Between Howls and Barks: A Night of Survival
Caught Between Wolves and Dogs at the Border of Iran and Turkey (Türkiye!!)
Tonight was storytime in Persian, as I told my five-year-old son bedtime stories to help him fall asleep. He loves scary or exciting tales, so I often weave stories around Soshyant, a fictional character I’ve been developing since I was a teenager. After a few short made-up stories, my son insisted I tell him more. That’s when I paused, remembering a story from my own life, and suggested sharing it with him instead. He agreed eagerly.
But as I told the story, he interrupted, saying, “This doesn’t sound like it’s real.” I assured him it was entirely true, but to him, it felt unbelievable.
The Story
So, what was the story?
It was winter, late 2002, perhaps around Christmas. In the mountains of western Iran, near the border with Turkey, my friends and I were traveling alongside a few strangers, trying to make our way from one village to another.
The cold was beyond harsh. The warm clothes we’d brought from the capital were no match for the biting winter in those mountains close to Mount Ararat. To stay safe, we had to walk on the ridges of the snow, like the spine of a fish—those slightly raised areas that wouldn’t collapse underfoot or swallow us into the deep snow below.
Our guide walked ahead, leading the way, while I was almost at the back of the line. It was past midnight, and the fog was so thick we couldn’t see more than a few meters ahead. The icy air was sharp in my lungs, and exhaustion clung to me like the cold itself.
Wolves
At some point, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I turned to the person ahead of me and whispered, “I need to pee.” Falling back from the group, I struggled to unzip my thick winter pants and relieved myself onto the snow. Warm steam rose into the freezing air as the snow melted beneath the stream.
That’s when I heard it: the eerie sound of wolves howling in the distance. For a moment, I thought I could see their glowing eyes in the darkness—but perhaps that was my fear playing tricks on me. In the middle of that silent, frozen night, the sound sent shivers through me. I was alone.
Panicking, I zipped up my pants hastily and ran to catch up with the group. Breathless, I told them, “A pack of wolves is following us.” The wind wasn’t in our favor—it was blowing our scent directly toward the wolves. The howling grew louder, closer, more real.
In the distance, we could finally see the faint lights of the village we were heading to. But between us and the safety of those lights was a valley we had to skirt around, which would take precious time.
The region surrounding Mount Ararat, located in eastern Turkey near the borders of Iran and Armenia, is characterized by its harsh winter conditions, with temperatures often dropping to -30°C (-22°F) and below during the coldest months.
This area is home to the gray wolf (Canis lupus), a species well-adapted to the severe climate. Gray wolves are known for their resilience and ability to thrive in diverse environments, including the rugged terrains and extreme temperatures of the Ararat region. They play a crucial role in the local ecosystem, maintaining the balance by controlling the populations of herbivores and other prey species.
In response to the presence of wolves, local communities have developed protective measures for their livestock. One notable example is the use of the Armenian Gampr, also known as the Armenian Wolfhound. This breed was historically developed by crossing domestic dogs with wolves to produce a robust guardian capable of protecting livestock from predators. The Gampr is characterized by a large head, short nose, broad chest, and muscular legs, traits that equip it to withstand the region's severe climate and defend against threats.
Additionally, traditional nomadic and semi-nomadic communities in the area often traverse the region with their flocks, accompanied by formidable Kangal dogs. These dogs are equipped with metal-spiked collars designed to protect them from wolf attacks, highlighting the ongoing presence of wolves and the measures taken to safeguard livestock.
In-Between Barks and Howls
As we approached the village, a new sound filled the air: the barking of dogs. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them, barking in unison, their voices echoing off the mountains. The guide told us grimly, “We have to move faster.”
We hurried, even as the frigid air made it hard to breathe. The wolves’ howls grew closer, but the barking dogs acted as an alarm, driving us onward. Finally, when we were near the village, I felt a strange sense of safety, as though the wolves wouldn’t dare come closer. But the dogs were no comfort either. They didn’t know us, didn’t recognize our scent, and in their eyes, we were intruders.
The guide gave strict instructions: “Do not make eye contact with the dogs. If you look at them, even for a moment, they will attack. Walk quickly and enter the first open door you see.”
As we passed by the dogs, I could feel the heat of their breath, their snarls echoing in my ears. It felt as though one of them might leap at my face any second. Somehow, none of us looked directly at them, and we managed to slip into a small mud-brick house. As the door shut behind us, the barking finally faded.
We were safe, at least for that night.
The reason we had to make that journey? The villagers in the previous town had tipped off border guards that we were hiding in someone’s home. Our host, terrified of being caught, had forced us out in the middle of the night, leaving us with no choice but to trek to the next village. That night in the mud-brick house wasn’t peaceful either. There was a bitter argument among some of the group, tempers flaring from the hardship of the journey and the weight of fear.
92 Days
This was just one night out of the 92 days we spent in those mountains, navigating the harsh terrain between Iran and Turkey, trying to find a way to cross the border and leave the country.
My son, however, didn’t believe a word of it.
He often believes my made-up stories, and I have to assure him they aren’t real. But tonight, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince him that this tale wasn’t imaginary.
One day, when he’s older, perhaps he’ll understand that the stories I tell are not just tales, but echoes of a life lived on the edge of survival and belief. For now, though, I’m content to let him wonder.
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Thank you for reading!
Cordially,
Sajad