The adventures of Slim, a wolf and a dog

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The adventures of Slim, a wolf and a dog Nov 12, 2018 16:49 ET Original: The adventures of Slim, a wolf and a dog [Reprinted from original] LAKE MINCHUMINA, Alaska — During the 1960s, when our family moved across the lake to build on a 1920s-era fur farm, our only neighbor was a fine old character named Slim Carlson. Born in 1886, he emigrated from Sweden in the early 1900s and worked his way to Alaska, where he spent the rest of his life rambling the area north of Denali. We all admired his strength, sagacity and generosity. My father, Dick, especially enjoyed helping out the old-timer by flying tons of frozen fish to distant traplines to feed Slim’s sled dogs or by providing air transportation to Fairbanks when necessary. In late September 1968, Slim shot a moose and the next day he walked his sled dogs loose to the kill site. Although still strong at 82 years old, he intended for them to clean up the scraps so he wouldn’t have to pack as much home. En route, his dogs first found a porcupine and then had a fight. Much to Slim’s disgust, they arrived too hot and bothered to eat. Another problem cropped up a couple days later: Slim complained about wolves scavenging 100 pounds of his much-needed meat. He left some traps around the carcass to protect his treasure as he hauled it home piece by piece. When he caught a large female wolf, he reported to my father that the thin pelt was worthless and he didn’t want to kill her just for the bounty that the state offered at the time. He contemplated keeping her alive to breed to one of his big sled dogs who were aging out with no available replacements. Dick offered to help in any way he could, so the pair set off in Dick’s boat, motoring around the hill and beaching near the kill. As they approached the gray wolf, Slim picked up a stick and tied a piece of cord to one end. He handed it to Dick. “Shake this in its face, und pull back ven it bites down,” he instructed with his thick Swedish accent. “Then I vill put the string around its nose.” Dick looked at the wolf. He looked at the stick. “You do the stick and I’ll do the string,” he suggested. Slim approached the wolf and waved the stick past its muzzle. When the critter grabbed it, Slim pulled back and the wolf instinctively gripped the wood. Dick found a long twig to flip the cord over the wolf’s muzzle a couple of times, looping it behind the stick. Then Slim reached down and pulled the cord tight, immobilizing the jaws. Unable to open her mouth because of the string, the wolf couldn’t spit out the stick, which lay wedged behind the clamped canine teeth. With the stick and string holding each other in place, the wolf was helpless. After tying her legs, Slim carried the animal to the boat. At home he secured the wolf in the dog yard by his picketed dogs with a thick leather collar around her neck. In 1968, Alaska had been a state for less than 10 years. Even if laws against capturing wildlife existed, nobody was going to enforce them against an old-timer who’d spent a lifetime in the wilderness. Slim tended the wolf for more than a month and she became an attraction for the locals, who crossed the lake to visit and see the wolf and likely partake of the famously succulent doughnuts that Slim deep-fried in bear fat. The big female ignored other people and most of the dogs, but never took her eyes off of Slim as he worked about the yard. Slim’s heavy old trapline dogs barked every time she moved, but the only dog she approved of was a massive hairy black husky named Mutt. A shy, powerful dog often mistaken for a bear, Mutt had free run of the dog yard. He courted the wolf, fell desperately in love, and played devotedly with her. As winter approached and the lake began to freeze, the wolf’s winter coat filled out, growing long and lush. Her skinny frame plumped up on Slim’s generous food. By early November, Slim had a growing conundrum. He had to head up the long trapline soon to eke out his few yearly expenses, but he couldn’t bring the wolf along. The tender spot for the animals he harvested had only grown softer as Slim aged. Although the fully prime pelt might buy him a much-needed parka or drum of fuel, he really didn’t want to kill the animal that he’d cared for so long. My mother Florence, whose heart was even more tender, came up with the solution. She and several other ladies around the lake pooled their money to pay Slim an amount equal to the wolf’s monetary value in return for its freedom. Slim carried a pole over to the wolf and walked quietly toward her, backing her around the tree anchoring her chain. When she retreated until the winding chain brought her up short against the tree, he used the pole to lever her neck against the tree. (At this point my mother retreated to the safety of Slim’s cabin, watching through the window.) With the wolf pinned, Slim swiftly cut the leather collar, freeing the animal. When she felt the collar fall away and the pole release her neck, the wolf’s eyes went wide. She gave a quick snap at Slim’s leg, then somersaulted backwards and shot down the hillside to the frozen lake. She raced across the snowy bay before disappearing into the trees with poor Mutt struggling to keep up. Slim was happy, the ladies were happy, and the wolf was certainly happy. The only loser in the deal was poor old Mutt, who returned exhausted and disconsolate after trying to catch up with the one canine who’d captured his heart. Trappers and lifelong Bush residents Miki and Julie Collins have written three books. They live in Lake Minchumina.

The adventures of Slim, a wolf and a dog Nov 12, 2018 16:49 ET Original: The adventures of Slim, a wolf and a dog [Reprinted from original] LAKE MINCHUMINA, Alaska — During the 1960s, when our family moved across the lake to build on a 1920s-era fur farm, our only neighbor was a fine old character named Slim Carlson. Born in 1886, he emigrated from Sweden in the early 1900s and worked his way to Alaska, where he spent the rest of his life rambling the area north of Denali. We all admired his strength, sagacity and generosity. My father, Dick, especially enjoyed helping out the old-timer by flying tons of frozen fish to distant traplines to feed Slim’s sled dogs or by providing air transportation to Fairbanks when necessary. In late September 1968, Slim shot a moose and the next day he walked his sled dogs loose to the kill site. Although still strong at 82 years old, he intended for them to clean up the scraps so he wouldn’t have to pack as much home. En route, his dogs first found a porcupine and then had a fight. Much to Slim’s disgust, they arrived too hot and bothered to eat. Another problem cropped up a couple days later: Slim complained about wolves scavenging 100 pounds of his much-needed meat. He left some traps around the carcass to protect his treasure as he hauled it home piece by piece. When he caught a large female wolf, he reported to my father that the thin pelt was worthless and he didn’t want to kill her just for the bounty that the state offered at the time. He contemplated keeping her alive to breed to one of his big sled dogs who were aging out with no available replacements. Dick offered to help in any way he could, so the pair set off in Dick’s boat, motoring around the hill and beaching near the kill. As they approached the gray wolf, Slim picked up a stick and tied a piece of cord to one end. He handed it to Dick. “Shake this in its face, und pull back ven it bites down,” he instructed with his thick Swedish accent. “Then I vill put the string around its nose.” Dick looked at the wolf. He looked at the stick. “You do the stick and I’ll do the string,” he suggested. Slim approached the wolf and waved the stick past its muzzle. When the critter grabbed it, Slim pulled back and the wolf instinctively gripped the wood. Dick found a long twig to flip the cord over the wolf’s muzzle a couple of times, looping it behind the stick. Then Slim reached down and pulled the cord tight, immobilizing the jaws. Unable to open her mouth because of the string, the wolf couldn’t spit out the stick, which lay wedged behind the clamped canine teeth. With the stick and string holding each other in place, the wolf was helpless. After tying her legs, Slim carried the animal to the boat. At home he secured the wolf in the dog yard by his picketed dogs with a thick leather collar around her neck. In 1968, Alaska had been a state for less than 10 years. Even if laws against capturing wildlife existed, nobody was going to enforce them against an old-timer who’d spent a lifetime in the wilderness. Slim tended the wolf for more than a month and she became an attraction for the locals, who crossed the lake to visit and see the wolf and likely partake of the famously succulent doughnuts that Slim deep-fried in bear fat. The big female ignored other people and most of the dogs, but never took her eyes off of Slim as he worked about the yard. Slim’s heavy old trapline dogs barked every time she moved, but the only dog she approved of was a massive hairy black husky named Mutt. A shy, powerful dog often mistaken for a bear, Mutt had free run of the dog yard. He courted the wolf, fell desperately in love, and played devotedly with her. As winter approached and the lake began to freeze, the wolf’s winter coat filled out, growing long and lush. Her skinny frame plumped up on Slim’s generous food. By early November, Slim had a growing conundrum. He had to head up the long trapline soon to eke out his few yearly expenses, but he couldn’t bring the wolf along. The tender spot for the animals he harvested had only grown softer as Slim aged. Although the fully prime pelt might buy him a much-needed parka or drum of fuel, he really didn’t want to kill the animal that he’d cared for so long. My mother Florence, whose heart was even more tender, came up with the solution. She and several other ladies around the lake pooled their money to pay Slim an amount equal to the wolf’s monetary value in return for its freedom. Slim carried a pole over to the wolf and walked quietly toward her, backing her around the tree anchoring her chain. When she retreated until the winding chain brought her up short against the tree, he used the pole to lever her neck against the tree. (At this point my mother retreated to the safety of Slim’s cabin, watching through the window.) With the wolf pinned, Slim swiftly cut the leather collar, freeing the animal. When she felt the collar fall away and the pole release her neck, the wolf’s eyes went wide. She gave a quick snap at Slim’s leg, then somersaulted backwards and shot down the hillside to the frozen lake. She raced across the snowy bay before disappearing into the trees with poor Mutt struggling to keep up. Slim was happy, the ladies were happy, and the wolf was certainly happy. The only loser in the deal was poor old Mutt, who returned exhausted and disconsolate after trying to catch up with the one canine who’d captured his heart. Trappers and lifelong Bush residents Miki and Julie Collins have written three books. They live in Lake Minchumina.