The day before I met him, two wolves had attacked Rumen Ivanov's flock of 25 sheep in broad daylight, carrying away one of them while his three Karakachan dogs, specially bred to protect animals from wolves, barked, but kept a safe distance. "The dogs were scared," said Rumen. "The wolves moved in very quickly and were pretty fierce."

I was high up in the Rhodope Mountains with a group of six people and the dogs, barking ferociously, seemed a lot more interested in attacking us than watching over the flock. "They might bite you," Rumen said, "there's not a lot I can do to stop them." Armed with sticks, we managed to pass them unscathed and sat down with Rumen, a cheerful 50-year-old shepherd who seemed overjoyed to have the chance to chat with strangers from afar.

"What's it like in Sofia?" was one of the first questions he asked. The furthest he's ever travelled is to Haskovo, a town 60 kilometres away, where his daughter works as a seamstress. There is no road access to his tiny village of four families, of which he said he was the youngest occupant, and several times a week they walk two hours to the next village, which has electricity and a daily bus service. From there they buy bottled gas to light their ancient stone houses, and bread as well as anything else that they can't provide for themselves.

Rumen's only source of income is from selling lambs and sheep. The current market price for a lamb is between 20 and 30 leva, which, he complained, is too low for him to survive comfortably, though he is in need of little as they grow fruit, potatoes, various other vegetables, keep chickens to provide eggs, and have plenty of sheep and goat milk. "I love this region, and I love this life," he said. "It would be a lot easier for us without so many wolves around, and if we had electricity we wouldn't have to carry the heavy gas bottles back and forth, but otherwise we're quite comfortable here."

The village is set in an idyllic location; the small houses nestle on one side of a grassy valley above an icy stream that splashes its way through deep rock pools and cascades in waterfalls down to the river at the end of the valley. Rumen told us that he'd never really thought about moving elsewhere as he could never afford a house in a bigger village or town, and had no idea what kind of work he would do if he moved.

His daughter is a different story, like all the children of the families in his village, she moved out as soon as she could. "She had the chance to go," said Rumen, "and there was little for her to do here anyway." Some of their offspring come back for the summer to help out, but Rumen knows it's unlikely that they'll ever return for good.

Without electricity the villagers lack modern day entertainment such as television and music systems. There used to be a radio, but it broke long ago and Rumen's only request during our conversation was that we bring him a replacement the next time we come. When they have time to relax, the villagers get together to play the kaval (a wooden flute) and the accordion. Being Bulgarian Muslims, they rarely drink alcohol and besides, Rumen quipped, if they got drunk they'd soon lose all their animals.

Unlike many such villagers, the four families stay in the mountains all year round, storing food for themselves and their animals during the winter, when they have little to do and rarely travel through the deep snow to the next village. It's a time when they must be careful as the wolves' food sources are scarce and they often come into the village, presenting a great danger to both animals and humans.

As our conversation came to an end, Rumen realised that his sheep had scattered over the hillside and he enthusiastically rushed off to gather some of them for a photograph before we left him. "Good luck," he shouted from behind us, "and bring me a radio next time if you can."