One afternoon at the Painter Outpost, Turnbull overheard a tourist talking to his son about wolves. It seemed the pair had been in Yellowstone and had seen a pack take down an elk calf. “That was something special,” Turnbull heard the man tell his son. “We were pretty lucky to be there.” Turnbull couldn’t contain himself. “You weren’t lucky!” he shouted angrily, as the man listened in stunned silence. He found calves ripped apart by wolves every spring, Turnbull told him. Wolves weren’t special, not in Crandall. Wolves were killers.
“One afternoon at the Painter Outpost, Turnbull overheard a tourist talking to his son about wolves. It seemed the pair had been in Yellowstone and had seen a pack take down an elk calf. “That was something special,” Turnbull heard the man tell his son. “We were pretty lucky to be there.”
Turnbull couldn’t contain himself. “You weren’t lucky!” he shouted angrily, as the man listened in stunned silence. He found calves ripped apart by wolves every spring, Turnbull told him.
Wolves weren’t special, not in Crandall. Wolves were killers.”
