ODDS `N’ SODS — The hour of the wolf

Many of us have recurring dreams, but some are such that they will stay with us forever. Such is my dream of the wolf.

In 1964, a partner and I spent most of the summer conducting reconnaissance geological work in northern Manitoba. About the first of September, we found ourselves on Shethanei Lake on the Seal River, just north of Churchill. One quiet evening on the way back to the camp, we were surprised to hear the howling of a wolf from a prominent esker bisected by the lake. A howling wolf was something with which neither of us was familiar, so, out of curiosity, we pulled the canoe on shore and took a short walk to see if we could spot the animal. All we could find, however, were a few tracks and an abandoned den.

Upon our return to camp, we had supper, completed the necessary camp chores and hit the sack in anticipation of another early morning and full day.

After only a few hours of sleep, however, I was suddenly conscious of a weight across my chest. The pressure was also such that my right arm was pinned to the ground. The weight, I came to realize, was actually a wolf that had laid its front paws across my chest. It was staring intently, but not menacingly, into my face.

Try as I might, I could not move my right arm to throw the wolf off my chest.

My struggles must have become vocal, as my partner woke me up. I related the incidents of the past minute or so to my tentmate, yet, even as reality returned, the image of the wolf was clearly imprinted on my memory.

Interestingly, my right arm felt tired, as though I had been trying to move a heavy object. Other than my dignity, all else in the camp was undisturbed, and we soon fell sleep once again.

The dream, though it has never been forgotten, has never recurred. Its significance, for those who believe in such things, has not yet been revealed.

— The author, a mining consultant and frequent contributor to this column, resides in Thunder Bay, Ont.