By Irene Butler

Published in TravelLady on line magazine

A distant lone howl pierced the night sky. It set off a chorus of howling that wolves engage in to solidify the pack’s social structure and to signal their presence to neighbouring packs. A platter-sized moon cast a silver glow on the flowing water; the scent of pine wafted from the forest nearby. A shadowy raven flew overhead; this one appeared to have reached the four-foot maximum wingspan for these heavy-billed corvids. My husband Rick and I were sitting on the rocks beside the Burntwood River at the outer edge of Thompson where the city ends and the wilderness begins. Although we were reluctant to leave this tranquil fusion with nature, it was time to head back into town.

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