3 Among the Wolves (17 page)

Later Alpha and Denali, who had been out hunting, returned with a hare and inspected the enlarged dugout, after which they expressed their satisfaction by initiating a howling session. The entire family and Charlie joined in.

At first the pups simply watched; then, with pursed lips raised to the sky, they added wavering voices. The adults stopped and stared. Then, as if in celebration of the youngsters' first attempts, they all howled together. The various pitches of the mature adults contrasted with the reedy, thin tones of the pups. As the last note died on the breeze, the adults nuzzled the pups affectionately and licked their faces.

I
N MID-JULY, when the pups were about eight weeks old, Mother moved them from the den to the dugout, where they stayed from then on while the adults hunted. At this “rendezvous site,” the fast-growing youngsters moved about more freely, went on walks of increasing length with Beta or sometimes Mother, and learned how to catch small animals such as lemmings. When not eating or sleeping, they played ever more vigorous games as they grew. They would never again enter the den.

The term “rendezvous site,” still used today, was coined by pioneering wolf biologist Adolph Murie. Beginning in 1939, he studied wolf behavior in the region that would later become Denali National Park. There he noticed that when a pack transferred young from the den, they established several spots that provided not only more room but also greater security. The pups, who required larger feedings as they grew, remained alone when the pack spent longer hours away. When the hunters returned with food, they met and fed the youngsters at these rendezvous sites.

Wolves sometimes move pups a mile or more away, so we were relieved that the family hadn't gone too far from our campsite. The new home, only two hundred feet from the den, allowed us to continue our close observation of the family. While exploring the surrounding ridges and valleys, we found several places with trampled and packed earth that appeared to have been used in past years as rendezvous sites, probably by this pack. We assumed that sites close by had been chosen because
the area was so secure, especially from aircraft. Also, this location was surrounded by a plentiful supply of game.

By now the teenagers were as large as the adults, their bodies filled out and muscular. Mother, Yukon, and Klondike participated in almost every hunt, which left Beta to care for and teach the pups most of the time. When at the den, though, Mother spent her time with her young. Even after several hours on a hunt, she stayed close to the pups upon her return and often took them for short walks, usually along the main trail.

Two days after the youngsters moved to their new home, all the adults except Beta left at 3 A.M. to hunt. Beta gathered his charges and set out through the trees on a simpler expedition. We followed at a distance so as not to distract the pups and earn Beta's displeasure. For every hundred feet Beta traveled, the pups scurried, swerved, and darted at least three times as far, as they plunged inquisitive noses into clumps of grasses and sedges. They sniffed everything; they picked up sticks and then dropped them when other, more inviting specimens took their place.

One pup suddenly galloped full speed into the trees. With a reprimanding yip, Beta ran to the pup, picked him up around his middle, and dumped him roughly back on the trail. The subdued brothers quietly went along for a few yards but soon resumed their darting, circling travel pattern.

When Beta turned to go back to the rendezvous site, we waited quietly in the trees until the entourage passed. We were unnoticed by the pups, who were too busy exploring the new sights and sounds of their rapidly enlarging world.

One evening while on a jaunt with the pups, Beta spied a lemming as it scurried for safety. He pounced and held the little body down while the youngsters sprang to sniff it. Beta crunched the still body, killing it, then left it. The pups vigorously leaped on it, shook it, and chewed it. They “killed” it again and again, until Beta reached over, grabbed it in his mouth, and swallowed.
The game was finished. The pups had just completed their first hunting lesson.

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 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 continued 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.