by Helen Thayer
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 o
n 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.
Charlie relaxes in his usual place on my sleeping bag.
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.
By mid-May, three weeks after our arrival at Wolf Camp One, we had become a familiar fixture rather than an intrusion. The wolves responded by going about their lives in a less watchful fashion. They still kept a sometimes cautious eye on us, but they did so in an increasingly confident, even somewhat friendly manner. They had no problem with Charlie; it was Bill and I who had to gain their trust. Even the young wolves became more relaxed, engaging in their playful antics as they became accustomed to our presence. This change was encouraging, since the two teenagers had been frantic at the sight of us during our first encounter.
Early morning was often quiet after Denali led most of the pack on a hunt. Usually they left during the night or just before daybreak. At first the teenagers stayed close to the den or wandered about inspecting rocks and the nearby ridge. As the weeks went by, they joined the hunts more frequently.
Charlie quickly settled in. He claimed his property without apology, even to the point of excess. His proud carriage and domineering attitude became more wolflike as he confidently paraded about his territory. Always gentle and affectionate toward us, Charlie always presented himself as our alpha. We were his pack to protect and guide.
Another storm roared across the ridges for two days, but our sheltered valley escaped the full brunt of the raging wind. Usually Alpha, Denali, or Omega, and sometimes all three, stood on the ridge top in the early light, watching for potential prey. But during this bad weather the wolves stayed close to the dugouts and den. Once the sky cleared, they immediately resumed their posts.
Late one evening as we sat writing in our journals, we noticed that the entire family, except Mother, who was inside the den, had gathered about the entrance. All were tense, even the teenagers. They paced about or sat and stared at the den as if expecting something to happen. Charlie stayed close to the boundary nearest the pack, also expectant. After two hours, Alpha, who had remained closest to the entrance, abruptly got to his feet and disappeared inside. A few minutes later he emerged. The family milled about him in happy unison, licking muzzles, wagging tails, and nudging each other’s shoulders. Charlie stood too, wagging his tail and yipping. Mother still had not joined the group.
Then it dawned on us: Newborn pups must be the reason for the excitement.
In warmer climates, pups are usually born in April and sometimes in early May, but above the Arctic Circle young arrive later to coincide with warmer weather. After the giddy celebration ended, the wolves relaxed and went back to normal activities—all except Alpha, who remained close to the den entrance. About midnight, he climbed inside and stayed there until daylight.
Charlie returned to the tent and slept soundly by himself on my sleeping bag. Bill and I stayed up all night, determined not to miss a thing. It was a humbling experience for us to witness the family’s reaction to the birth of pups. We realized that even though we had been accepted and a bond of reasonable trust had developed, we humans still sat at the edge of wolf life. We could never hope to enter the innermost circle of a family’s emotions, yet we were awed by what we witnessed.
We wondered how long it would take for Mother to trust us enough to allow her pups out of the den. Normally they emerge at about three or four weeks; we hoped our presence wouldn’t delay the event.
Generally only the alpha male and alpha female, the two highest-ranking wolves in a pack, have pups each year. Often the pair mate for life. Alpha was clearly the father of Mother’s pups, but all the wolves helped raise the youngsters. Throughout the summer months, the offspring remained the center of attention for the entire family.
The next day all returned to normal, except that Mother remained out of sight. Alpha and Denali went for a short hunt, and each returned with a hare. Alpha took his catch into the den while Denali gave his to the rest of the pack. Omega stood back and then inched forward, low to the ground, with his tail firmly tucked beneath his body. Just in time he carefully reached forward, grabbed a foot, and trotted off alone to eat. Later Alpha emerged without his hare, which we guessed had been a gift to Mother.
The following morning before dawn, we opened our tent door and looked up to see Alpha, Denali, and Omega standing side by side, completely still, gazing intently into the distance. Suddenly they bounded down the steep slope to the den, where the pack reverently greeted them with tail wagging and excited yipping. Then Denali and Alpha raced off to the north with Omega and Beta close behind. A hunt was on. They quickly disappeared, leaving us to guess at their prey.
We longed to see a hunt, but bided our time before attempting to follow them. Of course, we realized there would be difficulties. If they traveled far, we could not keep up with their blazing speed and stamina. Perhaps we could camp on a high place to observe their hunt, or pursue them on one of their shorter jaunts.
Alpha, a strict but benevolent leader.
At noon all four wolves, with Alpha in the lead, came loping back with food in their jaws. They had killed a moose calf, and their distended bellies showed that they had dined well before heading for home. Alpha took food into the den, while the others dropped their catch on the ground for the rest of the pack. There was so much that Omega ate his fill without having to beg. The teens ate to capacity as well. Then Yukon attempted to carry a leg bone away, but Klondike claimed it as her own.
Just as the battle began, Alpha emerged from the den. With a snarl he ni
pped Klondike’s rear and stood over her as she rolled onto her back, exposing her belly in submission. Yukon picked up the bone and disappeared behind a rock to chew in peace.
After a session of unabashed gorging on the moose carcass, the wolves were too satiated to play. One by one, they lay down in various poses to sleep and perhaps dream of the next hunt. Some moved into the forest, while others sought the shade of a rock overhang. For a time Alpha slept on his back with all four feet pointing skyward. When he changed position he rose to his feet, walked around in tight circles three or four times like a dog, then curled up with his nose tucked under his tail and slept soundly. All was quiet for the next two hours, with only Yukon and Klondike changing to more comfortable positions.
Mosquitoes finally forced the wolves to awaken with cavernous yawns and long stretches. But it was still a lazy time with little to do except relax, swat at the pesky insects, and stare into the distance, with an occasional visit to the creek for a drink. Denali eventually climbed the den ridge to watch for prey, but after a few minutes he relaxed at his watch post and slept. Yukon picked up a piece of moose hide and placed it carefully behind a rock, reserving it to be a toy for a future game, then stretched out again.
Two days later, we saw Mother leave the den briefly. She sniffed the rocks close by, then strolled to the stream to drink. Her belly was less distended, and she looked sleek and healthy. She lay in the sun for an hour before returning to the womblike den. During the first week after the birth, Mother spent most of her time inside, leaving only to relieve herself, drink from the stream, or briefly nap in the sun. The rest of the pack supplied her with food, which Alpha always took to her.
Later, Mother spent increasing time outside sunning and eating food that Alpha and sometimes Denali left for her. Now and then Beta lay alongside Mother and gently licked her face. Mother’s personality had mellowed considerably, and she became the object of affection. Even the teenagers took time out from their games to lick Mother and raise a paw to her shoulder or roll over, exposing their underbellies.