The moon had risen again, still round and bright, providing just the right ambiance for the wolves to sing by. Their distant howls rent the air and made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. The wind had come around to blow out of the south, bringing with it a warm moist air, but it was from the wrong direction to provide any telltale odors that would give any indication that we were drawing nearer to our quarry. The gusting breezes shook the tree branches making it more difficult to distinguish sounds from one another. Still, there was nothing to do except to put one foot in front of the other and hope that we would not go from being the hunters to the hunted. We were grateful for the night’s deep shadows. Since we suspected we were quite close to Snow Leopard and his group, we evaded the moonlight, slipping from one puddle of darkness to the next. As we came to an open spot in the path, we paused for a drink of water and to rest for a moment. We had not spoken or eaten in some time. Puh broke out his nearly empty food bag and gave Black Wolf and me a little dried meat and a few shelled nuts that he found rolling around at the bottom of the sack. As I ate, I rubbed at my burning eyes; they ached from staring so hard at the darkness and from being awake for so long, but the salt from the sweat on my hands made my eyes burn even more.
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…I could clearly view the huge animal from my vantage point by a large tree. It was snuffling and snorting as it noisily grazed, its tail in constant motion, swishing back and forth in a fruitless attempt to keep the ever-present flies from alighting on its rump. Given that the audible signs of the rhino’s digestion process were clearly heard by all, I did not envy the flies their proximity to the creature’s hind end. Black Wolf seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
“Listen to that!” he quietly exclaimed at yet another burst of flatulence. “I will not be standing at the rear of our intended victim during this hunt! That rhino sounds as though he will be ready to let loose his bowels at any moment!”
We could not restrain small grins at the memory of last winter’s woolly mammoth kill, when poor Black Wolf had been knocked off his feet by a heavy blast of mammoth excrement. Just then, the rhino turned its head and faced in our direction, its enormous forehorn much in evidence.
“By all means, Black Wolf,” Bror whispered, “you are most welcome to the front if you so choose.”
Seth Chagi, the Founder and Project Director of World of Paleoanthropology, has made it his mission to to engage his fellow humans in the utterly fascinating past we all share.
I discovered World of Paleoanthropology while I was conducting research to help flesh out the backstory of my Ice Age Era book series. The long tale included several lineages of ancient humans and I wanted the characters to be as accurate as current science allowed.
As it happens, paleoanthropology is a rapidly growing field. The 8+ years during which I wrote my books saw many discoveries, revisions, and total debunkings. Often, it is difficult to find up-to-date information due to the fact that it takes years to write a book and have it published, it can take many months to get a scientific paper published, and television-type documentaries and scientific programs can also be woefully behind the times by the time they reach the public.
World of Paleoanthropology solves this problem by going to the experts and speaking with them, thus we are given the valuable opportunity to hear the most current information from those who are at the forefront of their field.
I consider myself to be more of a writer than an artist, so I have been pleasantly surprised at the interest garnered by my books’ illustrations.
It all started when I was a small child. At the time, I was struck with an overpowering urge to put down the stories that were clamoring around in my head, but rather inconveniently, I didn’t actually know how to spell many words. This presented something of a conundrum for a fledgling author. I solved this problem by telling my tales with pictures that were accompanied by succinct captions.
As time passed, my writing progressed through various stages until at long last, it was of sufficient quality to make my living. However, I was left with very little time to indulge in creating artwork. Now that I’m trying to exercise my artistic muscles again, I feel an acute lack of practice! I’m planning to add a few more children’s books to the roster, so it appears I’ll have ample opportunity to brush-up on my artistic skills!
Here is a sampling, including a few of the frontispieces, pictures from the Ice Age Animal Index that appears at the back of each volume in the 8-book series, and several illustrations from thechildren’s book, KAW. (The Header image is also from KAW.)
PS: If you like Dreamer Book’s original artwork, you can find some of it on our Merch! See a selection of tees, hoodies, tote bags, mugs, and more HERE!
Illustration from KAW
Frontispiece from The Cave of Bones (colorized).European cave lion (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Detail from The People of the Wolves frontispiece (colorized)Reindeer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Lynx (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Illustration from KAWRoe deer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Illustration from KAWEurasian wolf (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Woolly mammoth (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Interview with Seth Chagi (World of Paleoanthropology): Additional Commentary
My early childhood home was a traditional New England-style house that was said to have been floated on barrels across Cape Cod Bay in 1780. It boggles the mind to consider how difficult it must have been to keep a very non-aero or hydrodynamically efficient two-story house on course as it made the voyage from Boston to Brewster. I’m sure the rafted structure was towed by a ship, but Holy Heck- that’s a lot of open water! If the wind blew up they might’ve become residents of a completely different town than the one where they had planned to reside.
Upon reaching the beach, they likely used teams of horses and large wooden rollers to bring the home to its final destination, where it still stands. The house was added-on to many times throughout the centuries and the property was made into a working farm. Oh, if only buildings could talk- the stories this house could tell! It was no longer a farm when my family lived there; just rambling old home on a narrow country road. My grandparents and various aunts and uncles lived with us at times, making it was a bright and lively place where we made many happy memories.
Cape Cod television reception was almost nil in those days, so we had to entertain ourselves the old-fashioned way- reading, crafts, playing music, and such. My parents probably thanked goodness that none of us was attempting to learn the bagpipes. Endless renditions of “I love coffee, I love tea” on the piano and “Mary had a little lamb” on the violin were bad enough! (My sister went on to become a very skilled violinist, eventually becoming 2nd violin with the Cape Cod Symphony.)
Some of my earliest memories were of walking in the woods with my father. He was an avid an outdoorsman; people sometimes said that if they ever fetched up on an uninhabited island and had to choose someone to take with them, they would pick him. Walking through any wild habitat with Dad was not at hurried process. We stopped and looked at things. He’d tell me all about them and what they could be used for. He taught me to observe, to listen; to watch the sky and the behavior of the animals around me. I also learned to look at the outdoors as nature’s grocery store. If you knew where to look and what you were looking at, you wouldn’t go hungry. (These days I find myself doing these same things with my grandchildren.)
Photo credit E. A. Meigs
I was an unusual child. I had friends but I often spent time on my own, just wandering the woodlands and marshes that surrounded our home and the nearby beaches. I knew the locations of several springs where I could get a refreshing drink anytime I was thirsty. I built crude little huts, using saplings and thick brush as the basis for my frame and weaving pieces deadwood throughout to make the walls. I often spent time gazing upon nature, mentally taking notes of observations that would later pepper my writings. Even as a youngster, I was already jotting down stories and drawing pictures to illustrate them. I also collected samples during my wanderings. My mother told me that when doing laundry, the pockets of my clothing often revealed unexpected surprises: rocks, pinecones, acorns, feathers, bugs, worms, and other fun finds enlivened an otherwise mundane laundry day.
I was nine or ten years old when I decided to make a tent of sorts from a tarp, using bits of rope, and clothespins, and using sharpened sticks for stakes. I erected this shabby structure on a bit of land just across the stream from our house, where it fit comfortably in a small clearing amid a stand of trees. I borrowed an unused strip of carpet for the floor. Over time, I gradually built up a decent camping kit. Eventually I was given an old but sturdy canvas tent that served me well until a sizeable family of mice set up housekeeping in it while it was packed away for the winter. In the spring I discovered my poor tent had a lot more ventilation than its original design intended. However, by then my afterschool job was paying enough that I could finally purchase a modern nylon tent. Little did I know, this perky blue and yellow 5′ x 7′ pup-tent, my backpack, and assemblage of camping gear would occasionally house and sustain me in the years when I was first out on my own. Rentals could be hard to come by and very expensive, so when I had no place to go, I lived in the woods.
I loved boondocking – that is – just camping in the woods, as opposed to in a campground. In fact, I’m not very fond of campgrounds but I will sometimes stay in them during the off-season. I was fortunate that we had no poisonous snakes or large predators and I could enjoy the wildlife without much concern. The worst thing I might run into was a skunk. Now that I’ve worked for an employer like Fish and Wildlife and seen gruesomely graphic photographs and read the reports of the aftermath of grizzly bear attacks, etc., I am much more aware of the potential hazards. Some folks don’t seem to mind tent camping in bear country, but having seen half-eaten remains, I would only do it in a hard-sided RV. Motivated bears can get into almost anything, but at least an RV gives you a chance to start up the engine and drive away and thus oblige them to run for their dinner.
And that’s it for this entry. I’ll be adding more blogs to go with the Story of Us! podcast.
Be sure to check out World of Paleoanthropology for interviews, articles, book reviews, and much more! It is a veritable goldmine of paleoanthropological information!
To learn more about Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga check out these pages!
The Dreamer: Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
