National Geographic : 1985 Apr
Chickenbone Lake developed as our common destination for the night. After supper I took a shortcut toward her camp through a patch of hazelnut-and near ly barreled smack into a cow moose with twin calves. Terry, an epidemiologist from Madison, Wisconsin, seemed far too young to be the mother of two strapping sons, Tim and Eric. The four of us sat by the darkening lake, beneath flitting nighthawks. "I think we all were immediately hooked during our first trip in 1980," Terry said. "You never know what you'll come upon. The wolves, of course, are the underlying thing that makes it so special." The chances of even glimpsing one, she realizes, are as tronomical. "But knowing that it could happen ... ," she said, longingly. "Just the knowledge-that's enough." A swimming beaver drew a long black V that rippled past in the dusk. "And the loons," she continued. "There's always a conflict among us whether or not to stay up all night for the loons and the stars." Not everyone has such a conflict. I cheer fully left it to them and stole away to my tent. But around 11 p.m., flashlight swinging, Terry charged up the trail. "Come down to the water," she hollered-"the aurora!" Yonder it shone near the northern hori zon, a gauzy curtain of chartreuse. By and by it faded to a glimmer, leaving an after glow in the dreams of its watchers. The next morning she asked brightly, "It came back out at three-did you see?"