After an hour, on the middle ridge, I stopped and started my fourth howl survey (where I pretend to be a wolf communicating with young wolves—I know it works in Alaska, but here it does not seem to fool them or inspire them to answer even if they know it was a real wolf). After three sets and no answers since July, I walked on. The walk was very nice. The beech trees were dropping their leaves and last nuts as I walked under the canopy. Then, after fording three streams, I was out into the fields. I could see Mandrata from two ridges away. So, I slowed down, as the sun still had an hour on its metered descent. I walked by a herd of horses grazing near the cheese factory. Then I was at the night blind.
     I left my pack inside and went to an old roof (from a cow shelter I think) and took a long piece of rubber—the roof was rubber nailed like sheets of asphalt. This I used to put on the springs of the steel bed in the blind (from an earlier foraging expedition). I put the sleeping bag over that. I went for a walk to the spring and counted footprints, then walked up the hill to watch the setting sun. It had been a while since I had done that. I lay down on the grass and watched. It was very sudden since it went behind a mountain, but the light lasted for another hour. The fog and clouds were rolling up from the north and covering everything. A large hawk swooped down for a mouse and glided off into the fog.
I walked back to the blind and napped until dark. There was no moon that night. I had the binoculars, night scope, flashlight, candle, matches, camera, and penknife laid out on the edge of the bed. The night was uneventful. The night scope did not work well beyond 100 feet in a dark night. I saw movements and heard sounds but was not able to make positive identifications. I did  see two wolf-like shapes moving past the spring. The owl was back. The stars were very bright, unusually so.
     Naturally, I was up early, despite alternating hours, dozing and observing. I observed for another hour, then cleaned up. Breakfast was an oat bar. I met the trail back up on the hill. After an hour of walking through fields, as I was about to enter the beech forest I heard moans, as from an elk. Not having heard an elk in weeks I wondered if it could be a bear. So, I walked directly towards it. In the woods it was quiet; he had heard me, whoever. Then after a ridge, I heard a light barking, like a fox or small dog. But, it became quiet also as I approached (so it must not had been a dog). The rest of the walk was quiet. Except for some fox scat, nicely placed on rocks for me to see, and a little horse manure, there were not many signs this day.

A few nights later, I started to walk to Mandrata, where the night blind was. Made notes and photos on the way. I was in the snow now, but it was rotten and made walking hard. The higher I climbed the deeper the snow got. I have been trying to express in writing how long these hikes took. I supposed if I added ellipses to each sentence, it would be more expressive but more awkward, like this: As I was walking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I had to dodge old snow caps over branches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  the walking was tough . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . it was getting colder  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I shivered . . . .
     Then, I saw my first wolf print of the day. It could not have been too old. I followed it until in branched off down the hill; I stayed on the trail. . . . . . . . . . An hour later, near dusk I saw someone hiking with a dog, ahead of me. I hailed them, but they both moved quickly uphill. Perplexed by this behavior, I did not hurry to catch up, just walked normally towards where they left the trail. There, where I saw them I found fresh bear tracks leading uphill (these were brown bears, like American Grizzlies), one small set, one large. I searched my memory, wondering if it could had been a bear I rudely waved and shouted greetings at. Probably a female with her cub, not a dog following her. I was glad I did not run towards them, but also glad I did not run away from them. I measured the large print, and found that it was about the length of my size eleven foot, with hiking boots, but wider. I took many photos of the prints, since they were so clear. I sang praises to the bear clan the entire time.
     As I kept walking up the trail, which had a switchback that took it on a line to intercept the bears, I entered a cloud, then the dark pine forest. I was getting nervous, and then found a wolf track coming towards me—that meant he had turned off the trail when he heard me coming. I hoped the bear did too. Maybe they were both waiting to eat me; maybe they would fight it out to see who got to eat me, the tasty, potato-filled clod. The road lengthened relatively far ahead of me, extended by anxiety and the unknown darkness.
     Then I finally came out of the forest and found a small hut, roofless but with old concrete walls. One corner had little snow in it. I thought it might be fortifiable, but freezing, so I decided to press on for the night blind. In the snow, I lost the trail but keep going up. My feet sank into snow and I fell into the eroded holes several times. I mentally figured out how far back the roofless hut was. Then through one last long woods and I was on the ridge. It was all white and I could not find the trail under the smooth snow, but I could see the trees towards the blind. I walked out of the cloud. It was a half moon. The mountains were in higher clouds, the valleys in lower clouds. Only this ridge was free of clouds. It was quite beautiful and I was quite relieved. Now I could see death coming if it was reaching for me! I stood for a while and regarded the moon. I turned around and looked back at the woods.
     As I walked along there was another wolf track that I seemed to be backtracking. Perhaps the same one as below. I measured the tracks and photographed them. I looked again at the moonlit landscape. It was perfectly quiet and peaceful. I howled, although the formal howling survey had been completed for a while. I walked slowly towards the game trail and the waterhole. I lost the tracks for a while, but found them circling the waterhole. There were also wild pig tracks closer to the waterhole.
     I went up the hill to the night blind. My legs were wobbly. I kicked open the wooden door and made myself at home, eating a few peanuts (the universal food) and drinking some water. The trip had taken almost six hours. I sat up for an hour and observed but no one was moving. I took a nap but had muscle cramps, so did some more observing. The moon was so bright I could use regular binoculars. The owl came. Back to lie down, more cramps. These were lower leg muscles that I had to hit until they stopped. So, I just observed until about 1 a.m. No movement at all; no visitors, no hunters, no prey, just silence. Then putting the sleeping bag on the floor and wrapping my pants for a pillow, I slept a little. I heard footsteps in the snow outside, and leapt up, but it was a Karakachan horse left loose for the winter.

I suppose I have to finish this soon ...