The wolf in Manawolf

Mana

I met Mana at Skookumchuck Hot Springs, on the banks of the Lillooet River in British Columbia, on my first trip north to pick up a Delica pop-top van. She ran with a wild pack of wolf-dog mixes, thin but beautiful. Over several days of camping I fed her, a little closer each time, and on the final day she finally ate from my hand. A local woman had joked that I should take one of them home. That was the day I knew we were meant to be together. For twelve years we traveled all of western North America and Hawaiʻi: road trips through Alaska, first-class flights to the islands, and everything in between. She was mostly wolf, probably Vancouver Island wolf, and she knew it. She would observe dogs rather than be one. One −15°F morning in Idaho, she refused to come back into the van and lay in the snow for an hour, happy as could be.

She rode in the bow of every canoe, slept in every van, and found the best spot on every beach from the Gulf Islands to the North Shore. The studio, the Instagram and this site all carry her name.

The gallery

A few favourites from hundreds of photos and clips.