Myths and legends and the haunting beauty of the Colorado Rockies have always held my fascination. Maybe that little boy in me has never grown up. Every childhood should have tales of mythology and folklore that make us want to explore the unknown and seek the truth of such things. Is the story poem of the Hell Wolves below true? You decide, but I ask you to read with that childlike wonder you may have lost in years past.
My night of the Hell Wolves happened exactly 30 years ago,
Was it real or a dream—specters from the past I will never know?
My trip began with thoughts of being rich and looking for gold,
Headed to the Rockies in the autumn as this story begins to unfold.
Not the typical fall day, but full of rain, fog, and a dampening mist,
A treasure legend in my mind and an antique treasure map in my fist.
Wolves From hell chained to the entrance of a lost and ancient gold mine,
Guarding the golden nuggets within the darkness they were assigned.
Barely fed, just enough water the wolves became as mean as Hell,
Killed more than a dozen robbers or so goes the legendary tale.
Over a hundred years have passed and ghosts I did not believe,
It was an adventure and possible golden nuggets I hoped to achieve.
Before sunset I found what I was looking for—the mine of ancient lore,
Day was lost, the night closed in—not enough light to explore any more.
Mine shaft indeed – at the entrance that had the fabled vintage chains,
Most frightening were the Hell Wolves ghastly, and brittle bones remains.
It would seem that the story of the Hounds from Hell was the absolute truth,
As I pocketed one of the now decayed dead Hell Wolves sharpened tooth.
Setting camp the night, the mountain began to change—the air became cold,
Stars disappeared – then silence—no forest sounds at the goldmine threshold.
Cold night air became thick and somehow felt like an electrical charge,
Within my soul I felt the Hell Wolves shadowy ghosts roaming at large.
Panting of large canines broke the silence and were close to my proximity,
Now low menacing growls more than eerie closed into – my vicinity.
Now upon my ears the sound of padded paws circled my campsite,
Not seeing them, but the fear of the Wolves from Hell made me take flight.
Bolting for the night and my faraway jeep, heart pounding and racing,
To stay ahead of the phantom Hell Wolves that me they were chasing.
As I ran evergreen, and aspens limbs slashed my face here and there,
Wraithlike Hell Wolves closed the distance – I began to say the Lord’s Prayer.
Maybe it just the dead tooth they wanted – for I had not taken any gold,
Grabbing it from my pocket threw off my stride – tripped, fell and rolled.
Sweat pouring and chest heaving rolling onto my back I saw them near,
Spectral Hell Wolves—being torn limb to limb was now my only fear.
Throwing the tooth over the backs of the shape-shifting hounds of Hell,
Tossing the tooth the Hell Wolves in the dark their image started to dispel.
Now 30 years have passed and I look back and think about this tale,
Wondering if it really happened, and how I survived the Hounds from Hell.
Kurt James © 2019
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