The Red Hooded Photographer

05:00 AM. Warmer than I expected—only -2°C. Inside a bunker-like concrete shelter, I start preparing my camouflage. I set up my Canon 1Dx with a 600mm lens at the window, which is covered with a camouflage cloth. The sun will rise in about an hour and a half. There's still plenty of time before the raptors begin to visit the carrion pile 15 meters ahead. Now, it's tea time. In the back room, water is heating up on a small camping stove.

As I wait for the tea to steep, I occasionally shine my flashlight outside to check the area. I hear dogs barking and howls in the distance, but nothing seems to be around the carcasses yet.

Just as I pour my tea, the howling intensifies. As it grows louder, so does the barking. I wonder whether the dogs are the ones howling or if the area is actually filled with wolves. While pondering this, I set up a simple breakfast—half a loaf of bread, some tomatoes, and cheese.

As I eat and sip my tea, I frequently check to make sure my camera is still in place. You know how curious bears can be. If one comes along and takes an interest in my 600mm lens, that wouldn’t be good at all. Even though I try to entertain myself with these thoughts, there are moments when I seriously think, "Let it take the lens, just don’t let it come for me!"

To keep the dogs from devouring all the carrion, I have some firecrackers with me. But with the number of howls increasing, I hesitate—should I use them to scare the wolves away or let things play out?

At 06:38, it's bright enough to see up to 100 meters without any artificial light. The wolf howls disappear. I set my ISO to 1600 and take a few test shots.

The dogs begin to gather around the carcasses. Then, suddenly, they all freeze. They stand completely still. But one among them is unusually active. As I focus more carefully, I realize—it’s not a dog.

I start pressing the shutter.

It’s restless. First, it grabs a piece of carrion, circles the pile, then drops it and approaches me, lowering its head and giving me a brief glance before turning back to the carcasses. It circles again, then starts collecting more—one, two, three… five. I can’t believe how much it's managing to fit into its mouth.

Nature photographers, especially those who shoot mammals, would probably want to beat me up for this, but when the wolf started hoarding too much carrion—leaving nothing for the raptors—I couldn’t help myself. I shouted, "Shoo! Hey! Get out! Go on now!" and the wolf ran off. Thankfully, it left with enough food to feed itself and, if it had them, its cubs.

What a magnificent creature. The way it dropped the food from its mouth, turned toward me, and gave me those piercing glances sent my adrenaline soaring. My heartbeat must have spiked in those moments because one of the shots I took during that stare-down turned out a bit shaky—not as sharp as the others.

But seriously, wolf brother, what’s with dropping your food mid-meal? "I don’t like this one, I’m coming for you instead?" That’s the vibe I got. And not even the courtesy of a Little Red Riding Hood act—no pretending to be my grandma, no nightgown, no bonnet, no glasses, no cozying up under the covers. Just a blatant, direct approach toward me. What’s going on here?

"Why are your arms so big, Grandma?"
"To hug you better!" said the wolf.

"Why are your ears so big, then?"
"To hear you better!" said the wolf.

"Why are your eyes so big?"
"To see you better!" said the wolf.

"Why are your teeth so sharp?"
"To eat you better!" said the wolf.

"Shoo! Hey! Get out! Go on now!" shouted the photographer.

The wolf ran off, and luckily, no hunter had to come along, cut open its belly, and pull me out.

Now I wonder—how will the rest of this day unfold? Will the vultures and eagles give me the same kind of looks?

One decision is clear: it’s coffee time.

P.S. Reactions from my close circle:
"You'll be food for the beasts!"

Other articles from the same day: He is a Legend! and Souls Rising to the Sun