Gordon Wiltsie

Biologist husband-wife team Christoph Promberger and Barbara Promberger-Fuerpass of the Carnivore Project.

THE WOLF KNOWN AS TSIGANU was trapped on December 19, 1999, near a valley called Tsiganesti. The handling, collaring, and release were done by a Romanian wildlife technician named Marius Scurtu, a sturdy young man with an unassuming grin and a missing front tooth. Marius had blossomed into an important member of the Carnivore Project, absorbing well Christoph's field training in wolf capture and showing great appetite for the hard backcountry legwork. In recognition of his role, he was allowed to christen the new animal. Besides relating the wolf to that particular valley, the name he picked—Tsiganu—means "Gypsy."

At the time of trapping, Tsiganu weighed 95 pounds. He was notable for the lankiness of his legs and the length of his canine teeth. Since collaring, he has rejoined a small pack of four or five animals, though whether he himself is the alpha male remains uncertain. He now broadcasts his locator beeps on a frequency of 148.6 megahertz, and several times each week either Marius or another project technician goes out with a map, a radio receiver, and a directional antenna to check on him. Tsiganu seldom lets himself be seen, but from his prints and other evidence in the snow, a good tracker can learn what he has been doing. In the past month he has killed at least three roe deer, two dogs, and two sheep.

On a warmish day not long before our misadventure on the trail toward Fata lui Ilie, Gordon and I skied along with a tracker named Peter Surth. We followed him up a tight little canyon into the foothills above a village. It was slow travel, through wet heavy snow along the bank of a small stream, but within less than a mile we came to a kill. The rib cage and hide of a roe deer, partly covered by overnight snowfall, confirmed that Tsiganu and his pack hadn't gone hungry. Continuing upward, we passed an old log barn from which we could hear the companionable gurgles and neck bells of sheep, safely shut away behind a door. Moments later we met a man in country clothes, presumably the sheep-owner, trudging down a steep slope. Peter spoke a few words with him, then told us the gist of the exchange. Wolves, you want wolves? the man had said. Wolves we've got, around here. Lots of them.

We angled up a slope, rising away from the creek bottom. A half-hour of climbing brought us, sweating, onto a ridge. Peter took another listen with the receiver, catching a strong signal that seemed to place Tsiganu within 300 yards. Which direction? Well, probably there, to the northwest. But the tempo of beeps also indicated that the animal was active, not resting, and therefore his position could change fast. We hustled northwest along the ridgeline. When Peter listened again he got a much different bearing, this one suggesting that Tsiganu and his pack were below us, possibly far below, on the opposite slope of the creek valley we'd just left. Or maybe the earlier signal had been deceptive because of echo effects from the terrain. Or maybe this one was the echo.

Such are the ambiguities in tracking an animal that doesn't want to be found.