The Wolf Returns to Normandy, Howling Near Mont-Saint-Michel
Long thought extinct in France, the wolf has returned to Normandy, prowling near Mont-Saint-Michel and stirring echoes of ancient legends, childhood fears, and the untamed wild reclaiming its place.
It started with a whisper, a fleeting rumour that spread like wildfire.
A shadow moving through the Normandy countryside.
A ghost from the past, prowling near the Bay of Mont-Saint-Michel.
Le loup—yes, the wolf—had returned.
Official reports soon confirmed it: a lone wolf had been spotted in the Orne and the Manche départements.
At first, it sounded almost unbelievable, the kind of news you’d dismiss as a misidentification—surely a large dog, perhaps a stray.
But then came the undeniable proof: livestock attacks, telltale bite marks, and autopsies confirming the work of Canis lupus.
And just like that, the wolf once thought banished from this land, was back.
The Expansion of the Wolf Across France
Of course, for those who have followed the slow, creeping return of wolves to France, this was just the next step in a much larger story.
The Vosges, the Jura, the Massif Central—all have seen wolves reclaim their place.
The Alps, naturally, have long been a stronghold.
In the village where we once lived, perched high in the Tarentaise valley, everyone knew the wolves were up there.
But back then, they were elusive.
A whisper in the night.
A flash of fur vanishing between the trees.
You had to be incredibly lucky—or unlucky—to catch sight of one.
People would find paw prints in the snow, and hear distant howls at dusk, and yet, the creatures remained spectral figures, slipping away before anyone could lay eyes on them.
They belonged more to folklore than to reality.
Carine from the village had confided in us seven years ago that she longed to capture a photo of a wolf on the high slopes above the village.
It was a dream she never thought would come true.
That’s changing now.
These days, people are discovering that wolves venture much closer in winter, drawn by the easy pickings of domesticated animals.
Farmers report seeing their silhouettes at the edge of their pastures at dawn.
Hunters, who once dismissed them as myths, now catch them on their trail cameras.
And then, of course, there are the first-hand encounters.
Take our friend Marylène, for example.
She was out hiking with some friends, enjoying a picnic break at 2,000 metres altitude when someone in the group suddenly froze and whispered:
Don’t move. There’s a wolf behind you.
Marylène, naturally, did not move.
And her friends, being the good friends they are, immediately took a photo.
The wolf, curious but calm, soon melted back into the landscape.
A fleeting moment—one that sent shivers down the spine of the entire village when the photo made the rounds.
But not all encounters end so peacefully.
Some shepherds have found carcasses torn apart in the night.
Others wake to the sound of alarmed barking, their Patous chasing shadows in the darkness.
It’s no longer a question of whether wolves are back—it’s a matter of how deeply they will entrench themselves in these lands they once ruled.
The Threat to Livestock and the Role of the Patou
But while some encounters are thrilling, others are less poetic.
Carole, who runs Tarentasia - Les Crinières de Lait, worries for her horses.
And with good reason.
Even her powerful Comtois mares, massive creatures bred for strength and endurance, are not immune to a wolf attack.
She’s seen it happen elsewhere.
This is why, in many villages, shepherds and farmers rely on the Patou, or Great Pyrenees dog.
A mountain guardian, bred specifically to protect flocks from predators.
Unlike a herding dog, which moves sheep from place to place, the Patou is a defender, a living fortress against the encroaching wilderness.
They bond with their flocks from birth, becoming a part of the herd, and they won’t hesitate to put themselves between a wolf and their charges.
If you’ve ever met one, you’ll know—they are affectionate giants with their humans but incredibly intimidating to anything they perceive as a threat.
But Where Are These Wolves Coming From?
This resurgence is no accident.
These wolves, which first returned to France in the 1990s, hail from Italy.
More specifically, they belong to Canis lupus italicus, a slightly smaller subspecies than the Canis lupus lupus that once roamed France in great numbers.
Over the decades, as they pushed north from the Apennines, their numbers grew.
They adapted, learning to navigate a landscape that had been reshaped by human expansion, moving discreetly through forests and avoiding populated areas.
The spread has been remarkable.
Wolves first established themselves in the Alps, where mountainous terrain and an abundance of prey allowed them to thrive.
From there, they expanded into the Jura, the Vosges, and the Massif Central, reclaiming ancient hunting grounds one by one.
Their ability to travel vast distances is astonishing—lone-dispersing wolves have been known to cover hundreds of kilometres in search of new territories.
Some individuals have even been tracked crossing rivers and highways, undeterred by human obstacles.
Now, France is home to over a thousand wolves, and they continue to spread into new territories.
The wolf's resurgence has been both a conservation success story and a source of deep controversy, as farmers, ecologists, and policymakers debate how to balance species protection with the realities of rural life.
The Wolf in the French Imagination
For centuries, the wolf was the villain in French folklore.
From Le Petit Chaperon Rouge to La Chèvre de Monsieur Seguin, the wolf was cast as the dark force lurking at the edge of civilisation.
It symbolised danger, cunning, and the untamed wilderness, a creature to be feared and eradicated.
Children grew up with tales of its treachery, stories designed to keep them away from the woods after dark.
And for a long time, that fear had consequences.
By the late 19th century, France declared an all-out war on the species.
Louveteries—elite wolf-hunting squads—were established. Bounties were placed.
Entire villages participated in hunts, eager to rid their lands of the supposed menace.
Poisoned carcasses were scattered across the countryside, and traps designed to snap a wolf’s limbs shut in an instant were set along forest paths.
The wolf was no longer a mere antagonist in bedtime stories—it was the enemy of progress, an obstacle to a world dominated by humans.
By the 1930s, the last wolves had been exterminated.
It was over.
The forests fell silent, their shadows no longer hiding the flicker of yellow eyes.
The menace had been conquered, or so people thought.
But nature has a way of reclaiming lost ground.
And the wolf, as history has proven time and again, is a creature of resilience.
So, What Now?
The wolf is back, and it isn’t going anywhere.
With its return comes the inevitable clash: conservationists who champion its presence, farmers who see their livelihoods threatened, and the general public—some enthralled, others unnerved.
And now, an interesting question emerges: will the wolf, having returned to Normandy, go one step further?
Could it—dare I say it—cross the Channel?
Because let’s be honest: Britain has a lot of sheep.
And if history has taught us anything, it’s that where there are sheep, sooner or later, the wolf follows.
One thing is certain: this story is far from over.