“Sylvie. Please call me Sylvie, Jean-Luc. This is my friend, Lisa. We are both excited at the chance of spending six months here, helping you with your wolf conservation project.”
“Enchanté, Mam’zelle,” said Jean-Luc shaking Lisa’s hand.
He pulled out a seat and sat down while Robert went to order another round of drinks and the dish of the day.
No one spoke for a moment; both Sylvie and Jean-Luc stared down at the table. Lisa looked from one to the other and bided her time until Robert returned to the table.
“Why the silence? Don’t you girls want to hear about the work we do?” he asked.
“Of course,” Sylvie answered. “Please tell us as much as you can. We researched what we could on the internet before coming here, but I’m sure you have more to tell us. We’d like to start helping you as soon as you want us to - tomorrow if possible.”
“Shall I start then, Jean-Luc?” asked Robert.
Jean-Luc nodded.
Robert explained that their project, le Projet Loup, the Wolf Project, was funded from a variety of sources: the French government, the European Community, the World Wild Life Fund, and local charity and interest groups.
After an absence of sixty years or more, the wolf had begun to return to France in the early nineties by crossing the Alps from Italy, and had managed to make its way to several areas of France and across to the Pyrenees and Spain. Jean-Luc was the head of le Projet Loup in le Parc de l’Alcantour, an area of two hundred and sixty-five square miles, situated in the French/Italian Alps to the Northeast of Nice.
Lisa interrupted, “We looked at the maps of the Park before we left. I wanted to see the archeological site where I am to work on my thesis.”
“I’ll come to that later, Lisa,” said Robert and he went on to say the European wolf was not as large as its North American counterpart, only about sixty to eighty-five pounds, the size of a German shepherd dog, but strong enough to pull down two to three times its weight. It lived in smaller packs of rarely more than eight individuals though the pack hierarchy was much the same with an alpha couple, who were the only ones to breed, and several supporting males and females, outsiders who attach themselves to the dominant pair. Their offspring would leave the pack and venture out on their own to find a mate during their second year.
Much of the work of the project was identifying the different wolf packs. The data was used for zoological research and by interested parties, such as the government and various animal charities.
“What’s the size of the population?” asked Sylvie.
“Latest figures give us nineteen packs, making two hundred and fifty wolves altogether.”
“That’s not so many in a country as large as France.”
“No, but they’ve been increasing at about twenty per cent per year and gradually moving out across France to the wooded and semi-wooded areas. The government needs to keep an eye on things in order to balance the needs of the conservationists against those of the sheep farmers. The areas involved are vast.”
“So you must need a large staff,” said Sylvie. “Is that why you asked for our help?”
Jean-Luc looked across at Robert. “We didn’t exactly ask for your help. It was forced on–”
“Offered to us,” said Robert, not giving Jean-Luc the chance to finish his sentence. “And we’re grateful for your expert assistance. At the grass roots level of collecting information for the DNA analysis of the packs and their movements we rely on volunteers.”
“What do they do to help?” asked Sylvie.
“They go out and collect wolf poo, mark the geographical co-ordinates on the bag and bring it back to the lab for DNA analysis.”
“That puts a different angle on pooper-scooping,” said Lisa, unable to keep a straight face and glad for a chance to lighten the serious tone of Robert’s talk.
“It sounds comical but it’s very necessary,” said Robert with a stern look before he, too, burst out laughing.
Jean-Luc took over the briefing. “We also depend on the sighting and recording of wolf trails in the snow in the winter. One of our tasks is to manage the volunteers to ensure that all areas of the park are covered. We plot the DNA information which shows us how the packs break up and form new ones and helps us to keep track of their advance - for they are advancing, as Robert mentioned.”
“Is that where we come in?” asked Lisa. “The further research?”
Jean-Luc nodded. “We’ll go out and find the packs, verify their location and check on their condition.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Sylvie. “When do we start?”
“I suggest we all meet up tomorrow in the office and I’ll explain the real problem we have at the moment.”
“What’s that?” asked Sylvie.
“The deliberate extermination of the wolves by some of the farmers and by people who make themselves feel good by killing the beautiful creatures for sport.”
“We have nutters in the States who set out to kill wolves. They even brag about it on the internet,” said Lisa.
“Our main problem here is the age-old battle between the herdsman and the wolf, who is characterized as the predator of his flocks and herds. The wolves had been pushed right out of France and the farmers had become lazy, so some conservationists say. No more sheepdogs guarding the flocks, no fences or enclosures to keep their animals safe at night.
“Now the wolf is back and the farmers don’t want to return to the old ways of protecting their flocks. They say the answer is extermination. They claim some ancient atavistic justification for what they do, like cave men. Just this year the French government has passed legislation increasing the quota for the authorized killings of wolves from eleven to twenty-four.”
“That sounds excessive,” said Lisa. “It’s almost ten per cent of the population.”
“There are strict controls over the issue of a permit and the government agency has to take possession of the cadaver to ensure that the animal has been shot cleanly and not poisoned or trapped. However, that doesn’t stop the illegal killing of wolves. Even the heavy penalties for preemptive action don’t deter these people: a year in prison and a fine of 15,000 Euros, that’s just under 20,000 dollars. That’s a lot of money for a sheep farmer to pay.”
Robert added, “That’s something else we do: collect wolf cadavers for DNA and for post-mortem.”
“Something we have to do all too often nowadays. That’s where you come in, Sylvie,” said Jean-Luc turning towards her. “One of our local vets usually helps out on a voluntary basis, but we have to wait for him to have free time and that is often too late to be useful to us in tracking down the perpetrators.”
He broke off as the waiter plonked four plates of bouillabaisse, the local saffron rich fish chowder on the table.
“That’s enough shoptalk for tonight. We’ll tell you about that side of things tomorrow when we show you round our office and familiarize you.”
The soup was delicious, spicy and garlicky, and the girls mopped up every trace with large chunks of the local crusty bread.
“What are you doing that for?” asked Lisa as Robert poured some of his wine into the bottom of his soup bowl.
“This is called a chabrol and it’s traditional with soupy stews like this. It allows you to get every last drop of the soup, see ...”
He picked up his bowl and downed the mixture.
Lisa and Sylvie copied him but Sylvie spilled some down her shirt.
“Oh no! This is my favorite shirt,” she cried out, jumping up and trying to mop it up.
“Here, let me,” said Jean-Luc, reaching over and dabbing the spot between her breasts with his napkin.
Sylvie gave an exaggerated jump backwards. Every nerve in her body reacted to his touch and she was annoyed to feel her nipples harden at the unexpected contact.
“It’s quite all right,” she said, attempting to brush his hand away. “I can manage.”
“Very well,” said Jean-Luc, his face
showing his surprise at such a strong reaction to what had only been a gesture of chivalry.
Sylvie sat down again, aware that she was blushing. “I think I’ve had too much wine and it’s very hot in here,” she said holding the backs of her hands up against her face to cool it.
“You do look flushed,” said Jean-Luc. He signaled the waiter and ordered coffee all round and a glass of iced water for Sylvie.
An awkward silence stretched out across the table while they waited for their order to arrive until at last Robert broke it by telling the girls that he had procured two mobilettes for them to use to get about around the town.
Glad for the chance to return to normality, Sylvie thanked him and told him she had never ridden a scooter.
‘It’s easy,” Robert assured her. “They’re not powerful, less than 50cc and you don’t need a license but you must wear a helmet. They’re a godsend when the traffic is bad in the center of town. When we go on trips out of town we will all travel together in one or two of our 4 x 4’s.”
The coffee arrived and Sylvie drank down her glass of cold water then held the icy glass against her cheeks.
“If you guys don’t mind,” she said. “I think Lisa and I should turn in. We’ve had a busy day and we need our beauty sleep.”
Robert said he would stay and settle the bill if Jean-Luc would escort Sylvie and Lisa back to their hotel.
When they reached the Mimosas, Jean-Luc gave Lisa a bise but Sylvie had gone on ahead to avoid being offered the same. Jean-Luc looked surprised but he wished them a good night’s sleep.
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Lisa turned to Sylvie. “What on earth was all that about?”
“All what?”
“All that blushing, and over-reaction and then again, just now, you and the gorgeous Jean-Luc – refusing a bise when we all said goodnight?”
“I can’t explain it. He’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met. Even his surliness turned me on, but I felt awkward and over-conscious of him. Anyway, you noticed how he didn’t seem to be enthralled with our presence here?”
“Couldn’t really miss that,” answered Lisa.
“Every time he touched me, the intensity of the discharge of energy burnt my skin. I felt uncomfortable because I was so aware of him. All the time! It was as if we were bound together by invisible electric pulses.”
“Oh no! You’re not falling for him, Sylvie? You’ve only just met the guy. What about your protestations of being fancy-free for the foreseeable future?”
“I couldn’t be more serious about that; the last thing I want is to fall for some unsuitable man on the rebound. But you have to admit he’s good looking and as sexy as hell.”
“Yes, I grant you that but I preferred Robert,” said Lisa, running lightly up the stairs.
Madame Bonjean came out of her office at the noise. “Oh, it’s only you girls. Bonne nuit, mes filles,” she called out as Sylvie chased after Lisa.
5 : Familiarization
The girls both slept soundly, tired out after their journey and the new experiences of the night before. They were still asleep when Madame Bonjean knocked on their door to tell them that Jean-Luc had arrived to take them to the office.
“What will he think of us?” asked Sylvie, scrambling out of bed. “Late for work on the first day.”
“Not a good beginning,” agreed Lisa. “I couldn’t help noticing last night that he isn’t too keen on having us here in spite of the fact that they need help with their project.”
“Hurry up then! We don’t want to reinforce any misgivings he might have about us.”
Ten minutes later, both girls rushed downstairs. They found Jean-Luc chatting with Madame Bonjean.
“We’re so sorry –” Sylvie began.
“Please, don’t apologize,” said Jean-Luc with a tight smile on his face. He opened the door and stood waiting for them to pass outside. “I understand. It’s only your first day and you must have been tired last night. I should have understood and set up our familiarization meeting for this afternoon.”
As he turned to shut the door, Lisa raised her eyebrows at Sylvie and whispered, “Robert must have said something.”
After a brief stop on the way for the girls to have a cup of coffee and a croissant, they reached the offices of the Wolf Project, ‘offices’ being too grand a description for what was in effect a small room of about fifty square feet at the back of the local veterinary clinic.
“It’s small but adequate, and it’s convenient to have the clinic on hand,” said Jean-Luc, as he ushered them inside.
Robert was already at work at one of the four computer stations. He rose when they came in, said hello and collected four chairs together round the table at the end of the room.
After offering them coffee which they declined, he suggested they have a look at the maps on the wall to get some idea of the area in which they would be operating.
One map showed the Parc National de l’Alcantour with pins for all the known locations of the local wolf packs. Sylvie counted nine packs within the park, spread out widely over its two hundred and sixty-five square miles. Jean-Luc pointed out the highest mountain, Mt Givré, saying that at its highest point of 10,300 feet it was only fifty miles from the sea.
“The terrain and the trees and plants found in the park are perfect for the wolves; they provide good cover: forests of oak, firs, spruce and great thickets of birch on the higher slopes with scrubland of rhododendrons and olives lower down,” he added.
“And for food?” Sylvie asked.
“They’re not short of natural wild prey. There’s chamois, ibex, red deer, roe deer, wild boar and the all important mouflon – ”
“What’s a mouflon?” asked Lisa.
“It’s a wild sheep found all over the mountainous regions of Europe and Asia. They were re-introduced into the park some time ago and their abundance is probably what has encouraged the wolves to come back into France, as they are the main item on the wolf’s menu.”
“Why is there such a problem with the sheep farmers if there are so many wild animals for the wolves to eat?” asked Sylvie.
“As you know, wolves give man a wide berth in normal times. They wouldn’t go near domestic sheep and cattle, if a shepherd and his sheepdogs were on guard, or if the animals were corralled in pens at night, but the farmers have grown lazy and they expect to leave their flocks out unprotected. A wolf doesn’t know the legal difference between a wild mouflon and a domestic sheep.”
Jean-Luc explained that all the wolves in France came from the same genetic line and he pointed out the various branches of the family tree on the charts posted round the walls.
“I’d like to make a check on this pack here,” he said.
Sylvie drew closer to look at the point on the map, accidentally knocking against Jean-Luc as she did so.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, drawing back. She knew she was going to blush again but she also knew that the harder she tried not to, the worse the blush would be. It was ridiculous. She had barely brushed his shoulder.
If he had noticed her odd behavior, he didn’t give any sign. He called Lisa to look at the spot, saying, “It’s very close to the anthropological site you are going to be concentrating on, Lisa. See, it’s called le Vallée des Miracles, the Valley of Miracles. There are two valleys on either side of Mt Tégo. They were gouged out of the rock by glaciers over ten thousand years ago and are strewn with slabs of smooth rock.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” said Lisa. “I understand that there are more than thirty-six thousand rock carvings, all dating from about 3000 BC. I want to do a compare and contrast exercise with the rock carvings I’ve visited in the States.”
“You’ll have to contact the Professor who runs the museum at Bende for special access; the Park is closed to visitors now. It closes at the end of October each year. The winter weather makes it dangerous for inexperienced ramblers. Once it snows, it can become too cold even for the experie
nced, down below -24°C, that’s -11.2°F, which is astonishing considering it’s not far from the sea.”
Lisa looked across at Robert. “Perhaps Robert would help me with that today. I don’t want to lose any time as I won’t be able to see the carvings and drawings once the snow falls, will I?”
Robert said he would do that as soon as Jean-Luc had finished explaining things to them.
Jean-Luc went on, “Because of my position with le Projet Loup I have permission to enter the Park at any time and so I thought we could make a day of it on Saturday, take a picnic lunch, check out one of the wolf dens, if possible, and spend some time having a preliminary look at your site. Then you will be able to go up there with Robert or Sylvie. Never on your own please because the area is isolated and if anything were to happen to you, we wouldn’t know. Cell phone coverage is not that good in the isolated areas of France, there aren’t enough masts yet.”
Sylvie went to sit down. “What happens if something goes wrong when you are up there on your own?”
“First of all, I try not to go on my own and, secondly, I have radio in my vehicle and I carry a sat-phone.”
Lisa touched Robert on the arm, “I think I’d like that coffee now, if possible. It’s a lot to take in at one sitting.”
Jean-Luc picked up his laptop, placed it on the table in front of the two girls, and leant over between them to point to a beeping signal on the screen. “See, this is the GPS collar we have fitted to one of the female wolves. She’s up on the slopes of the valley. She’s one of the wolves I’m hoping to check on this Saturday.”
Sylvie found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. She was so conscious of his nearness, she could feel the heat from his body and smell his cologne. At one point when he stretched forward to point, his hair brushed against her face and she flinched.
Seeking to cover up her discomfort, she asked, “Why don’t you fit all the wolves with collars instead of relying on the physical evidence? You can take DNA samples when you fit the collars. Some of the wolves in Yellowstone have been fitted with them.”
“It’s a complicated issue, Sylvie. There are two main reasons. One, it is difficult to get hold of the wolves to collar them. They are intelligent creatures and difficult to trap. We can’t use planes like they do in Yellowstone and we have collared only one wolf by darting it from a helicopter - one! In fact, we’ve only managed to collar four wolves altogether, the one we are looking at now is the fourth.”
Waking the Wolf (Coup de Foudre) Page 4
