood came from. He said the wood was brought in more than 100 years ago by the Hudson Bay Company for beaver trappers. I thought to myself how only a handful of people trap beavers for their pelts any more, but in that era of history, it was big business. Beaver pelts were incredibly  popular in the 16th-19th century in Europe primarily for creating high-quality felt hats. Here’s a trivia question for you, “Who was the first American millionaire and how did he make his fortune.” The answer is John Jacob Astor, creator of the American Fur Company and he made his initial fortune primarily through his beaver fur business.

That evening I caught several grayling on a fly rod—including one that jumped out of the water at my fly. At least that’s how I remember it. By the way, grayling can put up an especially incredible fight in a river with a strong current. They use their large dorsal fin as a rudder-like tool to amplify the resistance.

I really enjoyed talking to my Inuit guide. The Inuits are the Indigenous peoples of northern Alaska, arctic Canada and Greenland. (By the way, they prefer not to be called Eskimos.) In such a harsh land, the Inuit’s have had to make the most of what they have. They ate even the eyeballs of the fish we kept for shore lunches. He told me that immediately after a hunt, they will also put the head of a dead caribou on a fire in order to singe the hair and to cook the brains, tongue and eyeballs. That’s truly a “no-waste” approach, where everything is used.

Recently, I read a description of one of the ways some Inuit tribes use to hunt wolves. It was interesting, but graphic. And for me, it was very thought provoking; it somehow reminded me metaphorically of someone I know well.

Up in the Arctic Circle there is a tribe of Inuits who have learned to set a very simple, yet effective trap for wolves. First they sharpen a knife razor sharp. Then they dip it in the blood of a seal they have killed. (You see, seals are fairly easy to trap, but wolves are cunning and very dangerous.) After dipping the knife in blood they set it outside in the cold so the blood freezes on the knife. After it freezes (a matter of minutes), they dip it again into the seal blood and again take it out and let the blood freeze. Layer after layer they make a blood popsicle. Now they take the knife out into the wilderness where they think a wolf might be. There they bury the handle of the knife in the snow leaving the blood popsicle standing up; then they leave the area.

Now after a while, a wolf will come along guided by his sense of smell and find the “bloodsicle”; he will begin licking it, enjoying every taste. Over and over he licks the knife and soon his tongue is so cold he cannot feel it any longer. It’s numb. But his appetite for blood is growing and he is not getting enough to satisfy his appetite—you see, popsicles are slow eating and the wolf is still hungry. Finally, his licking exposes the razor sharp edge of the knife. It cuts into his tongue again and again, but he does not notice for his tongue can no longer feel anything. The wolf’s own blood now flows from his cut tongue. The wolf is thrilled, the blood more plentiful and warm, he continues to lick more and more.

Soon he notices something is wrong; he is getting weaker, not stronger. Since he knows blood as food, he increases his efforts to feed on the ever increasing flow of blood. His last thoughts are of how good the warm blood tastes. Within minutes he licks his last and collapses next to the fully exposed knife. Here the Inuit knows he will find the wolf’s body the next morning. The hungry wolf bled to death.

In a former life, I call it BC (Before I knew Christ), I was that wolf.

But thank God, unlike the wolf, my story doesn’t end there. My story has an AD (ie: Anno Domini…After I came to know Christ).

Perhaps, this story is a parable of sorts for you also —or it reminds you of someone close to you. Any thoughts on the subject…feel free to share them on the FATC FORUM or give me a call. Remember our motto It isn’t just about the fly fishing means we are also about being a brotherhood of men.

John Muckerman,

FATC Inspiration and Leadership Studies Lead