Nestled among dense woodlands in the mountains of Nara Prefecture, a region steeped in ancient myths and legends, the sleepy village of Higashiyoshino is known for its famed Yoshino-brand cedar.
Beautifully weathered traditional Japanese-style homes lining its main street invite a visitor to hark back to the logging community’s olden days.
The alleys were empty and shops were closed during a weekend trip in January to the settlement of around 1,600 residents. Everything was quiet, save the gentle trickle of the Takami River and the occasional chirping of birds.
Close to the banks of the stream, along Route 16, a road that winds around the steep mountainside, stands a life-sized statue of a wolf. It was near here, at an inn in the district of Washikaguchi, that American zoologist Malcolm Playfair Anderson purchased the carcass of the last known Japanese wolf.
Its head tilted back and mouth open as if to emit a mournful cry, the bronze statue stands as testament to the cruel fate that the beast endured before its supposed extinction in 1905.
Piling on when a combination of canine rabies and distemper epidemics had diminished the packs, humans — who had for previous centuries worshipped the wolf as sacred — turned on the species and hunted down the survivors.
The nation’s wilderness lost its apex predator, leaving its ecological landscape permanently altered.
Hogetsuro, the inn Anderson stayed at, is gone. The mountains that once were home to a healthy population wolves no longer hear the primal howl that echoed across its hills and valleys.
Peering into the vast forests that still dominate the terrain, however, one can’t help but imagine the beast still prowling in its shadows, silently stalking its prey.
Near the statue is a time-worn stone monument that bears a simple haiku.
“The wolf has perished,” it reads. “Its spirit lives on.”
