3 Among the Wolves (7 page)

During the third morning at Wolf Camp One, a low-pressure system that had been threatening the area became a full-fledged thunderstorm. It forced us to seek refuge in our tent, where we listened to the downpour drumming its beat on the tent roof. Lightning struck the ridges; thunderclaps rolled across the mountaintops and tumbled into the valley. The stream swelled to the top of its banks, but didn't threaten the meadow. Two wolves disappeared into the den, but the rest took shelter in the dugouts.

We spent the first few hours of the storm dozing in our warm sleeping bags; then, with the heavy rain still drumming on the tent roof only two feet above our heads, boredom set in. A trip outside to the latrine now and then brought only misery: It was no fun putting on wet raingear and then trying to keep the pelting drops out of the tent as we climbed in and out. By midafternoon Bill was wondering if we should take turns singing. I somewhat unkindly reminded him that his singing voice was even worse than mine and would probably chase all the wolves away forever. Instead we spent the next three hours in a spirited discussion about a future expedition to the Amazon, a place where some torrential rain falls almost every day.

Meanwhile, Charlie contentedly stretched out across my sleeping bag. When I tried to ease him over to Bill's side, he sent me a reproachful look. He normally slept with me, and this expedition was no exception.

By late afternoon the storm had passed, and we emerged from our tent to see the wolves also emerging from their various shelters, one by one, to enjoy the sun that now shone between broken clouds. We were mildly surprised that they did not seem to like the rain, or perhaps it was the accompanying lightning and thunder.

The next day the sun commanded a cloudless sky. As the wet earth dried, the wolves once again stretched out to sun themselves. We aired out our sleeping bags and basked in the
sunny meadow, glad to escape the tent's confinement. While we lounged, Charlie energetically refreshed his scent marks. Once satisfied that the job was complete, he stretched out on a mossy patch to sleep.

The first two weeks were a time of adjustment for all. Gradually the wolves relaxed in our presence, but they were not ready to let down their guard. They had accepted Charlie from the beginning; the howls they had exchanged during the days we spent approaching our final campsite now appeared to have been a conversation of testing and then resolution. But during our first two weeks at Wolf Camp One, at least one wolf always watched Bill and me. When either of us moved, sharp eyes followed.

Charlie quickly settled into a routine. His activities alternated between eating, dozing, and watching the wolves. Mealtime was an important affair to Charlie, never to be missed. His favorite resting spots included a particularly soft mossy area by the stream, a grassy mound near the tent, and a smooth spot close to his scent-marked boundaries, which was excellent for observing the wolves' activities. At night, he retreated to his usual place on my sleeping bag.

Now and then he wandered to the stream for a few noisy laps of water, or refreshed his boundaries. These carefully laid markers had been thoroughly inspected by every member of the pack on the first day. Although the borders between the two territories were invisible to Bill and me, clearly Charlie and the wolves understood them.

Our job during this critical time of adaptation was to gain the wolves' trust. We spent considerable time sitting, moving slowly, and feigning disinterest. We dared not climb any of the surrounding ridges that would take us above the level of the den, since that might alarm the wolves. They had to see Bill and me as nonthreatening. Although impatient to be accepted by the family, we tried to remain relaxed and unconcerned deep within, knowing that animals are highly sensitive to emotions.

The first few times Charlie refreshed his scent marks, we trailed a few feet behind him in an attempt to show the watching family that we followed Charlie, not the reverse. When he drank at the creek, we also bent to drink with cupped hands, and only after Charlie had taken his fill. We wanted to demonstrate that we were subservient to Charlie, our leader. As the summer progressed, we became ever more convinced that without Charlie, the cautious family would never have accepted Bill and me. Charlie was our bridge to the wolves.

We counted only seven adults during the first week. The previous year when we had first observed the wolves, there had been sixteen in all, including four pups. The pups were now a year old and almost full-grown. We wondered what had happened to the other two pups and the rest of the group. Mange, parasites, and disease sometimes overtake a pack, but this group appeared to be in excellent health. Perhaps there had been trouble, or maybe some members had dispersed to take up residence elsewhere.

But it seemed unlikely that more than half the group would leave all at once. We doubted that so many could have been hunted and killed from the ground, because of the inaccessibility of the surrounding terrain. Bill's familiarity with aerial hunting led us to fear, uneasily, that humans might be responsible for the reduced numbers.

The remaining wolves displayed a wide range of coat colors: coal-black to blond to gray-blue. Even their eyes were different, including shades of gray, brown, and piercing yellow.

In our journal notes we identified individuals by their color or personality characteristics as we wrote about them. Bill was adamant that we not name the animals or humanize them in any way. I emphatically agreed. To give a wild, noble creature a human name seemed inappropriate. But we found ourselves having to use long, wordy descriptions to identify each wolf, and realized a compromise was in order.

“Perhaps names identifiable with the North might work,” I suggested.

Bill agreed and took out the map for ideas. In the end, we named each according to social position in the pack or landmarks on the map, after first determining genders by observing urination postures.

A wolf pack has a well-developed social system that allows it to operate as a cooperative, cohesive unit, giving its members the ability to live together peacefully, hunt successfully, and raise pups. The dominance order is topped by an alpha male and an alpha female. Mature, subordinate animals, or midpack members, are the beta wolves, who share in the food gathering and pup raising. The lowest-ranking wolf is the omega, who is sometimes an outcast and dares to live only on the fringes of family life. The omega is often a beloved member, however; although often the scapegoat, the omega is reduced to the lowest position only because he or she is easily cowed into submission. Normally juveniles do not establish their position until the second year, although as early as a few weeks after birth, the larger pups often begin to show dominance over their smaller siblings.

The black male with almond-shaped, deep yellow eyes had a self-assured, regal presence. He was undisputedly the alpha male, so we called him Alpha. He was striking yet intimidating with his aloof, bold stare. When we had first arrived, it was Alpha who had stood stiff-legged, tail held high, boldly staring at Charlie as if daring him to challenge his authority. But Charlie had displayed the correct submissive posture required for acceptance. After a few days, Alpha's stance and manner toward Charlie had softened.

At first Alpha subjected Bill and me to intense scrutiny. We averted our gaze submissively, but as the days progressed we returned his stare. To look deeply into a wolf's piercing eyes is a stirring experience that demands honesty. Alpha's commanding
gaze probed our inner being for signs of weakness or fear. But most of all, he looked for the slightest sign of aggression that might challenge his top position. Happily, after a few weeks, apparently satisfied that we presented no challenge to his authority, Alpha mostly ignored us while he placidly watched Charlie, whom he seemed to deem more worthy of a ruler's interest.

Another large, powerful male was long-legged and elegant, with the gray wolf's typical luxurious gray and blond markings. We named him Denali, after Alaska's most famous national park. Denali did not run, he flowed across the landscape with fluid strides. He later proved to be the hunt leader, even taking over from Alpha when the pack was chasing prey.

We assumed that Denali's superior ability to read prey was the cause of his leadership status. When not hunting, he was a placid fellow who seemed to take everything in stride. At first he displayed the openly curious nature of a typical wolf. He remained cautious and quietly observed us from a distance. When satisfied that we were trustworthy, he turned his attention to Charlie and seldom watched Bill and me.

The two pups from last year were now tireless teenagers. The dark gray one, intense but playful, became Yukon, and her rambunctious blond sister was Klondike, both named after major rivers in the region. Yukon's darker coat, streaked with white, contrasted with Klondike's lighter fur accented with darker guard hairs.

Two weeks later, we named the other three wolves. One was an older blue-gray male with light brown eyes and a graying muzzle. We called him Beta. A gentle soul who led a dignified life, he was the oldest member of the pack and enjoyed a neutral position in the social ranking. Judging by his confident, elegant bearing and the respect shown him by the rest of the wolf family, we guessed that Beta had been the alpha male at one time. Age was probably his conqueror. We could imagine the younger
male with a strong personality taking over the alpha role from his elder pack mate.

Changes in pack leadership can be violent affairs that leave a pack in disarray. A large, younger wolf with the alpha characteristics one day discovers that his youthful strength can overcome the pack's reigning leader. Many times there is a fight, and the old leader leaves the pack altogether or steps back in the social order to live a disgruntled existence in his reduced role. Judging from the respect the pack displayed toward Beta, though, we guessed that this particular takeover had been a peaceful, nondisruptive one. Beta showed no animosity due to his changed role, and he appeared to have inherited the job of teaching and disciplining the two teenagers. He was a patient fellow but allowed them to go only so far in their boisterous games and inconsiderate behavior toward others. The teens were more respectful of Beta than of any other wolf, always careful to approach him with eyes cast downward to show submission to his higher rank.

A shy male whose lifestyle was one of submission usually lurked cautiously, alone, on the fringes of the pack. His was the lowest rank in the social order, so we named him Omega. He often watched the antics of the playful teenagers but seldom joined them. Instead he seemed to enjoy playing with the adults. His brown fur was short and wiry, spread over a compact, muscular body. As the scapegoat, Omega usually ate last and was often picked on for no apparent reason. He was even cautious when checking Charlie's scent marks: He would step forward to take a quick sniff, then furtively glance at Charlie as if to make sure he wasn't in trouble for displaying such boldness. Young and healthy, he was normally included in the hunting muster and appeared to accept his role in the social order without malice.

The last one we named was a blond, medium-size female with intense, almond-shaped gray eyes. She had a fiery, strong personality and little patience. We named her Mother because she had swollen nipples, indicating that she had already given birth or was about to. As the alpha female of the pack, Mother sometimes challenged Alpha. She would snatch food from his jaws or even nip him when he was slow to move out of her way. When the hunters brought food back to the den, she was always one of the first to eat.

Alpha appeared eager to please this female and frequently licked her face. We never saw him retaliate against Mother's aggression. The two were a bonded pair. They often slept side by side in the sun. Occasionally Mother joined in a hunt, but more often she lay near the den. She sometimes watched Bill and me with her piercing gray stare that boasted conceit, as if she sought to impress us with her high rank.

The teenagers were almost as large as the adults, but they were still puppy enough to play a variety of games. Their favorite was chase, with tug-of-war a close second. During a game
the teenagers would sometimes mistakenly bump into another wolf, who would snarl a warning into the offending teen's face. The chase would stop instantly, only to resume minutes later. Tug-of-war involved what appeared to be the skin of a hare or another small furry animal, probably a leftover from a meal. Only after the skin was completely shredded, and the minute pieces could no longer be grasped in strong jaws, did the game stop. Then both young wolves would flop down, spread out to their full length, and fall asleep soundly.

Denali sometimes joined in the games of chase with the two teenagers, but whenever they offered him a piece of skin to play tug-of-war, he grabbed the skin, and with one powerful jerk of his wide head, the game ended. At other times, when play turned serious and tempers frayed, Beta stepped in. With a few well-placed nips on rumps and shoulders, he brought all activity to a stop. The teenagers would slink away, heads down, knowing they had gone too far. At mealtime they sometimes tried to eat out of turn, which brought Beta's full wrath to bear upon them. Alpha was even stricter when a youngster took food out of turn. Sometimes he grabbed a teen by the neck and pinned her on her back, where she would whimper for forgiveness. The family's strict discipline was impressive.