The locals up North tell of a ghost dog. They are afraid of this ghost dog, for it has cunning greater than they, stealing from their camps in fierce winters, robbing their traps, slaying their dogs, and defying their bravest hunters. He crosses alone from the wilderness, through the smiling timber land and comes down into an open space among the trees. Here he muses for a time, howling once, long and mournfully, ere he departs.
There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad in a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Steve, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him through the moonlight.
Featuring and inspired by the adventures of infamous Canadian stealth camper Steve Wallis (Camping With Steve) on YouTube. Go and give the man a follow. Also featuring Farley Mowat.
