May 19. A furtive movement in the brush. A shadow of gray and tan flowing toward and into a dense tangle of branches at the base of a blowdown. After its passage, a ripple of fur flutters on a twig. Through binoculars the yellow eyes burn through the shadows, through the slight opening in the jumble. The warning implicit, direct. The feral response of a protective mother. I have no intention of going closer but content myself with the sounds of mewling kittens. (Notes: the first lynx den I have ever found.)
May 16. Gone now the days of darkness and cold, a time of fear and testing for the earth people. Now the time of perpetual light, a time when we stride confidently across the earth, but the wise ever mindful of the great bears and mosquitoes. We call the earth people, the ancient ones, primitive and uncivilized, but how many modern people could live on the land, as they did, and last more than a day or two.
May 5. Under the earth, great beasts are stirring. They shrug and stretch and ease the cramp in gut and limbs. The biggest, the strongest, claw at the loosened soil, up through the damp, cold earth and lever themselves out through the receding spring snow cover and into the nascent spring. The grizzlies blink in the bright light and take their first steps into the day, into their world, into our world.
May 3. The passions aroused by wolves can not be dispelled by "science" or reason. Human response is more visceral, emotional, stemming from bygone epics when dirty, hairy, fur-clad people hunkered in dark caves around pitiful fires, clinging with sweaty palms to their cudgels and spears while listening to terrifying night sounds, the footfalls of dire wolves, cave bears, and sabre-toothed cats.