What wolf packs can teach us about leadership | Oliver Starr | TEDxSHSU

>> In 1992, I was attacked by a wolf I had raised and loved. His name was Jake, a wild-born wolf seized by Colorado Parks and Wildlife when they intercepted an illegal release The rest of the wolves went back to British Columbia, but

Jake had spent too much time close to people. He couldn't be returned to the wild, so they gave him to me. I'm Oliver Starr, the founder and executive director of the Tahoe Wolf Center, and I've spent the last 35 years

living and working with wolves. Jake was my first wild wolf. We had a rare bond. He rode in the truck, walked on a leash. He even came when I We spent thousands of hours

together. I thought our trust was unbreakable. one frigid afternoon when I lost it all. But what hurt worse than the injuries was the realization that frustrated, angry, and aggressive, I'd become the wrong wolf.

The truth is I was always that guy, the stereotypical alpha, a relentless competitor obsessed with being right and winning at any cost. I believed in the saying let them hate so long as they fear.

I was quick to anger, slow to forgive, convinced I had to control Exactly the wrong kind of leader for wolves and people. Can any of you relate? This is the story of how I failed as a

and what wolves can teach us about getting it right. We were deep in the Colorado back country, me, Jake, his mate Jessa, and my girlfriend Leah taking photos of the wolves for a wildlife magazine. The sun was low, the temperature dropped fast.

We were tired and cold. Jake was leashed, Jessa was loose, scampering about playfully refusing to be caught. I worried she'd run ahead to a small mountain highway. I was impatient, annoyed.

Jessa thought it was a game, but I wasn't playing. As she darted past again, I pounced. Jessa squealed as I grabbed her roughly by the That's when Jake attacked. He thought I was hurting his mate.

The onslaught was so sudden and savage, I barely knew what happened. Then the pain exploded like being struck by lightning. I left my body. Part of me fought the wolf, a life-or-death contest I

knew I was losing. Another hovered above, a drone's-eye view of an epic battle, and a third strangely narrated calm, cool, and dispassionate, like a scientist. "He's much stronger than you expected, isn't he?" >> Leah was

screaming, "What do I do?" The scientist answered, "Grab him by the She did, and Jake let go. Bleeding, freezing, my arms and hands mangled, I somehow staggered the 2 miles back to the truck. In the ER, I remember hearing one word.

"Your arm," the doctor said, illuminating the x-ray, "is completely We don't even know which bones go I begged them for another way. They shot me up with morphine and sent me to another hospital hours down the road, the one place that

could possibly save my arm. In shock, fading in and out of consciousness during that endless ride, one thought haunted me. My work with wolves was over. These were life-changing, career-ending injuries, save for the work of

extraordinary surgeons. 37 fractures, every finger broken, a shredded bicep, more rods and pins than an engine to put things back together. But the most devastating injury wasn't It was a realization that I was the wrong wolf.

I'd lost my composure, let anger lead, and destroyed a relationship that had taken years to build. I failed Jake. He never trusted me I failed myself. I failed as a leader.