Ryan The Quarry Quotes

It was Lewis. He stopped where he was and looked around, searching for his quarry.

We walk south across the black soil and toward the trucks, glad to have finally found the Swindell pack’s well-hidden puppies. One more den is checked off their list. The morning’s rain has softened the muck, and our boot prints mingle with the prints of raccoons, bobcats, deer, and wolves. Seeing the mixed prints, I am struck by the thought that man is as much a part of this landscape as the red wolf is. It is clear from the short time that I’d shadowed Ryan and Chris that much of their time is spent doing muddy-boots wildlife management - literally tracking their quarry. Finding pups always gave Ryan’s mood a boost. He was happy when things seemed to be okay, because this wasn’t always the case.

Historically, wolf trappers staked traps in the earth so that a trapped animal was stuck at a single location. This made it easier for the trapper to find his quarry, but it caused a great deal of stress for the animal. Stake-trapped animals often struggle so violently against the metal clinching their legs that they severely injure themselves. By not staking their traps, and by adding features like a drag with a coil spring and swivel - which reduces the strain from the pointed prongs when it’s being dragged - the red wolf program allows a trapped animal to continue moving and to seek refuge. In theory, this makes the trapping experience less stressful, both physically and mentally, for the animals. It can also make them harder to locate. “Please take it off,” I blurted. The sight of the metal trap biting Ryan’s hand shot adrenaline up and down my spine. Even though he claimed it didn’t hurt, I still expected geysers of blood to spout at any second. Ryan paused, clearly taken aback. Then he grinned like a jester and doubled over in laughter at me. When he freed himself and slipped off the glove, a faint purple pressure mark wrapped around his fingers. He often demonstrated this to groups sans glove.

She felt sad in that moment for anyone in the world who didn’t have a mother like hers. A mother who was standing now above her quarry like a prizefighter in a swell of victory, looking slowly left and right as if to challenge with her silent stare any comers, who was looking at the windows and doorways of her neighbours’ houses through dark eyes flashing with anger and wild strength.