Where wolf?

Ms Monkey has just finished watching an interesting documentary, by the BBC, called The Land of the Lost Wolves. It's all about a pioneering group of wolves who have/had (sadly most of them didn't escape gun toting hunters) settled in the Cascade Mountains in North America and it reminded me of a fabulous encounter that I had with wolves while staying in Spain.

I had gone to stay in Spain with my then paramour, whilst he sorted out a property deal with his mother (they had a funny old relationship; whereby, he had moved to Spain and she had followed him out there. She was a strange old fish, who had real problems cutting the apron strings.....this probably accounted for some of his peculiar baggage. She later followed him back to the UK, I should have cut and run then, but hey ho!). On this particular evening, we had returned to her house for a bite to eat and a few glasses of what can only be described as red vinegar, before heading out to see what joys the local area had to offer in the way of night life (night clubs that looked like they were designed by Gaudi on acid, with an interior courtesy of Giger....they did very large goldfish bowl glasses full of vodka with a dash of coke as well, if my memory serves me.....it gets a bit hazy).

Now, she lived in a little shack, just outside of the town of Concentiana. About an hour inland from Benidorm (we went there, for an afternoon, about two years later.....and yes, it is everything you could want to hate about a resort. People call it Birmingham on Sea, but quite frankly I would say that is an insult to Birmingham.....and I'm not keen on going there! It does, however, have better weather). Now the area is mountainous (in the same way that Snowdonia is like the Alps.....the locals call them mountains and I certainly wouldn't want to climb one.....but then I have trouble with the stairs, so don't ask me....but I would say, they were really high hills but with some very big cliffs and steep bits. I remember visiting the Rockies as a teenager with my Canadian cousin. I exclaimed at the height of the mountains as we drove along....she laughed and said "these aren't mountains, these are foothills!" She was right!) and very rural. The hill sides were lined with olive groves and clusters of fruit trees, all surrounded in aromatic, herbal scrub called Maquis.

Her piece of land overlooked a river valley, and during the day a sizable flock of sheep could be seen grazing in the meadows adjoining the river. They could also be heard; as they had bells around their necks, which clanged gently and discordantly as they went about their business. You could just make out a shepherd (only because he seemed to have a penchant for royal blue jackets.....no accounting for taste.....of course it could be his uniform.....although I'm not aware of any such designation.....is there a guild of shepherds? What colour did Bo Peep wear?) and a motley assortment of canines, in a variety of shapes and colours....one man and his dog it was not!

My swain's mother was inside, putting on her slap or some such thing, and we were sat on the terrace, drinking terrible, chilled red wine. We had music on in the background and I remember that Gorillaz 'Clint Eastwood' was playing. I can remember thinking about all the spaghetti westerns that Mr Eastwood had stared in and wondering if they were filmed near where we were. At that moment, there was a ruckus from below us in the valley. The sheep started to cry out and their bells all started clanging noisily. A cacophony of barks erupted from the dogs and my companion turned to me saying "I wonder what that's all about?" "Wolves!" I said, probably still having day dreams of the 'Wild West' in my mind. "Don't be silly, we're only 2 miles from Town. Besides, I don't think they have wolves in Spain." I was just about to retort that I was sure I had seen a documentary about wolves in France, when the howling started.

Now there is something very primal about wolves howling. It calls to that imprint in our DNA that immediately triggers fight or flight....suddenly you are a stone age hunter-gatherer, wishing for a very big fire and a very big stick! I could feel all of the hairs standing up on the back of my neck and my beau's mother's dog started to growl from beneath my chair. Without realising it, we had both risen from our chairs and looked at each other with wonder. It was difficult to tell where the wolves were or how many of them there were, as the howls bounced around the hills but it felt as if we were surrounded by a lupine chorus. And then suddenly, it was quiet again and I realised I had been holding my breath. It can only have lasted a few minutes, but I would have to describe it as one of the most magical moments of my life.

We returned to Spain a couple of years later and stayed a few miles down the road in a slightly remoter villa. I hoped to hear the dulcet tones of those sun loving wolves once again, but it was not to be. But it was wonderful, to have been so close to such a shy, elusive predator and one day, I would like to hear the songs of wild wolves again!

The Iberian Wolf - It's moments like this which make Ms Monkey question which side of the Werewolves Vs Vampires debate she is actually on!