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DEATH
OF
DREAMS |
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DEPUTY SHERIFF MANNY RIVERA had
serious doubts about his current assignment as he drove his
Sheriff's Department Ford F-150 pickup through Castle Valley
toward the LaSal Mountains. It was probably a waste of time, but
there was a pleasant upside—it got him out of the office and
into the backcountry he loved. |
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On his left were the red rock pinnacles and buttes that
towered majestically over the valley, and on his right
were the looming cliff faces of Porcupine Rim. Straight
ahead were the peaks of the LaSals, lightly dusted last
night with an early-season snowfall. It was
mid-September, and the dark blue skies were populated
with bright-white cumulus clouds. The air was cool and
crystal clear and carried with it the resinous scent of
sage. |
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The beauty of the mountains, mesas, and canyons of Grand
County was the thing he loved most about living in Moab.
As a deputy, the need to enter the backcountry came
often, and he regarded such opportunities as a fringe
benefit of his job. He loved the fresh air, the vast
vistas, and the silence. He'd never had a desire to
serve as a big city cop, surrounded all day by
skyscrapers, concrete, and asphalt, even though the pay
was substantially higher. Inhaling exhaust fumes from
heavy traffic all day long while being subjected to the
irritating cacophony of honking horns was not his idea
of a desirable work environment. If he had a choice, his
love of the high desert would keep him here for the rest
of his life. |
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Rivera and his passenger were responding to an early
morning call from Hazel Treadwell who lived alone in a
cabin in the mountains. She claimed she had seen a wolf
prowling behind her place around sunrise and was afraid
for herself and her dogs. |
 Rivera
was pretty sure there were no wolves in the LaSals and
hadn't been for a hundred years. A concerted effort by
Utah cattle ranchers had long ago wiped them out. The
last confirmed wolf sighting in the LaSals had taken
place in the 1930s. Nevertheless, he was taking her call
seriously because an anonymous rogue group called
Restore the Wolves had placed a notice in The
Times-Independent, Moab's weekly newspaper, stating that
they'd released three mated pairs of gray wolves into
the LaSals. Their expressed purpose was to help restore
the balance of wildlife to the land's original state.
The announcement had appeared in the most recent issue
of the newspaper. |
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Until
today, no one had reported seeing wolves in the LaSals
since the notice was published, so he couldn't be sure
if the group's assertion was true or just some kind of
hoax. Hoax or not, local cattle ranchers who moved their
herds into the mountains during the summer months to
take advantage of the fresh grass and good grazing were
not amused. Their reactions had ranged from concerned to
angry, as the presence of wolves would represent a
substantial threat to their cows and calves, and
therefore their livelihood. |
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Before
leaving Moab, Rivera had stopped at the Bureau of Land
Management Field Office and picked up Ralph Lansing, a
young and eager professional with degrees in biology and
animal husbandry. He was the BLM's project manager in
charge of the mountain goat repopulation program for the
LaSal Mountains. Rivera, since he'd never seen a wolf in
real life, wanted a wildlife expert to join him on his
visit to the Treadwell place. He hoped Lansing could
help him confirm or refute Hazel's claim that she had
seen a wolf. |
For
the first half of the drive, Lansing talked about his
new girlfriend Veronica. He spoke non-stop, telling
Rivera about how attractive she was, how he'd met her,
how she wanted him to meet her parents, and his thoughts
and fears about getting married. It made Rivera think
about his own life, about a couple of relationships that
didn't work out for him, about meeting Gloria Valdez
during an investigation that took him into the tiny
mountain villages of northern New Mexico, and about
marrying her and being so thankful he did.
Abruptly, Lansing changed the subject. "Thanks for
inviting me to come along, Manny. I hope this wolf
report is a false alarm. Wolves in the LaSals would be a
real threat to my mountain goats. We relocated
thirty-five of them from the Tushar Mountains to the
LaSals about ten years ago. Their population has grown
to over a hundred now, so they're adapting well. Wolves
in the LaSals would completely change the equation, not
only for the mountain goats, but also for the bighorn
sheep which are undergoing a similar repopulation
effort." Lansing thought for a moment, took a sip of
coffee from a Styrofoam cup he’d brought along. "You
know, back in the 1800s when Utah was still a territory,
there was a bounty on wolves. One dollar for each one
killed. In those days, that was pretty good money. So,
after several decades of hunting down wolves and killing
them for profit, there were virtually no wolves left in
Utah." Lansing continued on about the threat, telling
Rivera things he pretty much already knew. |
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Now
Rivera was only half listening, his mind instead
dwelling on the beauty of Castle Valley, how he wished
he and Gloria could afford to buy a home out here, and
what a wonderful place this would be to someday raise
their children. Rivera found himself thinking about
children often these days. He grew up in the bosom of a
close-knit family in Las Cruces, New Mexico, surrounded
by parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, aunts,
uncles, cousins and friends. He looked forward to being
reunited with all of them in a couple of weeks when he
and Gloria would drive down to Las Cruces for the Rivera
family's annual barbeque. That was the kind of family
life he longed for. He and his bride had been married
for over a year, but as yet there had been no pregnancy.
He hoped they would soon be blessed. |
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Lansing
continued voicing his thoughts. "If this wolf sighting
business is true, we have another set of issues. As I'm
sure you know, wolves are now protected by the
Endangered Species Act, so it's illegal to kill them.
They will thrive and multiply in the mountains and cause
all kinds of havoc. The people who live around here will
have to adapt to their presence whether they like it or
not. So will the mountain goats, the bighorns, and the
cattlemen, I suppose." |
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Rivera
passed through Castle Valley and began ascending the
switchbacks of the Castleton-Gateway Road into the
mountains. Higher up, they spotted a herd of mule deer,
then came upon a striking panoramic view of the Book
Cliffs, and beyond them the Roan Cliffs, and farther
still, a hundred miles to the north, a dark cloud with
spindly bolts of lightning dancing below it. Two miles
later, he turned right onto a gravel road and entered an
area populated with white-barked aspen trees, their
leaves beginning the transformation from green to gold
as the nights became cooler. Soon he turned left onto a
two-track which led to the Treadwell homestead. |
He
drove with care on the primitive road, wondering why
Hazel had chosen to live out here in relative isolation
instead of living in Moab. He'd heard a little bit about
her over the years but had never met her. Word had it
she was a recluse by choice, and at sixty-seven years of
age, she just wanted to be with her dogs and read books.
She'd had enough of civilization and the mind-numbing
news and disappointments that came with it. She'd been
described as crusty, independent, and plain spoken.
The track ended at a small clearing in the woods, about
a half-acre in size, with an old log cabin in the
center. A maroon, early-model GMC pickup truck covered
with dust was parked in front. Aspens, pines, and brush
surrounded the clearing, and a carpet of pine needles
covered the ground. A garden on the side of the cabin
produced a crop of pumpkins, squash, and carrots. It was
protected on the sides and top with a barrier of chicken
wire. A couple of cords of wood were stacked near the
garden. All was quiet except for the rustling of tree
branches in the breeze and the squawks of distant pinyon
jays echoing in the forest.
Rivera scanned the area as he and Lansing approached the
cabin, alert for any sign of a wolf. He knew wolves were
ferocious and not to be taken lightly. A woman opened
the door just as he started to knock. She was wearing
weathered jeans and a faded yellow sweatshirt. She was
tan and wrinkled, and her long, gray hair was tied back
in a ponytail. There was a look of concern on her face. |
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"Thanks
for coming. I'm Hazel Treadwell. You boys c'mon in. It
ain't safe out there." |
After
the two men stepped into the cabin, she shot a glance
outside, then quickly closed the door behind them.
Rivera surveyed the interior of the home. It was rustic
and warm. The living area had a large stone fireplace
and was furnished with a couch and two stuffed
armchairs. A framed photograph of an unsmiling elderly
man with a long white beard rested on an end table.
There were two sets of bookshelves against the far wall.
One was crammed with books and magazines and the other
displayed an array of family photos.
Rivera introduced himself and his associate. "Are you
alright?" he asked. |
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"I'm
fine, except that damn wolf has me worried half to
death. I'm afraid for my dogs." |
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"Do
you live here alone?" |
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"Yes.
That's the way I prefer it. My grandfather built this
place nearly a century ago. I was raised in Moab but
spent every summer up here with Grandpa where it was
cooler." She pointed. "That's him in the photograph. I
like being here, away from the hordes of tourists in
town. My daughter wants me to move in with her in
Dallas, but that'll never happen. I want nothing to do
with crowds." |
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"Are
the dogs inside now?" |
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"Of
course. They're in the bedroom. When I took them outside
a little while ago to do their business, I stood guard
with my shotgun." |
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"What
time did you see the animal this morning?" Rivera
refrained from using the word wolf because he had no
evidence it was a wolf. |
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"It
was about seven o'clock or a little after." |
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"What
made you think it was a wolf? Could it have been a large
dog or a coyote? Or maybe a fox?" As soon as the words
came out of Rivera's mouth, he knew he'd made a big
mistake. |
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Hazel
produced an expression that looked like it was reserved
for idiots. She spoke in an indignant tone of voice.
"Mister, I've lived in these mountains longer than
you've been alive. I sure as hell know what a coyote and
a fox look like. And that wasn't no big dog. It was a
wolf." She walked to a table, retrieved a digital
camera, pressed some buttons, and looked at the screen.
"I took two photos of it through the window before it
trotted off. Here, take a look. If that’s not a wolf, I
don't know what is." |
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Rivera
took the camera and studied the image on the screen. The
display was small and showed what appeared to be some
type of canine peering out from the brush at the edge of
the clearing. Rivera couldn't be sure if the animal was
a wolf because the screen was so tiny. He showed the
image to Lansing who studied it for a moment, then shook
his head. "Hard to say. The image is too small."
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"Do
you have a computer?" asked Rivera. "If we transfer this
image to a computer, we can expand it." |
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She
laughed a humorless laugh. "No way. Computers are like
televisions. They bring nothing but bad news. And those
podcasts are ridiculous. Everybody's got one, and they
spend hours spewing their opinions about every damn
thing. I'm surprised anyone listens to that garbage." |
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"I
have a laptop in my vehicle." Rivera left the cabin and
walked quickly to his pickup while scanning his
surroundings. He found himself becoming more and more
wary because of all the talk about wolves. |
He
returned with a laptop and a connecting cable, connected
the camera to the laptop, and downloaded the files
containing the canine images. He expanded the image and
studied it. The animal sure looked like a wolf. It was
powerfully built with yellowish eyes, large paws, small
triangular-shaped ears, and a strong looking jaw. It had
the shaded gray and brown coloring of a wolf. He showed
it to Lansing.
Lansing peered at the screen. Nodded. "It's a gray wolf.
No question about it."
“There, I told you so," Hazel said. "It wasn't no coyote
or fox or big dog. So, what should I do if I see it
again? Shoot it with my rifle?"
Lansing answered before Rivera could respond. "Wolves
are protected by the Endangered Species Act. Killing a
wolf is a felony. I wouldn't recommend it."
She looked at Rivera. "Then what the hell am I supposed
to do?"
Rivera thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. If it
attacks you or your dogs, I'd say you’d be within your
rights to shoot it. If it's just passing through, you
should probably leave it alone." Rivera felt stupid for
giving such a lame, uninformed answer. He looked at
Lansing for help.
Lansing didn't have much to add. "Yeah, I'd say that's
the right way to look at it."
Hazel shook her head. "I love my dogs. If I see that
wolf prowling around here again, I might just kill the
damn thing and bury it," she said, her voice trembling
with a mixture of belligerence and fear. "And you know
something? No one would know the difference. There's no
one living around here but me." |
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