Jean Craighead George's Newbery acceptance speech
In Mount McKinley National Park we found Gordon Haber cutting wood beside his cabin at Sanctuary River. Jays sang around him, and ground squirrels watched him, for Gordon was part of the ecology. He had spent three summers with the wolves and was preparing for his second winter. When I explained that I was in Alaska to write about wolves, he took Luke and me to watch a pack at their summer den.
For ten days we lay on our bellies, peering through a spotting scope and binoculars at these remarkable beasts. We saw the black alpha awaken, saw his pack nuzzle him under the chin ceremoniously, heard him open the hunt song with a solo. When all were alert, he would swing through the willows, his huntsmen at his heels, to test their crop of moose and caribou for harvesting. We never witnessed a kill, but we saw the ravens hover over kills and the hunters return home as fat as barrels to regurgitate food for their pups. We watched the puppies play bone ball, tug o’war, 'jump on the babysitter'; and we became wholly involved in wolves. Luke, who had come to Alaska to fish, never strung up his rod again.
One dawn we joined Haber on a trip to the deserted nursery den of his pack. We hiked through bog, sphagnum moss, and over the tundra to a remote valley. Pushing our way through tangled willows, we climbed to a bluff high above the river. There in a layer of white sand was the birthing den, a generous tunnel dug into the earth. It was topped with flowers and set beneath a small garden of twisted spruce. The entire home expressed family love. A play yard was worn in front of the den. Around it were the large saucer-like beds of adults. I could envision them watching the tumbling pups, grins on their faces.
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