Chattanooga Days: The wolves of Lookout Valley

He wasn't looking at me, just looking through me

When their handler arrived, the wolves of Lookout Valley ceased any activity unrelated to food. The man flung hunks of meat over the fence, easily snared by the red wolves. They dashed for the chunks, eating hungrily then turning up their heads for more servings.

If the handler tried to feed them by entering their enclosure, they would grow aggressive, he noted. They know what the fence means, he said, and understood his role when he stood outside the chain-link.

Ears perk at sounds from the staff areas

These active wolves could have been more different from their appearance when we last visited. On a 90-degree May afternoon in 2014, the wolves barely moved from the shade, only adjusting to move out of view. On this Saturday, they sparred with their penmates for prime sitting spots and traipsed through a dense carpet of dead leaves.

At least five red wolves roamed three enclosures. Before his arrival, the wolves darted and sniffed, stopping everything anytime noise rattled from the employee areas behind their enclosures. Any noise from the feeding area would break their concentration.

The rare red wolves

Reflection Riding Arboretum and Nature Center is a captive breeding site for red wolves, one of the Southeast’s most endangered predators. Only 400 of the swamp-dwelling wolves remain, and wild populations only reside in eastern North Carolina’s Albemarle Peninsula. At first glance, they resemble large coyotes with redder fur. Even their handler said that through a scope, discerning between the two species can be a challenge.

Up close, they have the regal bearing of the larger gray wolves. While we can pull out many behaviors and traits seen in dogs, the wolves’ divergence from man’s best friend rises in every glance. If you lock eyes with one of these wolves, they look through you, perhaps probing for escape routes. Even with a few dozen people observing them, their focus lies elsewhere. In their habitat, these canids don’t want or need man.

Red wolves were wiped out by settlers and in the 20th had their remaining territory overtaken by the versatile coyotes. Watching the wolves in the arboretum, I wondered if they knew the rarity of their species. The odds don’t favor them regaining much of their old range because of the coyotes, failed reintroduction in Great Smoky Mountain National Park and concerns about interbreeding with coyotes. Gunshots remain the most common cause of death for red wolves in the wild. Also, the latest federal budget proposal would eliminate the recovery program, which doesn’t bode well.

During wolf feedings, this guy gets second billing

Along with the red wolves, the native animal exhibit houses a full aviary of birds unsuited to rer-elease (bald eagle, two sandhill cranes, great horned owl, red-tailed hawk, American crow, vulture) and a rambunctious bobcat. Displays in the nature center protect snakes and amphibians. I had to pose from the life-sized bald eagle’s next, large enough to fit three or four people comfortably.

Persimmons!

The arboretum benefits from its location, wedged between Lookout Creek and the valley that rises to Lookout Mountain’s foothills. A series of boardwalks cross a seasonal swamp along Lookout Creek. While we didn’t paddle, the creek’s lazy current and turquoise waters are open for canoes and kayaks.

The patches of forest and collections of trees and flowering plants Reflection Riding preserves was covered in soldiers 150 years ago, during the Battle of Chattanooga. Before that, the old Cisca Trail crossed near Reflection Riding. This trading route extended from St. Augustine, Florida to Manchester’s Old Stone Fort or to trails further west such as the Natchez Trace. Candy Flats might conjure images of whimsy, but the meadow bears the name of a Union colonel whose troops camped there, Lookout Mountain looming above them.

Out in the pastures and forests of Reflection Riding, Lookout Mountain could not be ignored. We hiked it once and would not on this day, but its presence never abated. The topography of Reflection Riding bled into Lookout Mountain, as its plains, copses and ponds gave way to forested foothills.

The roads of Reflection Riding felt like 19th century carriage roads. Only two cars passed, as well as several runners and horse riders. We could have strolled some anonymous country lane.

We looped down to Lookout Creek, dead trees poking through blue pools. The whole river moved slowly, its currents only given away by dead leaves barely coasting toward the Tennessee River.

Lookout Creek, the arboretum's border

We had wandered the arboretum roads for nearly three hours after the wolf feeding, and could have stayed until dark. The atmosphere below Lookout Mountain was relaxing, especially along Candy Flats and the small ponds sprinkled on the grounds. Nancy reveled at the site of persimmon trees across the arboretum that still bore fruit, albeit on branches too high for retrieval.
 
After the arboretum, we embarked on a drive around the concealed streets of the North Shore, skirting our August rental and realizing the house was just a block from a crossroads of new restaurants and bars. Our arboretum afternoon precluded a trip to the aquarium or the Hunter Museum of Art, two long-discussed destinations we’ve yet to visit together.

Our closest place to a regular bar

We found ourselves back on the patio at Mike’s Hole in the Wall, our closest place to a regular bar. Actual hole-in-the-wall bars might take issue with the unpretentious bar’s name. The usual cadre of demonstrative college football fans glued themselves to the televisions as people with dogs crowded in. A minute later and we would not have gotten a table.

Southwest egg rolls and burgers were a necessity with our drinks. The patio was packed and we gave part of our party table to three women we later dubbed the Rough Drunk Mindys, who Nancy named after her friend who only shared a hair color with the three women. They babbled in their own language and checked their phones constantly. We left when the Rough Drunk Mindys occupied the other seats at our table. Sure, we had seats to spare and offered them, but we couldn’t escape their heavy makeup, cigarettes and hair curled just before visiting bar whose name includes Hole in the Wall.

At twilight we found ourselves back on Frazier Avenue. A few restaurants piqued our interest but ultimately there was no choice. While we already had our dinner fix at Mike’s, we could not miss a stop at Terra Nostra, where we nestled at the bar for wines, desserts (cheesecake and flan) and coffee drinks.

Down in Coolidge Park, below the electric snowflakes seeming to fall upon the river, we took our regular spin on the park’s124-year-old carousel, a necessary tradition no matter how many children run around its building. On this Saturday, there were dozens of kids, with parents shoving singles into the ticket machine to fund repeat rides. We took our three-minute spin on the carousel, then adjourned into Coolidge Park.

The jumping-off point for our walk home was Base Camp Chattanooga, a beer bar at the end of Frasier Avenue’s commercial block. Chattanooga has many drinking parlors that solely serve beer and cider. The town has a handful of breweries – leaving Reflection Riding, we passed Moccasin Bend Brewing’s new storefront taproom, a major step up from their previous basement/backyard setup. At the junction of Tennessee, Georgia and Alabama (and only 90 miles from North Carolina), the town augments its own brewers with ample nearby pours. In the past year, every bar seems to pour at least one beer from Hutton and Smith, which has some tasty everyday beers.

From the Basecamp’s patio, we had full view of the electric snowflakes falling while everyone else huddled around the portable heaters. Southerners in the cold always crack me up, even if the chill not as mild in late autumn.

The previous night

The same gray and white cat from Friday watched us. This night he never left the porch, rubbing his head vigorously against the porch steps and walls. He had no intention of leaving for the possibility of more petting.

The final walk back always turns bittersweet. The hated drive home leaves us ready to leave. Unless we have plans with my parents on our final morning, we pack and depart. Most of the places we prefer to stop for a final coffee drink or dessert never open on Sunday. We just enjoyed our temporary home. Short-term rentals are more conducive than many hotel rooms to relaxing after a long day.

We’ll stay again, with a different roof and street almost certain to host us. In turn, Chattanooga will spring another surprise – a good meal, a tasty beer or a view we had not yet contemplated. We would pass the streets of Chattanooga again, probably different street and a different cat. No matter where that street falls on Chattanooga map, the walk will quickly feel familiar.

Looking up at Lookout Mountain from Candy Flats