Shadow Mountain: A Memoir of Wolves, a Woman, and the Wild
After forming an intense bond with Natasha, a wolf cub she raised as part of her undergraduate research, Renée Askins was inspired to found the Wolf Fund. As head of this grassroots organization, she made it her goal to restore wolves to Yellowstone National Park, where they had been eradicated by man over seventy years before. Here, Askins recounts her courageous fifteen-year campaign, wrangling along the way with Western ranchers and their political allies in Washington, enduring death threats, and surviving the anguish of illegal wolf slayings to ensure that her dream of restoring Yellowstone’s ecological balance would one day be realized. Told in powerful, first-person narrative, Shadow Mountain is the awe-inspiring story of her mission and her impassioned meditation on our connection to the wild.
San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1996. Also Thinking Animals: Animals and the Development of Human Intelligence. Athens, Ga., and London: University of Georgia Press, 1978. Also The Tender Carnivore and the Sacred Game. Athens, Ga., and London: University of Georgia Press, 1973. Donald Snow. Inside the Environmental Movement: Meeting the Leadership Challenge. Washington, D.C., and Covelo, Calif.: Island Press, 1992. Gary Snyder. The Practice of the Wild. San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990.
Street and past the few ruby-crowned highrises left standing their lighted elevators useless Passing the flickering red and green of traffic signals baying his way eastward in the mystery of his wild loping gait closer the sound in the deadly night through clutter and rubble of quiet blocks I heard his voice ascending the hill and at last his low whine as he came floor by empty floor to the room where I sat in my narrow bed looking west, waiting I heard him snuffle at the door and
support for McClure’s proposal among conservationists. His position and efforts did, however, cause the majority of other western senators and congressmen to face the reality that wolves were returning and that it would be in their best interests to make a deal before the opportunity was lost. Meanwhile, the director of the Fish and Wildlife Service, John Turner (an important but largely unrecognized player in the ultimate success of wolf recovery), was busy trying to engineer a compromise
could not go another step. My brother arrived in Jackson Hole the next day. After I got over the initial shock of seeing him, hugging, crying, speechless, he threw his arm around me. He pointed to a large cottonwood tree towering above the rest along the river bottom. Grinning, in a low-voiced chant he began, “See the tree, aim for the tree, little hill after that, nothin’ big, you’ve done it before, use your arms, push with your arms, come on, one foot in front of the other.” Once again, my
the dew-covered balsam root that had created a saffron blanket upon which our sleeping bags were spread. An opalescent dawn melted over the Gros Ventre mountains to the east of us, bathing the Tetons to the west in a blushing alpenglow, nudging us back down the hillside to the road. Our first ride that morning was a rusted, mustard-colored pickup truck from Arkansas. We clambered into the back, propping our packs as backrests, and headed north for what was to be my first encounter with the most