The Wisdom of Wolves

by Jim Dutcher

  Chemukh was the slender black female who had joined the pack as a pup two years earlier. When she reached maturity in February, she and Kamots had mated, making her the alpha—the pack’s only breeding female. In the early weeks of April this nervous female took on a new earnest attitude. She’d often break away from the others and spent her days searching for the perfect location to give birth. She’d pick a new spot, dig a foot or so into the earth, then decide that the soil was too hard, too damp, or too something, and she’d move on. Her intensity was contagious, and when the other wolves saw her at work, they began to dig too. They weren’t helping; they were just caught up in the spirit and dug random holes here and there. At last Chemukh settled on the fallen spruce and began working away at the hollow where the roots had pulled up. Once she had chosen that spot, it only took her a few days to excavate a den to her satisfaction.

  Every wolf seemed to be aware of the importance of her work, but none more than Lakota. The pack omega, he often bore the brunt of Chemukh’s hot temper, but instead of avoiding her, he started parking himself beside the den almost as if he were standing guard. It was just one of the many indications of how much the entire pack was wrapped up in this event. At last, early on that April morning, Chemukh had entered the den alone and given birth.

  When we arrived at the fallen spruce, Jim cautiously set up his camera some 20 yards away. It was a highly charged moment, and as eager as we were to document it, we weren’t about to risk disturbing the new mother. Over the next hour or so we inched, step by step, tree by tree, closer to the den. Every so often Chemukh popped out of the hole to be greeted with a flurry of licks from Kamots and her packmates. Then she would disappear underground again. It was almost as if she were giving progress reports, letting the others know all was well. She was aware of Jim and me standing close by and didn’t seem to mind our presence at all.

  The pack’s energy was intense, and I began to record their sounds, trying to capture the excited conversation that the wolves were having. After a couple of hours I put down my gear. Jim and I had already discussed how we would handle this moment. From the time she was born, I had developed the closest bond with Chemukh, and she was relaxed and trusting around me. We had therefore concluded that I should be the one to approach the den and check on the newborn pups.

  Slowly and deliberately, I stepped forward to join the seven wolves gathered around the den. They knew me intimately; I had been a constant presence in their lives for years. All the same, I never wanted to take their trust for granted. Amped up as they were, I wanted to present myself as calmly and respectfully as possible. I especially wanted to be careful around Chemukh. She could be skittish, and I didn’t know how defensive she would be around her pups. So as I leaned forward to peer into the darkness of the den, my heart nearly skipped a beat when I found myself staring straight into the yellow eyes of the mother wolf.

  To my relief, Chemukh’s eyes showed no fear, only curiosity. I made way for her, and she crawled out of the den and stood beside me, regarding me, perhaps trying to read my intentions. I spoke softly to her, telling her I wanted to have a quick look at her pups. I had a little flashlight with me, and I calmly showed it to her, letting her sniff it to assure her it wasn’t anything dangerous. Then I slowly lowered myself onto my belly, flicked on the light, and eased my way into the den.

  Chemukh had never dug a den before, nor had she watched a parent dig one, yet her work was masterful. Aboveground snow was melting into a muddy slush, but the interior of the den was dry as a bone. She had hollowed out a tunnel about six feet long, ending in a wide chamber. At the very back, she had carved a small shelf to keep her pups high and dry. Pointing in that direction, my flashlight beam caught a squirming mass of dark fur. The pups’ eyes were still shut, but they could sense my presence. They lifted their heads and whined softly, probably hoping I was there to feed them.

  There, in the darkness of the den, I felt time slow down. Suddenly I was keenly aware that this was a pivotal moment in my life. I felt completely at peace and fully in the present, as though all other phases of my life had been mere preparations for where I now found myself. Nine years earlier I had struck up a chance conversation with a man on an airplane. A hundred twists and turns later, and there I was in the middle of wilderness, underground, sharing an intimate life event with a pack of wolves—and everything about it felt exactly as it should be.

  I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, so I wiggled my way backward toward daylight. Chemukh was right there looking at me as I wiped the mud from my clothes. I congratulated her, and she cocked her head in response. Then she delicately leaned forward and gave me a little lick on the nose, then turned and disappeared back into her den. Until that moment my eyes had been dry, but I felt myself welling up at last. It was a gesture of complete trust that I will never forget.

  That was my first glimpse of the trio of black pups we would come to call Ayet, Piyip, and Motaki; we named one after the previous omega who had been killed by a cougar. They were the fourth and final litter that we would raise at wolf camp. More significantly, they were the first wolf pups born in the Sawtooth Mountains in over 50 years. To us, this moment was nothing short of historic.

  Of course, the wolves were completely unaware of the broader significance of this occasion. Their joy was something much more fundamental and pure: Their tribe had just received brand-new members; their extended family was growing in number and in strength. Every wolf in the pack shared in the celebration. For days after Chemukh gave birth, they paid visits to the den, crowding around to sniff and listen and peer inside. Then they’d go off together, shoulder to shoulder, vocalizing excitedly in their “Chewbacca voices.” How I would love to know what they were saying to one another, but I think I got the gist of it. The pups may have been born to Kamots and Chemukh, but they were precious to every wolf in the pack.

  WE KNEW GOING INTO THIS PROJECT THAT WOLVES were social creatures, but after living with them, we have come to understand their bonds as something even deeper. Each wolf knows its family members intimately and cares for them deeply. When their family is healthy and strong, every wolf feels and shares that sense of strength. Thus, every wolf has a stake in caring for the entire family, especially new pups. Family is simply everything.

  Wyakin, the other female born at the same time as Chemukh, was the first to step in to help raise the pups. When Chemukh needed to take a break from the responsibility of motherhood or join the others on an elk carcass, Wyakin would immediately fill the void, curling up with the litter so they’d always have a warm place to cuddle. There were days when Wyakin appeared to spend as much time with the pups as their mother did.

  We knew we would soon have to socialize the pups so they would come to trust us just as the adults did. We had learned from Erik Zimen and others that even though the adults trusted us, they would still teach the pups to be fearful of humans. The last thing we wanted was for any of the wolves to feel stressed by our presence. To make sure Ayet, Motaki, and Piyip felt bonded to us, we chose to hand-raise them for several weeks. That meant round-the-clock care, lack of sleep, and bottle-feeding little creatures with needle-sharp teeth and claws, which left us bloody but happy. It was the proven technique we had used on all the other wolves in the pack and the reason all the wolves felt safe and relaxed in our presence. When we returned the three pups to their family, the wolves were thrilled to have them back. They immediately picked up where they left off.

  At nine weeks the pups were already eating solid food. Mealtime was a time when the pack hierarchy came into play, but the pups were not part of the adult hierarchy just yet. They were allowed to join the meal whenever they pleased and eat as much as they could. We watched with fascination, as we had with previous litters, to see the reaction of the adults the first time we brought in a deer carcass for them and the pups. Motomo growled at Amani, Amani growled at Lakota, and Lakota submitted to the others. The pups, however, di
ved headfirst into the meal with total abandon, and the adults happily stepped aside to make room for them.

  No matter how much the pups ate, they always had room for more, and Matsi was always eager to accommodate them in his remarkable way. As the pack’s beta wolf, he never had to worry about getting pushed off a kill and was always able to gorge himself to the point of nearly bursting. After eating, he walked a few yards away. Piyip, Ayet, and Motaki took the cue and bounded after him, crowding around him and licking his muzzle. For Matsi, this was an instinctive trigger. He promptly regurgitated a large portion of the meal he had just eaten, and the pups eagerly lapped up their second course.

  I admit that I was never able to watch this without my stomach turning a little, but this behavior, an instinct born of necessity, works very well for wolves. They have no other way to bring large amounts of easily digestible food from their kills to pups waiting several miles away at a den or rendezvous site, so they fill their bellies with meat and, when they see the pups again, up comes a meal. A bit of predigestion is just the thing for pups getting started on solid food. During the pups’ first summer we saw every wolf in the pack, even Lakota the omega, offer up food in this way, but Matsi was the most consistent provider.

  Matsi’s attention to the pups was gentle but earnest. He would join them in play, but his main concern was their safety and security. While the pups tumbled over each other, growling and mock fighting or playing tug-of-war with a piece of hide, Matsi stood by as their faithful protector and pup-sitter. Piyip was curious and bold like his father Kamots. He’d occasionally get bored playing with his sisters and try to wander off, but Matsi would sidestep and corral him back into the group.

  Although Matsi was always looking out for the pups’ safety, the mid-ranking wolf, Amani, only seemed concerned with their amusement. Amani was an interesting wolf, to say the least. He embodied how complex wolf personalities can be, and how different one individual is from another. He was often quite domineering, but around the pups he transformed into a goofy uncle. I remember watching the pups playing when Amani meandered up and flopped down in the middle of the pile. Piyip immediately grabbed his tail and started pulling, growling his fiercest little pup growl. Ayet started gnawing on his ear and Motaki seized his hind leg, shaking it as if she’d just caught a bull moose. Amani rolled over onto his back as though he were getting a massage. His jaw slackened into a half smile as his eyes fluttered shut. He was in heaven.

  YEARS LATER, WHILE WATCHING WOLVES in Yellowstone, Jim and I were lucky enough to meet Nell and Bob Harvey, a pair of dedicated wolf spotters. Many people think that professional biologists and park rangers are the only ones conducting wolf research in Yellowstone, but actually people like Nell and Bob also help out. For seven years they’ve been coming from California to volunteer their time. When we met them in 2016, they were well into their annual total of 111 days observing and recording the behavior of the Yellowstone wolves. At 8,000 feet above sea level, in brutal sun or savage cold, they patiently watched, noted, and reported their observations for no other reward than the joy of watching wolves. These animals can do that to people.

  One of our favorite stories Bob and Nell ever told us involved a young male that we imagine may have been quite like our Amani in his inclination to spoil the young pups of the pack like an indulgent uncle. It was early spring, and this yearling from the Junction Butte Pack was wandering about, probably hunting pocket gophers. Always playfully interacting with his younger packmates, as our Amani did, the young wolf seems to have decided to bring them a gift. At this time of year the pups born to the alpha male and female had moved out of the den but weren’t quite ready to follow the pack on long journeys, and so they were left under the supervision of another pack member, a pup-sitter, at a rendezvous site—a safe area that serves as a base camp until the pups have matured.

  On the way back to the rendezvous site, this particular young male found the perfect gift: the skull of a dried-out bison carcass. There wasn’t any food value in the skull; it was essentially a big toy. As Nell and Bob watched with spotting scopes, the wolf struggled with this unwieldy present, climbing for more than a mile through rolling sage hills and over rocky ridges. Normally a wolf could cover this ground in a matter of minutes at a steady lope, but his prize was so heavy and awkward that it took him over an hour. He had to stop several times to rest. At last he delivered his precious gift to his young brothers and sisters, who commenced to gnaw on it and play a game of “keep-away,” as each one tried to drag the heavy object away from the others.

  As we listened to this story, I thought about how this dedicated young male must have felt as he watched the pups enjoying his present. He had discovered this fantastic plaything and decided his young packmates absolutely had to have it. Nothing would deter him from delivering it to them.

  What could be behind this total devotion toward the pups? I’ve often wondered. I suppose one could speculate that Matsi and Amani were trying to form alliances with young impressionable pack members, but I don’t really believe a wolf could be that calculating. Wolves are far too transparent. They bare their inner lives moment to moment in their body language and vocalizations. When I watched them interact with the pups, all I saw was unclouded affection and care. This was their pack—their family—and family meant everything to them.

  Family certainly meant everything to the Junction Butte Pack as well, but the pack was beset by a chain of calamities. By the summer of 2016 the family was grappling with the death of the alpha female and her new litter. In an unusual turn of events, earlier that spring two subordinate females also mated and produced nine pups between them. In the absence of the alpha female, the pack’s yearlings were stepping up their game, helping to raise new pups. Tragedy struck yet again when the alpha male died in early September.

  Then, on September 24, the pack crossed the park boundary and ventured into parcels of land known as “Wolf Management Units.” In these areas, wolves can be legally killed—or, to use the cheerful official term, harvested. Wolf hunters wait there expressly for the chance to harvest Yellowstone wolves the moment they step outside the federal protection of the park. On this day hunters killed one pup and two yearlings—a female and a male. The yearlings hadn’t yet been tagged or given official identification numbers, but their markings were distinctive. The dead male was certainly the exuberant youngster who Bob and Nell had watched as he proudly delivered a gift to his young brothers and sisters.

  Since then, two more Junction Butte pups and another yearling have disappeared, but officials do not know if they are living or dead. The human assault on the Junction Butte Pack compounded the indiscriminate blows that nature delivered. The pack fragmented and lost territory, and for a while it seemed it would collapse under the strain of these tragedies. But wolves are resilient. The pack recently added new members and has begun slowly to recover. All the same, we’ll never get to see what kind of wolf that yearling would have become.

  WHAT IS A WOLF FAMILY? Anthropologists suggest that wolves organize themselves similarly to the way early human societies did: as nuclear families within extended families. In our two species, the basic family unit begins the same way: Boy meets girl, they form a pair bond, settle into a home, and have offspring. After that, anything can and does happen. Grandparents stick around, aunts and uncles move in, children leave and may come back, and—occasionally—complete strangers are welcomed into the fold and treated as family members. If territory is available and prey is abundant, alphas may permit other members of the pack to breed. One unusual year in Yellowstone, the alpha male of the famous Druid Peak Pack mated with three females. Rules, it seems, are meant to be broken. Young wolves born to neighboring packs also worked their way into this Yellowstone pack that year. The result was one great big extended family of 37 wolves. It’s safe to say that once a wolf pack grows beyond the simple nuclear family, anything goes.

  Wolves, like people, are predisposed a
gainst inbreeding, so welcoming new blood is necessary if a pack is going to survive for multiple generations. That makes practical sense, but wolf packs do something else that can’t be explained as easily. When wolves encounter pups—related or not—they frequently adopt them. It just seems to be an instinctive and irresistible desire.

  People have observed this behavior in wolf packs all over the world. Our friend the late Gordon Haber, who studied the wolves in and around Alaska’s Denali National Park and Preserve, focused much of his work on a group of wolves who lived along the Toklat River. Over his years of study he watched wolves take just about every conceivable approach to family life.

  During a two-year period we followed Gordon all over the state of Alaska, in backcountry planes equipped with skids to land on snow, trekking through wilderness, crossing waist-deep roaring rivers, and encountering plenty of grizzly bears and relentless mosquitoes. From a small hill overlooking the Toklat River we spent part of a summer observing a pack that Gordon had been studying. The wolves were much too far away to film, but his stories about their lives were captivating. Gordon emphasized how important family was. He explained that wolves pass knowledge on to future generations, teaching their offspring where and how to hunt, where to cross a river, and how to survive. His observations were rich with personal stories of wolves he knew and, as one could see, admired and loved. Some of the tales were even soap opera–worthy, such as the one involving a mother wolf who left her mate, took the kids, and moved back home to live with her mother. Other accounts were quite touching.