I had been prospecting for gold in southern Alaska, and as I emerged from a forest, I froze in my tracks. No more than 20 paces away in a flat marshy area was a huge, black Alaska timber wolf — caught in one of Old George's traps. Old George had died the previous week of a heart attack, so the wolf was lucky I had happened along. 
Yet now, confused and frightened at my approach, the wolf backed away, straining at the trap chain. Then I noticed something else: it was a female, and she was full of milk. Somewhere, there was a batch of hungry babies waiting for their mother. From her appearance, I guessed that she had been trapped only a few days. That meant her babies were probably still alive, surely no more than a few miles away. But I suspected that if I tried to release the wolf, she would turn aggressive and try to tear me to pieces. So I decided to search for her pups and began to look for incoming tracks that might lead me to her nest. Fortunately, there were still a few remaining patches of snow. After several moments, I spotted paw marks on a trail skirting the marsh. The tracks led a half-mile through the forest, then up a rock-filled slope. I finally spotted a hole at the base of an enormous tree stump. There wasn't a sound inside. Wolf pups are shy and timid, and I didn't have much hope of luring them outside. But I had to try. So I began imitating the high-pitched sound of a mother wolf calling her young. No response. A few moments later, after I tried another call, four tiny baby wolves appeared. They couldn't have been more than a few weeks old.
I extended my hands, and they tentatively sucked at my fingers; perhaps hunger had helped overcome their natural fear. I placed them in a cloth bag, and headed back down the slope. When the mother wolf spotted me, she stood erect. Possibly picking up the scent of her young, she let out a high-pitched, miserable howl. I released the babies and they darted towards her; within seconds, they were sucking at her belly. What next? I wondered. The mother wolf was clearly suffering. Yet each time I moved in her direction, a menacing sound rose from her throat. With her young to protect, she was becoming aggressive. She needs food, I thought. I have to find her something to eat. I hiked towards a creek, and spotted the leg of a winter-killed deer sticking out of the snow. I cut off a piece, then returned the still edible remains to nature's icebox. Hoisting the meat, I went back to the wolf and whispered to her in a gentle tone, "Okay, mother, your dinner is served. But only if you stop glaring at me..." I tossed chunks of deer meat in her direction. She sniffed them, then started feasting. Cutting some sturdy tree branches, I fashioned a rough shelter for myself and was soon asleep.
I was awakened by four cute bundles of fur sniffing at my face and hands. I glanced toward the nervous mother wolf. If I could only win her confidence, I thought. It was her only hope. Over the next few days, I divided my time between prospecting and trying to win the wolf's trust. At dusk on the fifth day, I delivered her daily fare of deer meat. "You want to go back to your friends on the mountain. Relax." 
Then I thought I saw a slight movement of her tail. I moved within the length of her chain. She didn't move. My heart in my mouth, I sat down eight feet from her. One snap of her huge muscular jaws and she could break my arm, or my neck. Then I slowly placed my hand on the wolf's injured leg. She jumped back, but made no threatening move. I could see that the trap's steel jaws had caught only two toes. They were swollen and bleeding, but she would not lose the foot — if I could free her. I wedged a stick between the jaws of the trap and applied pressure; the slot between the two jaws of the trap became wider, and the wolf pulled free.
My experience in the wild suggested the wolf would now gather her pups and vanish into the woods. But cautiously, she crept toward me. Slowly, she sniffed my hands and arms. Then the wolf began licking my fingers. What a thrill! This went against everything I'd ever heard about timber wolves. Yet, in a bizarre way, it all seemed so natural. After a while, with her babies darting around her, the mother wolf was ready to leave and began to limp off toward the forest. Then she turned back to me. "You want me to come with you, girl?" I asked. Curious, I packed my gear, and set off. Following the creek for a few miles, we ascended a mountain until we reached a meadow. There I counted nine adult wolves and, judging by their playful behavior, four nearly full-grown juveniles. (Words: 1,007)After a few minutes of greeting, the wolf clan broke into howling. It was a queer sound, ranging from low moaning to high-pitched crying. That night, by the light of my fire and a luminous moon, I could see wolf shapes darting in and out of the shadows in a kind of strange ballet, eyes shining. I had no fear. They were merely curious. So was I. I awoke at first light; it was time to leave. The wolves watched as I assembled my gear and started walking across the meadow. Reaching the far side, I looked back. The mother, with her babies at her flank, was sitting where I had left her, watching me. I don't know why, but I waved. At the same time, the mother wolf sent a long howl into the crisp air.
