Wolf tracking
in Quebec

As I scanned the wooded hillsides of Tremblant National Park in central Quebec hoping for a glimpse of them, the uneasy thought crept into my mind that they were probably watching me, wondering how much effort it would require to eat me.

Wildlife researcher Alain Brouillard unintentionally summed up the edgy fascination of wolf tracking in a nutshell: “If they wanted to, they could snap your neck in a second.’’

And then eat you. Soon, you would be nothing but another pile of bones. Our little band of nature lovers saw the indications of their lethal efficiency everywhere. Moose and deer bones littered the landscape. Greasy scat bulging with beaver fur dotted the roads.

Brouillard, a wolf expert who admires the animals and works hard to counter their fearsome image, took time to assure us that wolves have plenty to eat in this heavily wooded park and, as a result, little interest in humans. “Wolves are very smart, and they are very shy,” he said.

Wolf tracking
Alain Brouillard, right, shares a laugh with a park ranger while fording one of numerous streams in Tremblant National Park.

We spent an entire day fruitlessly looking for them only to find evidence that they had been tracking us. They didn’t recognize the strange mix of smells wafting from us, so they kept a safe distance. We planted ourselves next to a remote lake they have frequented in the past, and Brouillard howled convincingly, hoping to coax a reply. Silence. It wasn’t lost on us, however, that as we enjoyed a hearty meal and Quebec wine, we were in the midst of deep forest where humans are visitors.

On the long walk back to our campsite after dark we chatted about everything else in the world, our flashlights pushing back the inky blackness. Then, as if to remind us of where we were, it happened: From our flanks came the simultaneous, hair-raising howls of at least a half dozen wolves. The pack was there and on the move. We were on their turf. We walked a little faster.

Brouillard leads wolf-tracking excursions into the lushly forested Laurentians region, about two hours north of Montreal and immediately north of Mont Tremblant, the famous Canadian ski resort. Wolves are his passion. He has spent much of his life studying and befriending them and probably knows as much as anyone about the reclusive and little-understood creatures.

His mission these days is simple: “I want to make people not afraid of them.”

That’s a tall order. So much of our culture gives wolves a bad rap. From childhood tales like Little Red Riding Hood and the Three Little Pigs to modern films like The Howling and Wolfen, they are portrayed as menacing and evil beasts.

Controversy simmers in western Montana where wolves have been reintroduced; ranchers decry their opportunistic feeding on livestock. A Denver group wants wolves reintroduced to the central Rocky Mountains. They are effective in keeping wildlife populations in balance. But ranchers in New Mexico and Arizona note with unease how Mexican wolves have quickly established themselves as the dominant predator in those border states.

In central Quebec, wolf tracking and calling is an entertainment bonus in an idyllic area not unlike the lake regions that stretch from Minnesota to New England. Tranquil lakes punctuate a landscape of heavily forested rolling hills crisscrossed by streams. This is where civilization quickly dissipates. While the area north of Montreal and Ottawa, to the west, is carpeted with friendly towns mixing Canadian practicality with Gallic charm, beyond Mont Tremblant the roads become scarce and the forest takes over.

Everyone who lives in this region has wolf stories. They have seen wolves on remote roads or wolf tracks in their own back yards. Because of their howling, they cannot be ignored and forgotten because they are unlike the other woodland predators: bears, cougars and lynxes, which are solitary animals seldom encountered near populated areas.

Howling wolf
A gray wolf howls in the day's twilight.

The wolf, or loup, is a communal animal, living in packs of a dozen or more members. Brouillard said a census of wolves in Tremblant National Park alone estimates there are more than 20 packs. Their populations rise and fall along with their food sources: beaver, deer and moose, which the Quebecois call castor, cervat and orignal.

Wolves are similar to some dog breeds but larger and more agile. They can grow to 180 pounds and up to 8 feet long, although most are somewhat smaller. They are quick enough to chase down deer, canny enough to ferret out beavers and powerful enough to kill adult moose. Their paw prints are similar to those of dogs but have distinctive characteristics and are the size of a child’s hand.

Brouillard said wolves work together as well as live together. While the pack hunts, one or more adults will remain behind to protect the pups. Hunting trios will use forest roads, he said, with a wolf ranging through the woods on either side driving deer or moose toward the middle where the trailing third hunter is fresh for the kill.

Howling serves several purposes, Brouillard said. Beyond simply alerting the pack to various members’ whereabouts, howling can warn of trouble or call others to a feast.

Humans can effectively mimic these noises and thereby summon these formidable carnivores. Mid to late summer is best, when mating season is done and pups are still small enough to prevent packs from roaming far afield.

Michel TherrienMichel Therrien displays a wolf pelt before leading an evening wolf calling expedition in Quebec.

North of Ottawa and west of Tremblant is Papineau-Labelle National Park, a heavily forested area dotted with lakes bordered by cabins rented by the Canadian government to visitors. Canadians and foreigners gather to spend their balmy summer evenings with Carl and Michel Therrien, brothers from Montreal who grew up in the region and were hunting guides at one time.

The Therriens’ guiding work required them to become adept at mimicking the reedy mating calls of moose. They noticed that their calls not only attracted moose but wolves as well. They began calling wolves for fun, and now do it as a weekend hobby.

Leading a caravan of cars and trucks up and down the park’s dirt roads as evening’s gloom closes in, the brothers chatter excitedly, scanning lakeshores and clearings for furtive movement. Our group tramps into the brush to a small clearing littered with moose bones, a frequent feeding spot. Carl and Michel move a hundred yards apart, tilt their heads back and cup hands around mouths. They issue harrowing wolf cries, first Carl, then Michel, then Carl again. It was a call and response, inviting others to join in. Silence. They tried again. Nothing.

We returned to our vehicles and set off to another known gathering spot for wolves. Then another, where we find fresh scat, paw prints and a few bones. We moved to a bridge over a steep-banked creek, a crossing point for people and wildlife alike. It was dark now and flashlights dart across the terrain then wink out. Carl and Michel called again. From a mile away came one reply, then another, closer, then several more.

The brothers answered, and this time we were stunned to hear a shrill cry from the hillside above us. A wolf was within a few hundred yards, no doubt puzzling over the activity below. Carl called again and got another answer, maybe closer. We waited, and then Carl momentarily threw his flashlight beam up the road, hoping the wolf would come down for a look. It didn’t, and it’s cries soon moved off. We savored the exhilaration of at least a close encounter and hungered for others.

Copyright Gary Olson 2010 First published in The Denver Post