3 Among the Wolves Page 12

  As summer progressed, their bodies gradually lost their “baby” look. The pups attempted to explore by themselves, but a pack mate always returned them to the site. Still strictly supervised, the brothers were not allowed to wander. These pups were the pack’s most precious possessions, and were still too young to defend themselves against predators.

  Steady fifteen-mile-per-hour winds swept the ridges in the last few days of July, carrying the scent of prey to the wolves standing watch from the ridge top. The pack usually hunted every day, but occasionally they would miss a day or two, especially after they killed a large animal such as a moose.

  Watching the pack drag home the remains of a moose reminded us of the danger inherent in what these smaller predators must do to survive. Although wolves possess daring and fast reaction time, one swipe of a moose hoof can crack a wolf’s jaw or skull. A broken jaw easily renders a wolf incapable of hunting and eating, thus possibly dooming it to a slow and agonizing death.

  One day Beta returned after an apparently unsuccessful family hunt, limping heavily on a cut right front paw. He lay at the rendezvous site licking the wound. The rest of the family gathered around him. After Klondike watched closely for a few minutes, she nudged Beta’s muzzle and then licked the wound. Mother caressed Beta’s face with long, tender strokes. Yukon took the pups off to play close to the old den, probably to prevent them from mobbing Beta. Denali, who usually showed the least emotion of all the wolves (except around the time of a hunt), sat beside Beta and whimpered sympathetically. It was an astonishing moment: wolves seeming to act exactly like humans.

  A few minutes later, Klondike stopped licking her pack mate’s wound. Beta stood and walked a few steps, but the injury was too painful and he lay down again. We wondered if he had been kicked when charging a large animal. For the rest of the day, the family stayed close to him. We were moved by the genuine caring the wolves displayed which contrasted sharply with their reputation as ruthless killers.

  The scent of prey carries to the wolves, who watch from the ridgetop.

  The dignified Beta always acted as if respect for his seniority was his to enjoy without question. During the next week he stayed home sunning himself or sleeping in the shade while the pack hunted. The teenagers kept the pups occupied.

  Only once did the pups attempt to tease Beta into playing. At his first annoyed yip, Klondike raced to his side and escorted the mischievous brothers away for a game of chase. They raced back and forth, swerving and dodging through the nearby trees until both teen and pups collapsed from their exertion.

  After each successful hunt, one of the hunters, usually Denali or Omega, placed food before Beta. Omega even dropped his shy cloak to sit beside Beta while he ate, as if to make sure the meal was sufficient for his superior.

  That night after dinner, as Bill and I reflected on Beta’s injury and the pack’s strong family ties and loyalty, I realized that the wolves had become a vital part of our existence. Their unfailing devotion to each other had flowed into our own lives to make us pause and consider our human attitudes. In the quiet of the valleys and mountains surrounding us, it was easy to think and care like a wolf and to at least begin to see life as they saw it. In the far-off bustle of our other life, would we lose some of what we had learned from these wolves?

  “We’ve learned more from these animals than we ever expected,” Bill said. “Wise old Beta has a lot to teach us.”

  Beta stopped limping after a week of rest and appeared to have recovered. We were relieved: A permanently injured wolf has little chance of survival, especially in a climate that demands aggressive hunting in winters so harsh that even many healthy animals live on the brink. Beta occasionally rejoined the hunts, but as summer progressed he spent most of his days teaching, escorting, and watching the pups.

  The first crisp days of August brought a frosty sparkle of autumn to signal the end of mosquito season. Early-morning breezes chilled the tips of our noses while our fingers sought the warm comfort of gloves. The twenty-four hours of daylight were fading into increasing hours of darkness, and daily temperatures hovered in the 30s. Yellow and red glowed through the summer green of willows and tundra plants. The wolves’ coats visibly thickened as they prepared to meet the bitter cold of a long, dark winter. All the birds disappeared, leaving to spend winter in warmer climates, except for the exasperating ravens.

  By now we had considerably deepened our appreciation of the wolves’ distinct personalities. Mother, elegant and feminine, remained the most impatient member of the family. She was the boss and strict disciplinarian. Even Alpha dared not cross her, especially when the pups were very young and she spent most of her time with them at the den. But although sometimes sharp with the adults, Mother was always tender and patient with the pups. She frequently licked each one from head to tail until satisfied they were clean.

  After the pups moved to the rendezvous site, though, she hunted more frequently and visibly mellowed. She still scolded the teenagers when they wrestled too close to her or if they had the brashness to step forward and attempt to eat before she did. The teens soon learned to behave in her presence when her mood turned dark.

  Cleanliness was important to Mother. A fastidious groomer, she spent more time cleaning her paws in the stream after a meal than any other wolf. She even dunked her head into the water to remove any trace of blood from her jaws and face.

  Dominant Alpha demanded respect from everyone except Mother, for whom his adoration never waned. Although as family head Alpha was respected, his was not a harsh rule. While his authority was firm, he was also the biggest clown at game time.

  When the pups were confined to the den immediately after birth, Alpha took food to Mother. He later left an abundant supply outside the entrance just for her. No matter how mouth-watering the morsels might have seemed to the other wolves, Alpha’s stern countenance persuaded others never to touch her food. Whenever she emerged from the den to eat and to clean herself, Alpha stood watch, as if basking in her approval of the meal he had provided. The only time he relinquished leadership of the pack was during a hunt, when he passed the role to Denali.

  Denali led the hunts with unwavering authority, always the first to charge prey. His athletic form flowed across the unstable tundra mounds with the grace of a ballet dancer. When he leaped on small prey, it was with a natural elegance enhanced by his long, sleek body and luxurious coat. He spent much of his time on the nearby ridges watching for prey. When he gathered the group before a hunt, he ran to each of the wolves in turn, licking their muzzles as if to inspire them. He often displayed allegiance to Alpha before a hunt by gently rubbing against Alpha’s shoulder with his own. Then Denali would set off with head and ears thrust forward, leading the rest.

  When not hunting, Denali blended into the pack as a mellow member. On hot days, not only would he lie in the stream shallows with the other wolves, but he would often go one step further and roll in the water.

  Beta, an experienced senior, disciplined the teenagers whenever they disobeyed rules. He never allowed them to disrespect others, and when their play became too rough, he always stepped in to call a halt. He would stand over them and force them to grovel on their backs, then walk away. Until he returned to signal them to rise, they would remain motionless on the ground. They resumed play only after confirming that Beta had forgiven them.

  If the pups strayed, Beta would either carry them home or usher them back by pushing them on their little gray rears. In the spring he had often taken Yukon and Klondike on short hunts, but as they matured and joined the adults, he devoted his full attention to the pups’ schooling.

  Omega still remained on the edge of the pack, but now he often joined games. He played gently and was as quick as lightning as he darted and spun, leaving playmates grasping at air. Although always the last to eat, he became bolder as the summer progressed. His role of scapegoat became less of a burden. He no longer automatically cowered submissively when a superior approached, although he cont
inued to display caution around Alpha, who occasionally nipped him when he approached too soon at mealtimes. We wondered if he kept to the edge of family life and had taken on the role of omega due to his shyness. He took longer than the rest to fully accept Charlie, and even longer to accept Bill and me. But by August, he had dropped his suspicion of us.

  Even though the rapidly maturing teens’ hunting responsibilities had increased over the summer, Klondike and Yukon remained high-spirited and full of fun and energy, always looking for a game. When they tired of teasing each other, they went in search of an adult who was willing to play chase. A favorite joke on a hot day was to race at top speed through the stream just as another wolf bent to drink. The thoroughly doused victim often joined them. After they had spent the last of their energy, they flopped down to enjoy the cool water.

  When not hunting, the teens at first joined Beta in pup-sitting chores. They not only played with the brothers but also kept them close to the den. Later, after the pups moved to the rendezvous site, Beta sometimes rested from his teaching duties. Then the teens accompanied the pups on short sojourns through the spruce trees to a meadow flanked by sheer rock walls, where a few noisy ravens nested in crevices. An abundant lemming population lived in burrows beneath this carpet of moss, which would become a perfect place for the young wolves to learn to hunt.

  The pups displayed separate temperaments as they matured. One was clearly more dominant, even to the extent of sometimes baring tiny white teeth in his fiercest growl, while his brother was the clown, racing around in blissful happiness.

  As they grew, their boldness reached impressive levels. They stalked Klondike and Yukon and, at just the right moment, pounced and grabbed the teens’ tails and pulled as if to separate each tail from its owner. One midday a little brother climbed onto Yukon’s reclining body, with the end of the teen’s tail firmly clasped in his sharp teeth, to gain extra leverage from the higher vantage point. His sibling raced to help, and with both standing on top of poor Yukon pulling with all their might, it wasn’t long before she rose with a yelp of protest. The gray bundles slid to the ground in a heap.

  Sometimes a pup attacked an adult’s tail while his brother grabbed the ears. We marveled that the teenagers and Beta retained any ears at all. The pup-sitters regained peace only when they swatted the offenders as a reminder that even babies must follow the rules. The destruction of tails and ears was forbidden.

  The pups were a great source of entertainment for us. Often, after eating their fill of fresh meat, they played on top of the food, much to the annoyance of the adults still eating. A growl and a firm swat usually removed them from the dinner table. When a pup buried something to keep as his own there was invariably an indignant yowl of protest from the owner when his brother discovered the treasure and stole it.

  Charlie did not escape the pups’ play. He watched them with his soft gaze and, with enticing yips, occasionally invited them to visit when he sat close to his boundary. While still very young, they would wobble over and pull his tail. As they grew, they climbed on his prone body and wrestled with his thick wolflike fur. Then one day they found his ear. As tiny teeth clamped down, Charlie suddenly jerked his head upward, dumping one pup on the ground. Charlie instantly reached out to pin the offender with a large paw. His sibling slid off Charlie’s back, landed within reach of Charlie’s other paw, and found himself pinned just like his brother. Charlie allowed them to break free only after considerable squirming. They swung to attack again, but Charlie decided that it was time for the game to end. He stood and sounded two yips that brought Mother and Beta on the run. They each picked up a pup and carried him home.

  A favorite game is to race full speed through the stream, dousing playmates along the way.

  We were delighted to see that the wolves didn’t mind Charlie’s occasional interaction with the pups. They apparently sensed that their offspring were safe with him.

  As the pups grew, their eyesight improved. They would stare across to where they thought Charlie should be, then make a beeline for him. One afternoon he took them to the stream to join him in a drink. But instead of lapping the water they tried to nuzzle Charlie, apparently assuming that he would provide them with water from his mouth, the same way the adults regurgitated meat for them. Charlie, no doubt puzzled, ignored their odd behavior and kept on lapping until they got the hint. The pups enjoyed playing in the water, leaping at the ripples that flowed by, although they made no attempt to explore farther downstream among the willows, where the grizzly had emerged weeks before.

  Most of the time Charlie was content to watch the pups’ antics from a distance. After they lost their baby habits, he no longer invited them to play. When they approached his boundary, he informed them with a soft but authoritative growl that he preferred that they observe his property rights. They were quick to learn his limits and stay back. We were also concerned that if they spent too much time in Charlie’s territory, our relationship with their family might be impaired, so we often shooed them back home. By the time the pups moved to the rendezvous site, they were staying in their own territory exclusively. All the wolves respected Charlie’s scent marks. After we caught the adults snooping around the tent, they crossed the invisible line only sporadically, usually just to run across a corner to inspect the tiny movement of a lemming, which of course demanded instant attention.

  As we became more familiar with the wolves, we also grew more adept at recognizing their various facial expressions. The wolves’ normal expression was relaxed, except when they submitted to a higher-ranking wolf. Then they groveled, held their heads low, flattened their ears, and turned their lips downward. At times they offered an apologetic paw from a turned-away body. When angry they pulled their lips back into a snarl and wrinkled their muzzles, displaying long white fangs. At playtime they smiled, with lips pulled back and slightly turned up at the corners.

  Differences were often settled with snarls or sharp nips on shoulders or rumps. Occasionally, a wolf of a higher rank pinned and stood over a subservient member after some transgression, such as an attempt to eat out of turn. The teens and pups, although often disciplined for misbehavior, were never injured. We never observed a serious adult fight that ended in injury. Even pack scapegoat Omega, although sometimes picked on and cowed, was never harmed.

  One evening after watching from our usual lookout ridge above the junction, we took a shortcut to where the wolves appeared headed for a hunt. But we chose the wrong route and were soon left far behind. Giving up, we explored a new ridge and then returned to camp, where we found that Yukon and Klondike, who had remained at the rendezvous site with the pups, had scattered a carton of breakfast cereal that we had purposely left outside the tent as a test. Of course, when we appeared, both wolves sat innocently paying attention to the pups. Yukon walked a few steps toward us as if curious to know whether we noticed the mess, but scurried away when we looked in her direction.

  A mortified Charlie sniffed the area. Then he strode resolutely to his scent marks and proceeded to slowly and deliberately refresh his posts with frequent resentful glances toward the young neighbors. They slumped with heads on paws, eyes averted from Charlie’s wrathful stare. For a half hour he silently punished them, but then dinnertime arrived. The moment Charlie went inside our tent for his meal, the two young wolves visibly relaxed and rose to their feet. Perhaps they heaved a collective sigh of relief that at last they were forgiven. They never disturbed our tent or belongings again.

  Charlie often sits close to his scent boundary and watches the pups with his soft gaze.

  Early one sunny mid-August morning, in temperatures that hovered around freezing, we headed out to follow Denali, who led Alpha, Mother, and Omega on a hunt. The foursome loped along at a good pace, generally avoiding getting sidetracked by interesting things along the trail.

  On the tundra, two female moose with two large calves grazed in the distance. One mother raised her head and saw the wolves, and then all four bolted to t
he north at a fast pace, quickly disappearing into the safety of a distant valley. The wolves stopped, as if to gauge their chances of success. Apparently having decided that a chase was useless, they chose a faint easterly path into a sheltered valley of scrub trees. They soon left us far behind to explore new territory.

  We followed a foot-wide game trail that branched off toward another more westerly area. It was used regularly, judging by the tufts of fur and dried scats that lay here and there. Burrows, once the home of small rodents, had been dug up and investigated. At one side, the bleached bones of an old wolf kill had been picked clean by ravens and other creatures.

  Charlie was fascinated by the smorgasbord of wild scents in the air. He continually sniffed the breeze for more. We entered a grove of twenty-foot-high trees at least three hundred years old. They were like bonsai, twisted from winter ice storms.

  We stepped across a narrow stream, pausing to listen to the never-ending whisper of water, then trekked around a miniature lake, where a bull moose browsed alone on tender aquatic plants. Charlie jumped ahead to the end of his leash, wanting to give chase, but after a few tugs from Bill reluctantly gave up. Ahead lay a steep ridge.

  As we carefully picked our way up the unstable rocks to the top, a howl seemed to come from the crest above us, followed by calls more distant. “There must be a strange pack somewhere to the west,” Bill said.

  Charlie’s body was tense and alert. I instantly pulled him close for security, just in case we were about to encounter strange wolves who might regard him as a threat. It was more likely that they would run from us, I reassured myself.

  With the last precarious footholds behind us, we reached the summit. As our breathing settled after the climb, we gasped in surprise. Our wolves had quickly circled through the rough terrain and were standing as still as statues two hundred feet ahead, staring at six wolves on the next ridge to the west.