Walking to the Wolf Hole

The sun shone despite the pouring rain the night before that made it cozy to stay inside the chalet and watch a stupid television program about 50 things that shocked the French, none of which I found that shocking.

My hostess suggested a walk. As soon as we turned the corner and looked up the mountain we could see where new snow had fallen while we slept. She led me through the forest paths, mostly up leaf-coated paths. We picked our way between boulders and stepped over roots.

To our left when we were about half way to the snow line we came across a man-made hole with rocks lining its sides. A moss covered bench was near the edge and the stump of a tree had a piece of paper sealed in plastic saying it was in that hole in 1826 that the last wolf had been caught and killed in Switzerland.

It is funny to know what happened on a certain day in a spot 180 years ago, especially when it is not a historical (except to the wolf) event that would ever end up in a history book. I am sure some of the descendents of the wolf killers are living in the chalets of this tiny village.

I wonder if the owners of the cows and goats held a celebration that their animals would be safe. What happened to the skin? Why was it the last wolf and what had happened to the rest of the pack? Was it a male or female wolf? These answers will stay unknown as will much of the lives of people fade into the past. But walking back I still imagined the villagers with the body of the wolf tied to the a stick and the stick balanced on the shoulders of the bigger men. I heard them whistling as I made my way back down the mountain.