Howling at wolves The first time I heard a pack of wolves was on a chilly morning in mid September, many years ago.I had wrapped up an assignment in Montana and decided to spend a few days alone in the Lamar Valley, determined to see and hopeful to hear the famed Druid Peak Pack.It’s easy for me to remember that particular morning.Heading back to where my mind visualized the Druids... I see them lost in the warm tones of the season, with tails wagging high while shaking off that early morning kiss of frost from under the thin blanket of fog that covered the Lamar. It was there that I pointed my nose to heaven, cupped my hands around my mouth and let loose the loudest God-given wolf howl known to mankind... which was immediately answered by a bugling elk and a pair of coyotes.That alone made my day.But with me being me, I let loose again.A crazy man in the wild, howling over and over and... then it happened. The Druids answered back in full bravado. This went back and forth for a good long minute. And then just like that, it was all over.One would have thought they heard the crack of a rifle. In hindsight, it was probably the single-most magical experience in my life outdoors... and I never even laid eyes on them.(Note to self, I later found out that howling for wolves in the park is against the law).