Week 11: Raate, Suomussalmi

July 22, 2003

It was south-east of Lentiira where I saw the first wild wolf of my life.

I started from camp at midnight and walked next to a large open fen where the sedges undulated green and yellow in the light breeze. The short sedges became tall and then broke into scattered pine and hair’s-tail cotton grass. There, the breeze stopped and by sunrise a low, white fog filled the space between the pines, turning the forest pink.

The wolf sat at the edge of a fresh clear-cut. The fog was thickest there and the black soil shown clear and moist where it had been ripped apart by the harrowing machine.

There were no birch; the seed trees were all pine.

The animal was clear and unmistakable. It was grey. Its ears were up. It stood like a statue. I slowed, then stopped; not quite believing what I saw. Then I was afraid.

I scanned the forest, wondering if the pack might be hunting me. I took up my walking stick and held it across my chest. I considered running. I thought I should make a fire. I did nothing.

The wolf sat still, considering me. Then, it stood, turned and trotted into the clearcut. It was something I had wanted to see my whole life and then it was over and I was alone. I’d never felt more alone in all my life.

———-

I’m not sure what to say about Suomussalmi yet. Too much good in too short a time. It was one of my favorite places. For now, suffice it to say that Renne Karppinen and his wife Merja (and a number of other people I met there) have restored my faith in humanity.

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