Though this was indeed the place, it didn’t look now like anywhere that would gather the attention of so many eyes and ears, hearts and minds.

The afternoon was gray, with silvery clouds passing over the face of the sun, blocking her warming brilliance. Sharp winds off the bay at Lake Superior hinted a snowfall could be around the bend just anytime now.

This was the top of a gradual slope where a trail ran down through the low brush – with wild yellow daisies, purple clover-like flowers, young oaks, maples and scrub brush that looked like thorn apple, but wasn’t.

There was plenty of balsam fir here too, or what was left of it. There are hundreds of moose on this majestic archipelago. The firs, whose needles and sap hold the crisp aromatic smell of Christmastime trees, are a favored food.

There were playful red foxes on the island – no bears and no deer – numerous eagles, a chattier form of island squirrel, several colorful types of garter snakes and, on this particular day, dozens of yellow-rumped warblers – one of the first warblers to arrive in spring and among the last to leave in fall.

They seemed to be everywhere I went. I could hear their simple, but distinctive, “chip” notes from the bushes and trees. They would fly past me at a very short distance. One bird allowed itself to be held in the hand of a red-bearded colleague after it was discovered flapping around inside the hull of a boat.

As I sat waiting, I noticed one of these small birds that didn’t appear to have any fear of the animal inside the carrier.

The door had been opened and the wolf inside lay curled, with her head up, watching and waiting. At any moment she chose, she could run from the crate and be free to roam the island’s 132,000 acres.

There were others here with me that day, watching and waiting for the wolf to make its dash. Among them, a storied ecologist and his wife who have known the wolves and moose of this island for decades on end.

There were also National Park Service folks who had a great deal invested too – gracious and kind island dwellers – hoping to restore an essential dynamic to the island’s ecosystem.

The shutters, lenses and clicking of cameras were hidden among the short brush and in the trees down the path.

I could see the scene particularly well. In an old scraggly tree not far from me the warbler from the box landed several times, continuing to make its “chipping” sounds.

While the watch continued, the second wolf was being moved into position along another trail. In this place, the autumn had touched the trees with the birch leaves yellow and fluttering among more spruces and firs.

The door to this second wolf’s box would soon be opened too.

On those trail camera stills, the wolf appeared in the frame warily, long enough to grab and drag away something to eat. Ravens and bald eagles were in the camera shots too, along with two red foxes.

Back on the slope, the female wolf remained in the crate.

As I continued waiting and watching, I thought about those who have come to hate wolves and those who love them, as though they were their own pets – opposite ends of a wide human spectrum.

For me, I have always seen wolves as integral parts of nature’s living world – wild animals, revered by American Indians and many more.

When I was a kid, I never had the opportunity to ever see a wolf. I had heard about a small handful brought to our little corner of the world in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, which all soon died, one way or another, at the hands of humans.

I remember being saddened by that. 

Everything slowed down – like slow motion, as I passed – looking. The wolves embodied wild nature, beautiful and raw. I am hopeful my grown sons will see wolves one day and my young granddaughter will have wolves among her experiences too.

The little warbler never left while the first wolf remained in the crate. It continued to hop around on the ground, on top and alongside the box.

With the sound of the float plane cranking its engine, the wolf popped her head up. She looked around and peeked to each side outside the door of the crate.

Her feet made a scuffing sound as they scraped along the bottom of the box. The wolf shot out of the box. As the cameras clicked, she ran a few steps down the trail before turning to run through the low shrubs.

She then cut toward the base of some spruce trees and thick undergrowth. Just before she ducked underneath and disappeared, she turned her head and looked straight up, right at me.

Later, as I walked along the cold lakeshore, a merlin dipped after some warblers hopping carelessly in the open along the planks of an old dock. I wondered if the bird I’d seen back at the wolf crate was among them.

With nighttime falling, I turned up the trail and headed toward the top of the ridge, already certain I would never forget this day.

Learn more about the National Park Service’s Isle Royale Wolf Translocation Project.

Check out previous Showcasing the DNR stories in our archive at mi.gov/dnrstories. To subscribe to upcoming Showcasing articles, sign-up for free email delivery at mi.gov/dnr.