The Wisdom of Wolves

by Jim Dutcher

  In March 2001, the Toklat’s alpha male died during a radio-collaring accident, leaving his pregnant mate and seven older offspring. This is Haber’s account:

  Two adult sibling males from two hundred miles away showed up at the natal den in early June shortly after the female had produced her dead mate’s new pups. One of them soon became the new Toklat alpha male, and both helped raise the unrelated dead male’s pups without any obvious difference in effort or affection between the mother and her seven older offspring.

  Was this particular male wolf just especially tolerant? It doesn’t seem like it.

  In another ongoing study, Doug Smith has been observing the most famous population of wolves in the lower 48 since 1995. Doug is the project leader for the Yellowstone Wolf Restoration Project. He’s the point man on all the wolf research carried out in the park, and runs the whole operation out of a small office in the Mammoth Ranger Station.

  Competition between packs is high in Yellowstone, where many wolves now live in close confines. When conflict erupts and packs do battle, young pups can become casualties just as adults can. But when a revolution in pack leadership takes place, it’s a different story. When an outsider, or an alliance of outsiders, unseats one of the alphas in an existing pack, the victors always treat the pups of their former rivals with parental tenderness. This isn’t true of many other animals. Male lions are especially notorious for infanticide. When a usurper takes over a pride, his first act is often to kill the cubs of the former male. Even some of our primate relatives will kill unrelated offspring after a transition of social power, but not wolves.

  Doug generally maintains a healthy scientific distance, but even he marvels at this special quality. “In lions,” he says, “the male kills all the cubs instantly, but wolves don’t do that, and we’ve seen this time and time again. Males join packs and care for pups that aren’t related to them. Evolutionarily it doesn’t make sense, but every time it happens. Every time. They don’t kill the pups.”

  Another story about nurturing stepfathers has been observed in Yellowstone’s Hayden Valley. Three outside males had taken over a pack and supplanted the alpha male. They didn’t hurt him; they just pushed him out. Now he’s lingering on the fringes of his old territory while his former mate and three newcomers raise his pups. When the adults are off hunting, the ousted male comes in to visit his kids, but the new wolves do most of the work of feeding and caring for them.

  Anyone who has been to a dog shelter knows that irresistible wave of protective instinct that strikes the moment one looks down at a helpless little puppy. As human beings we’re programmed to respond to certain traits—big round eyes, soft features—with protective and nurturing behavior. Even people who claim they are not particularly crazy about children couldn’t walk by an abandoned infant. It’s not within our control: We’re hardwired to protect infants. I believe this is something wolves share with us.

  EARLIER IN OUR PROJECT, two years before Chemukh dug her den under the spruce tree, there was a time when she, too, was a little pup, brand new to the pack. But she wasn’t born to them. We introduced her to the Sawtooth Pack in 1994 along with her siblings, Wahots and Wyakin. At that time what we called the Sawtooth Pack was a group of five males—no females, hence no breeding pair. We knew that if these wolves were to become a true pack, we had to introduce some females, and that was the impulse that brought Chemukh and her sister and brother into the family. We raised them by hand, as we had learned to do with the previous two litters, to make sure they would be socialized to us and regard us without fear. By that time our camp was an enclosed little island in the middle of the pack’s territory, so we could keep the pups with us around the clock while allowing the adults to get used to the pups’ presence and vice versa through the camp fence.

  The five adults were completely enraptured by the sight and sounds of the young pups. Their favorite pastime quickly became gazing at Wahots, Wyakin, and Chemukh as the pups frolicked around the tents. When the pack would rally together for a howl, it was absolutely endearing to watch the three pups try to howl back in their awkward, exuberant, yodeling way. Kamots and Matsi even brought bones and pushed them through the chain-link as little welcoming favors.

  Once we were sure the pups had bonded to us and trust was established, it was time to introduce them to the rest of the pack. We were all a bit nervous, I think—the pups, the adult wolves, Jim, and me. At last we swung open the gate and let the wolves take it from there. We expected that the pups would charge through to join the adults, but it turned out they weren’t as ready for this moment as the adults were. Kamots sensed their apprehension. He calmly entered our camp and walked over and gave each pup a gentle lick as an introduction. I was recording sounds and listening to their elaborate conversation through my headphones. It was an emotional dialogue of whines, yips, growls, and the ever-endearing Chewbacca noises. The body language of joy mirrored their excited vocalizations. Tails wagging broadly, each adult introduced itself to the equally animated pups. Amazingly, the pups knew the protocol and instinctively rolled onto their backs, exposing their vulnerable bellies in complete submission. Through it all I inferred that the big wolves were offering the little ones a bit of reassurance but at the same time explaining their hierarchy. Every sound, every posture seemed to say, “You’re going to be okay. You’ll be part of our family now. Everything is going to be fine.”

  The little threesome took a bit of convincing. The sheer size of the adults must have been intimidating. Chemukh, always the most skittish of the siblings, ran and hid in the willows for an hour or so while the frustrated adults tried to coax her out. Wyakin, the little gray female, immediately found a mentor in Matsi and clung to him for courage. Her brother, Wahots, tried to stick to his sister’s side, but the whole meet and greet became too much for him and he disappeared. We figured he was hiding in the willows and would come out eventually. After recording sound for about an hour, I went back to our tent to stow my gear. As I sat, quietly logging my tapes, I got the uneasy feeling that I was being watched. I turned around and there was little Wahots, poking his head out from under our cot. Somehow, with all the comings and goings of the wolves through our camp gate, little Wahots had managed to sneak back into a place where he felt safe. Now he was looking at me with a bewildered expression as if to say, “What am I supposed to do now?” I picked him up and guided him back through the gate, feeling like a mother dropping her child off at the bus stop on the first day at school. Matsi was waiting there to greet him with little Wyakin in tow. The big wolf greeted Wahots gently to let him know that he was safe and welcome. By evening they were heading off into the meadow together toward the forest, with puppy-sitter Matsi walking calmly ahead and Wahots, Wyakin, and Chemukh bounding playfully behind.

  As we settled down to dinner in our cozy yurt that evening, we couldn’t stop talking about how vocal the wolves had been as they were greeting the pups. In all the things I had read about wolves, I didn’t recall reading anything about how varied and musical their conversations were.

  When people talk about the language of wolves, they usually focus on howling, but there’s so much more. Pack rallies culminate in a howl, but before and after that climax, we’ve always heard the wolves making lively conversation—and it’s very clear to me that their vocalizations are expressions of family solidarity. We’d hear Kamots talking discreetly to his timid brother when Lakota needed encouragement. Wyakin and Wahots, inseparable siblings, would converse with each other as they’d gang up on their littermate, Chemukh. Amani and Motomo would sometimes work together to outsmart their leader Kamots and snatch extra food, and we could hear them hatching plans in their quiet voices before springing into action. It has occurred to me that most wolf observations take place at a distance that is too far away to hear this subtle language. Only because the Sawtooth Pack awarded us their trust and allowed us to live within their territory were we able to hear them. It proved t
o me that wolves are interacting all the time, touching base with each other, communicating moods and reaffirming their family bonds.

  The years after Wahots, Wyakin, and Chemukh joined the pack were the richest years of our project. We watched as the Sawtooth Pack grew from a mellow clan of five males, to a proper pack of six males and two females, and at last to a dynamic family of 11. Whether it was their adoption of Wahots, Wyakin, and Chemukh or the arrival of their own litter of Ayet, Motaki, and Piyip two years later, the Sawtooth wolves rejoiced when their family grew. That is not to say there were not family squabbles. Lakota may have had to endure the omega status at the bottom of the hierarchy for many years, but he was as much a cherished member of the family as any of the others. He always ate, he howled with the group, he played with his packmates, and he helped raise the pups.

  We have marveled at each individual wolf’s intelligence and been fascinated by observing each unique personality, but the family bond shared among these wolves is what we have admired the most. Caring for the young ones—and for each other—was the central mission in their lives. A wolf is impelled by many individual desires—it wants to breed, hunt, perhaps explore—but its most profound desire is the one that touches us at our very core as human beings: A wolf wants to belong.

  Kamots, the alpha or pack leader

  CHAPTER THREE

  LEAD WITH KINDNESS

  JIM

  THE ASPEN TREES WERE SURRENDERING after their brief moment of autumn brilliance. Their spade-shaped leaves had faded to dull yellow and brown and began to shake loose with each gentle puff of wind. One by one, ravens gathered in the barest branches. The birds engaged in a lively conversation, chatting back and forth in a musical gurgle that always sounded to me like a strange mechanical dribbling of water. They seemed to enjoy pausing to hear the sound bounce back to them from the mountain walls. One bird swooped down to join three others picking at some scattered bones and pieces of hide—the signs of a wolf feast completed.

  The wolves of the Sawtooth Pack paid the ravens no mind. They had spent the last three days working through the carcass of a 600-pound bull elk and were enjoying the resulting food stupor, resting at the edge of the forest on a crisp October afternoon. During our years at wolf camp, we did our best to re-create the way wolves live in the wild, mimicking the success or failure of a hunt, bringing in road-killed elk and deer at irregular intervals. After such a big meal, they wouldn’t need to eat again for several days.

  It was a picture of pure contentment. Motomo and Amani basked in a patch of sunshine. Snarling and growling in mock battle, Wahots and Wyakin played tug-of-war with a leftover piece of elk hide. Matsi and Lakota snoozed side by side. Chemukh, always the loner, gnawed on the end of an antler a few yards away. Kamots sat and calmly watched his pack.

  Suddenly he lifted his head to full attention and his body became tense. The forest was quiet save for the occasional croaking of ravens, but his ears pivoted forward and he turned to point his nose toward something distant and unseen. With sudden purpose he rose to his feet and trotted away with that cool, determined gait that wolves have. Motomo and Amani lifted their heads to watch him go, and then settled back down. They knew Kamots. Whatever it was, he had it covered.

  Fifteen minutes later he reappeared at the same confident trot, rejoined the others, and lay back down. It must have been a false alarm, possibly an elk moving through the nearby forest or the distant falling of a long-dead tree. His body language told all that there was no cause for concern. Whatever was going on, he dealt with it. That’s just who he was.

  For the better part of nine years Kamots was the undisputed leader of the Sawtooth Pack. Under his protection, the pack thrived. From a filmmaker’s perspective, he was beautiful to behold. His looks were classic—gray with a charcoal saddle, a dark face mask above a light muzzle. He wasn’t the biggest wolf in the pack, but the way he stood often made him appear so. He held his head and tail high and kept his ears up and alert. When he moved, it was with an unhurried confidence and certainty. His eyes were his most expressive feature. They were light amber, almost yellow, and in an instant they could flash from serious to mischievous, to concerned, to disarmingly sweet. The joys and the burdens of his role seemed to play across his face constantly, making him one of the most engaging wolves to film, photograph, or just watch. In looks, in bearing, and in behavior he was the embodiment of an alpha wolf.

  We’ve noticed lately that the word “alpha” is falling out of favor among some biologists. They would rather use the dry observational term “breeding adult.” Unfortunately, the word “alpha” has also come to be used to describe aggressive, hypercompetitive human males, which further conveys the wrong impression. Yes, alphas are the breeding male and female—but they are so much more than the dominant individuals of the pack. After spending years in Kamots’s company, we have concluded that being an alpha has almost nothing to do with aggression and everything to do with responsibility. Alphas are driven from within to shoulder the well-being of the entire pack. They patrol the boundaries of their territory, looking for danger. They are keepers of pack knowledge—where to find prey and how best to hunt it. Alphas are assured, alert, and compassionate. A true alpha is a leader in the very best sense.

  KAMOTS WAS BORN IN THE SPRING OF 1991. He and his littermates were the first pups we raised by hand to create the foundation of the Sawtooth Pack. From my very first experiences with Kamots as a pup, I could tell he was special. Some wolf pups are playful and submissive, some are nervous and shy, but Kamots was bold and curious from the start.

  When they were two weeks old, we introduced these three pups to a fenced-off area outside where they could get used to the natural world. At first they huddled close together and timidly sniffed the grass, but after just a few seconds little Kamots bounded forward, leaving his siblings behind to inspect every corner of his new surroundings.

  The social structure of a wolf pack is hierarchical, and pups develop their own “pup hierarchy” right from the beginning. It was amazing to witness the difference between Kamots and his brother and sister, even at this early age. When we had to separate them for bottle-feeding, Lakota and Motaki would become quite anxious at being apart from their siblings. Then, when they were reunited with the group, there would follow a period of squabbling, almost as though they had to reestablish their hierarchy all over again. Kamots, on the other hand, took being alone as just another experience. When he rejoined his littermates, he reassumed his place calmly, as though he had never been gone. As Kamots grew to adulthood, he simply assumed the role of alpha male as though it had always been his. He never fought another wolf for the position. He never dominated another wolf with excessive force or intimidation. He simply took charge. When we introduced the pups Matsi, Motomo, and Amani the following year, they accepted him as their leader without any hesitation.

  One of the things that Jamie and I enjoyed most during our years with the pack was to wake before dawn and watch from our camp as the wolves said good morning to their fellow packmates. They didn’t sleep solid hours like we did. Each wolf had a few favorite places to sleep, and they’d move about during the night. Still, to our amazement, each wolf began the day by paying respects to Kamots, and each in its own unique way. Matsi was the pack’s beta wolf, second only to Kamots in rank. He possessed a similar confidence but he was mild-mannered and content to let someone else lead. When he greeted Kamots, Matsi would often hold his head slightly lower than the alpha’s and stand beside him like a loyal lieutenant. Lakota, the lowest wolf in the hierarchy, would practically belly-crawl toward his brother. He’d lick Kamots’s muzzle the way a pup begs for food, whining softly. There was no fear in this ritual. It seemed to be a way of showing the leader respect. For his part, Kamots’s demeanor was not one of severity but one of care and concern. He was making sure all were present and accounted for and everyone was well. Above all, the wolves were expressing the bond tha
t each felt for the other, and all recognized Kamots as the center of their universe. They greeted each other, touched noses, and pressed shoulder to shoulder in gestures of camaraderie with Kamots as the hub.

  As the protector of the pack, Kamots was responsible for keeping order. He was usually a calm, cool presence, but there was no getting around the fact that he was also the head of the hierarchy. From time to time he had to assert himself and make that clear, most often when a deer or elk carcass was present.

  I’ll never forget watching him over a meal when he was only about a year old. We’d found a small deer that had been killed on the highway and brought it to feed the pack. There wasn’t a whole lot to go around. As Kamots stationed himself over the kill, his brother Lakota approached timidly, hoping to grab a mouthful. At first Kamots simply raised his eyes and stared at his brother, uttering a long, low growl. Lakota shrunk lower, trying to look as insignificant as possible, but he couldn’t help stretching his neck forward toward the deer, just trying to get that one bite. Kamots’s face transformed. His lips curled upward to expose a mouthful of teeth and his ears shot out to the side like horns. He let out an assertive growl and lunged. Lakota leaped backward with a yelp and flipped over in submission. The episode was surprising in its sudden ferocity, but I came to learn that this is the language of wolves. It was not Kamots’s intention to keep Lakota from eating entirely—just to make him back off for a bit and respect the pack’s social hierarchy. He made his point without ever making contact. By the time Lakota crept toward the kill once more, Kamots had settled, and he allowed his brother to eat.