3 Among the Wolves (20 page)

After the airplane incident, we concluded that this wolf pack had learned to watch the sky and listen for human hunters, and then taught their offspring to do the same. Our theory was reinforced as we noticed the pups being taught this behavior. One afternoon in near-freezing temperatures, made colder by the light northerly wind, we heard the faint sound of a distant
plane flying low across the tundra. All of us—wolves and humans—were instantly alert.

As the sound drifted away, we beheld the comical sight of Beta, up on the ridge, instructing the pups in how to watch for planes. First he cocked his head toward the heavens for a moment, then looked down at the two pups. When he received no reaction, he patiently repeated the process. Although the brothers gave Beta their full attention, they were clearly puzzled.

Giving up for the moment, Beta lay down. The two young wolves were on him in an instant, tugging his fur and attacking his tail. Then they changed tactics and stepped back a few feet. Both crouched in their best hunting style and slowly crept up on Beta, cautiously placing each front paw in front of the other. In unison, they leaped at his throat and shoulder, attacking as never before, growling and tugging. Although superb hunting practice, it was more than Beta could tolerate. He heaved himself to his feet, shedding his tormentors.

After a vigorous shake, he resumed the sky-watching lesson. This time his patience had its reward: The pups caught on and glanced up with him. The next day Beta again took both students to the ridge top for more practice. From then on, they sometimes looked up, without adult urging, when a plane was heard. The human quality of this behavior—the ability to teach offspring survival tactics—made it the most fascinating one we observed, and proof of the wolves' profound intelligence.

Under a night lit by a full moon, we happened to awake just as a group prepared to leave on a hunt. Denali ran down from his watch post to greet Alpha, who lifted his nose, pursed his lips, and sent a long low wail through the valley, across the treetops, all the way to the tundra. Others joined in, and soon even the pups' reedy voices joined the songfest. The family's music rang out, mingling with the soft moonlight.

Finally, when the sound had died away on the gentle breeze, all the adults filed into the forest. The evening hunt
had begun. This was the first time the family had left the pups entirely alone.

Four hours later, just before dawn broke across the ridges, distant howls signaled the hunters' return. Arriving with the back leg of a sheep and two hares, they lay everything on the ground for the pups, who tore into the offerings. As was often the case, the hunters' distended bellies showed that they had eaten their fill at the kill site.

Wolves are remarkable eating machines. They gobble their food at tremendous speed and crack even large moose bones easily. Biologist David Mech has calculated that an adult's stomach can hold as much as twenty pounds of meat at one time. When prey is available, wolves gorge themselves and then sleep.

Although wolves eat formidable amounts when they find prey, they can endure long periods of fasting. In some places such as the polar Arctic, distances are vast and food is scarce. Hunts sometimes take wolves twenty or more miles from a den.

It is important for wolves to hunt successfully during the summer months to ensure that they enter winter in good condition. Judging by how much food these wolves carried to the den and rendezvous site, they ate well. They appeared healthy and content. Because they lived in an area of abundant prey, they seldom traveled far and never went more than two days between hunts all summer long.

Soon after dawn the sun climbed over the mountains to turn the frost crystals into millions of sparkling diamonds. Bill, Charlie, and I set out to explore a low ridge a mile from our camp. The low tundra plants had reached their full autumn splendor of fiery red, and the deciduous willows blazed yellow and orange. A faint game path led upward, then faded as we left the valley and began a gradual climb through scree and scattered trees.

We had just paused to drink from our water bottles when Charlie whimpered and turned to face the direction we had
come. To our surprise, Beta and the two pups were following us. When we stopped, they sat and waited until we hiked ahead. We trekked across the slope with the three shadowing us. Although we slowed often to see if Beta wanted to catch up, he traveled no closer. Similarly, Charlie showed no desire to join Beta and the pups, calmly striding ahead of Bill and me with hardly a backward glance. We scaled a gentle slope to a low ridge and sat on a boulder. Charlie still showed no interest in our companions.

While we rested, the pups explored and dug for lemmings, which lived in the burrows between the rocks. The sight was hilarious. The pups scratched at such a furious pace that dirt flew in all directions. Thrusting their heads into each hole, they twice emerged with a tiny, squirming bundle that they quickly dispatched with a crunch and a gulp. Obsessed with the burrows, they seemed unlikely to be attracted by the smell of our food, but we kept our munchies in our packs anyway, agreeing that it was better to take no chances.

After an hour's entertainment, we returned to camp with Charlie in the lead. Beta and the pups remained on the ridge, and later accompanied us at a distance, just as any group of friends might enjoy a stroll in the wilderness. Now and then the youngsters leaped at something on one side of the trail, and Beta stopped to scent-mark twice. Once he rolled and squirmed on something on the ground, all four feet in the air. The pups copied him, more clumsily, in the same spot.

Back at camp the rest of the wolves were spread out, still sleeping off their early-morning meal. As we passed, Alpha raised his head, yawned hugely, and went back to sleep. Instead of stopping at the rendezvous site, Beta and the pups continued behind us for the short distance to our camp. The threesome inspected the old den site for a few minutes before returning to their area, where they lay down for a nap in the shade of boulders. Charlie lay in the shade of the tent. The walk was over, and all had earned a rest.

One cool afternoon at the end of August, while all the wolves except Mother and Beta were out hunting, the thirteen-week-old pups were moved to a second rendezvous site only two hundred yards from the first. Mother set out with the brothers frolicking close behind, while Beta brought up the rear. The spot was a shallow dugout, sheltered by dwarf spruces and rock buttresses, with a beaver pond a quarter mile away. This flat area provided more space for the fast-growing pups. When the hunters returned, they dropped a meal of a partially consumed Dall sheep at the new site. The pups, Mother, and Beta ate their fill.

By the time the family established the second rendezvous site, we were even more convinced that the family was unwilling to leave the area's safety to establish rendezvous sites farther away. The pups weren't yet ready to move long distances with the pack. Perhaps the episode with the aerial hunters had caused the wolves to seek increased security, even if it meant delaying movement of the pups.

With winter just around the corner it was time to decide when we would leave the area and begin our preparation for the second phase of our adventure, our winter expedition to northern Canada. After our departure, this pack would begin their winter travels throughout their hunting range as soon as the pups were ready for extended travel.

We knew we wanted to stay into the first weeks of October, which necessitated a re-supply. To avoid subjecting Charlie to another unhappy parting from his wolf friends. Bill volunteered to hike out alone and return with food and fuel. Charlie and I would remain behind, an arrangement that would also prevent the possible destruction of our gear by curious wolves.

Although temperatures were already hovering around freezing, Bill left his sleeping bag and the spare tent behind to allow more room in his pack for supplies. After calling Margaret on the radio, he packed and headed down the valley. Charlie followed him as far as his lead would allow, watching and barking until Bill disappeared. At the sound of Charlie's barks Alpha, Denali, and Omega came running and silently watched Bill walk away. Then they set out to follow, returning four hours later.

Later Bill told me he was surprised to find himself accompanied by the three wolves for the first few miles. After a two-day hike he met Margaret, loaded his pack with all he could carry and headed back. At night he snuggled into his bivvy sack wearing all his clothes to keep barely warm.

Charlie and I spent the next five days hiking to the ridge tops. On the fifth evening Charlie signaled Bill's return by bounding about and barking excitedly. After helping Bill unload his heavy pack I cooked dinner, and as we ate Charlie sat at
Bill's side. That night he slept across Bill's sleeping bag. Clearly he was glad to have Bill back in camp.

One early September morning we hiked out of camp as shafts of light filtered through the mountains. The wolves had already left for a hunt. We climbed to our lookout spot above the junction and scanned the tundra, but saw no sign of the wolves.

The early brilliance highlighted the red and gold carpet of low plants that persisted through the shallow snow. In the spare, wide-open space, plant life is so fragile and the air is so incredibly fresh. “This is what makes me come alive,” I said, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. “I could live here forever.”

Bill said it was the tundra that fascinated him. “So many times I've flown over tundra without really appreciating it,” he said. “When I look at the plants and realize what they have put up with to grow at all, it makes everything else seem unimportant. We're looking at vegetation that's taken hundreds of years to grow inches.”

We sat for an hour, saying little, enjoying the quiet beauty that settled over us as gently as a feather. By now we both knew it was going to be harder for us to leave than we had ever imagined.

Later, some distance away, an antlered caribou trotted from the trees onto the tundra, soon followed by a dozen more. Through binoculars we sighted seven wolves, led by Denali, bursting from the forest and charging after the caribou, who took instant flight.

Then two dropped back. The wolves split up and chased both. One whirled to face its pursuers. Three wolves closed in, careful to stay out of range of hooves and antlers. As the caribou spun again, a wolf leaped at its flank, slashed its hide, and jumped away. Bleeding heavily, the beast lunged. The three wolves charged, knocking the caribou to the ground. It kicked for only seconds. The hunters tore through the thick hide. The
other four wolves had already pulled their quarry down and ripped open its belly.

Seconds later, fifteen caribou breached the trees, saw the wolves, and bounded away in long strides across the tundra. As the feast continued, a dark figure emerged from the woods.

A grizzly bear walked toward the wolves, his nose raised, having caught the caribou scent. Twenty yards from the carcass, the bear paused. With a snarl, Alpha lunged at him. The bear hurriedly backed away a few paces and sat down. Alpha returned to his meal but looked up now and then to check the bear, who remained motionless. Minutes later, the three wolves nearest the grizzly left their carcass to join the others at the second kill close by. The grizzly walked to the first, then set about gnawing and tearing at the partly consumed body. Four cawing ravens, who had been circling in wide loops above the kill, landed to share the meal. The bear showed no visible reaction to the ravens, who pecked greedily at the far edge of the carcass. As the wolves tore into the second animal, they seemed oblivious to their feasting neighbors. In twenty minutes the pack had eaten their fill and sat cleaning themselves, while the bear and the ravens continued to eat.

After the wolves had licked themselves clean and rolled in the coarse sedges, they rose as a group. With raised hackles, they charged the bear and ravens. The bear ambled to a low rise a short distance away, while the ravens, with loud squawks of protest, swirled overhead. After ripping chunks of meat off the carcass, the wolves headed home, each with as much as they could carry. The bear and the ravens now had the leftovers to themselves.

As the food disappeared, though, it was the bear's turn to chase the ravens away. They hopped barely out of range of the bear's snapping jaws. The last scraps were the bear's to keep.

Two formidable hunting species, wolves and bears are normally considered enemies, but here they had agreed to share
food. Even the ravens were welcomed. The wolves appeared to readily tolerate the bear's presence, on their terms. Perhaps the wolves, who had the upper hand in the encounter, had sensed that there was plenty for all. The episode contrasted dramatically with the pack's behavior in an earlier grizzly encounter, when they had fiercely defended their pups from a bear approaching the den. The difference? In that case their young's lives were in danger from an adversary capable of killing and eating them.