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A client travelled on our 'Sweden's Mammals' holiday and submitted this entry to our writing competition.
Grey Wolf by Skogens Konung
A timely and flavoursome fish stew was welcome fare on the island in the lake as evening approached. Steaming comfort food served al fresco with fresh crusty bread, and shared with a great group of people. Castor fiber, Eurasian Beaver, was to be the focus of our penultimate evening together, and evidence of some impressive incisors could be seen in the characteristic hourglass-shaped gnawings close to the base of their favoured aspen and birch trees near the edge of the island, where waves gently lapped the shoreline. This large and beautiful lake, situated in the Malingsbo-Kloten Nature Reserve to the north-west of Stockholm, was surrounded by forest - a captivating reminder that we were in Wolf territory, and my mind was drawn back to a stretch of forest track we had visited earlier in the day where tangy lingonberries and sweet, juicy bilberries grew amongst pine and spruce of the boreal forest. Here our path had coincided with fresh prints of Moose, Roe Deer, Wild Boar and Wolf, and a flock of perky Waxwings perched nonchalantly amongst majestic Norway Spruce.
As Marcus, our excellent and tirelessly enthusiastic guide, steered the electrically powered dinghy away from the island and almost noiselessly settled into a course close to the perimeter of the lake, our eyes were drawn to heaps of tree branches, logs and foliage at intervals along the edge, extending into the water. We scanned the areas around these lodges for the characteristic V-shaped ripple pushed along by a swimming Beaver. The fading light and falling temperature made me appreciative of the five layers of clothing I had pulled on earlier which had, on the journey here, seemed a little over the top. Now I was celebrating every one of those layers. Only my fingers and toes felt somewhat chilly as the cold September evening air breezed past, and I made a mental note to bring some gloves next time – yes, I do need a ‘next time’ as this wonderful trip had surpassed my expectations and left me wanting more! There was a mist rising from the dark water, enveloping us and creating a kind of surreal, cinematic aura which made me feel that, with or without Beavers, there was nowhere I would rather be in these moments than this magical place.
Eventually the mist cleared, perhaps chased into the forest by the hint of a breeze which was stirring the surface into shivering little undulations now. Still no Beavers, but who could blame them? Surely a cosy lodge is more appealing than the breezy, evening chilliness of open water. Or perhaps they were brazenly swimming under our noses, visibility lost in the dark and deepening ripples.
Village lights crept closer on the ‘home stretch’. We would soon be warm and chatty in the minibus after our silent excursion, another stage of our journey over, but could I hold on to something of this other world – revisit it when I need some respite from London living? Suddenly two little nostrils and a pair of tiny ears, propelled by an unseen force, were gliding through the water close by. Briefly curious then unsurprisingly coy, this little Beaver soon disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a surge of elation and quiet celebration. A few minutes later the light from our dinghy found another small brown head and the top of a sturdy little body powering past us and away into the dusk and then another, this time heralded by a pattern of exaggerated ripples, still visible after the sleek little head had veered away and out of sight. As our boat neared the village, exchanged whispers became more animated in response to the expressive vocalisations of a female Tawny Owl in nearby trees, and a dramatic influx of Northern Bats flitting crazily over the lake. The resulting loud, scolding slap of a Beaver’s tail on the water close to the shore alerted us to one last lodge, barely visible now in the darkness. Soon afterwards it was time to pull the boat on shore and celebrate our sightings with a revitalising ‘fika’ (tea/coffee) break.
Eventually our group, contented and replete, clambered into the minibus, and later that glorious evening, whilst marvelling at the number and clarity of the stars and staring with awe at the Milky Way from the blackness of the forest, I was to be rendered joyously breathless by the howling of an entire Wolf pack in whose territory I stood trembling, partly from the chill of a Swedish autumn night, but mostly from grateful realisation that these few minutes would be with me for ever.
Read more about our 'Sweden's Mammals' holiday.