by Jim Dutcher
Kamots’s leadership was firm at times, but we never saw him treat any wolf viciously or harm any member of his pack—this was not always true of the other wolves. Amani, despite showing endless patience with young pups, could be a bully toward other adults, especially Lakota. I suspect it was because he was afraid he might drop in rank if he didn’t continuously prove his strength. Kamots, in contrast, never felt the need to behave this way. His authority was secure. A warning growl and a flash of teeth were sometimes necessary to keep everyone in line, but he almost never took it further. I believe that he earned the pack’s respect in a way that a more aggressive wolf would not.
By the time the three pups, Chemukh, Wyakin, and Wahots, had made it through their first summer, Kamots began to treat them with a slightly firmer hand. For their first four months of life he had guaranteed them a place at every carcass and made sure they ate their fill. Around September, though—when the pups were adolescents—he changed his tune. He began challenging them and making them assert themselves for the right to eat. I believe he was doing some character building, because he focused on timid Chemukh especially. Before they’re a year old, young wolves must be ready to travel with the pack, making their way through deep snow and participating in the hunt when they can. I think Kamots was letting the growing pups know that childhood was over and it was time to toughen up.
KAMOTS WAS A MARVELOUS LEADER, but he was not the Sawtooth Pack’s only alpha. A wolf pack actually has two alphas and two parallel hierarchies—one for males and one for females. In the final years of the project, Chemukh emerged as the Sawtooth Pack’s alpha female. Although Kamots was the very embodiment of a natural leader, Chemukh was anything but. She was high-strung and could be aggressive when she felt insecure. She was, however, one of only two females in the pack, and her counterpart, Wyakin, was easygoing and not at all prone to fighting. When the two were still immature, Jamie and I speculated that Wyakin’s even temperament would make her the better alpha, but biology had other plans. Chemukh came into estrus—her first period of sexual receptivity—before Wyakin, and Kamots took notice at once. By the time Wyakin caught up, Kamots and Chemukh had already mated, securing Chemukh’s position. From that point forward she became something of a tyrant, going as far as biting Wyakin and Lakota from time to time. As much as Kamots showed me what a leader was, Chemukh sometimes showed me what a leader wasn’t.
When I think of Chemukh, I’m reminded of a story from Yellowstone’s famous Druid Peak Pack and a wolf who is fondly remembered as the Cinderella Wolf. Cinderella—or 42, as her radio collar officially identified her—was a mild-mannered wolf, subordinate to her sister, number 40. Unfortunately, that alpha female, number 40, reminds us of Chemukh, not the even-tempered Cinderella. Wolf number 40 was a textbook tyrant who maintained her status through a steady outpouring of aggression toward the pack’s other females.
After decades without wolves, Yellowstone was flush with an overabundance of elk. Under such favorable conditions, a wolf pack may allow multiple members to breed. In 1999 the Druid Pack’s alpha male sired pups with both 40 and 42 (Cinderella). This seemed to push 40, the alpha female, over the edge, and Cinderella found herself the target of her sister’s wrath more than ever. At every opportunity, 40 attacked Cinderella and attempted to drive her out of the pack. She may have even killed Cinderella’s first litter, though no one can say for sure.
Wolves generally cooperate in all aspects of family life, but the following year, when Cinderella again mated with the alpha male, she was so concerned for her pups’ safety that she dug a den far from her sister’s and kept her young ones out of sight. Then one day, 40 came calling. The aggressive alpha attacked her sister as always and threatened her pups. At last Cinderella turned and stood her ground. At this point, the rivalry between the two females could have gone either way, but something truly amazing happened: The other females in the pack rose up and rallied around Cinderella. Together they literally staged a coup, killing the tyrant and elevating a new leader, one they knew would be even-tempered and kind. From then on, 42—the Cinderella Wolf—ruled benevolently as the Druid Peak Pack’s alpha female.
FORTUNATELY, AS CHEMUKH AGED and settled in as the Sawtooth Pack’s female leader, she became more secure and her aggression subsided. She was never to be the strong leader that Kamots was, but at least she became a reliable member of the pack.
Lately biologists have been trying to determine whether the alpha male or female is the ultimate “leader of the pack.” Doug Smith, the head of the Yellowstone Wolf Restoration Project, has spent thousands of hours observing the park’s wolves, and even he is unable to give a definitive answer to this question. He did share some stories with us, though. It’s quite common, he says, to see an alpha male stand up and stretch, looking like he’s ready to venture off somewhere, and no other members of his pack pay much heed. On the other hand, very often when the alpha female stands up, every other wolf will come to attention, as if to say, “Oh, we’re doing something now.” It doesn’t happen every time, Doug says, but his observations suggest that wolves often appear more keyed in to the alpha female’s leadership than to the alpha male’s.
It could be that in the most successful packs the alpha male and female rule together, dividing their duties based on their individual talents. Big males are good at guarding territory and protecting the pack. On the hunt, the alpha male is often the one to deliver the finishing blow to prey. On the other hand, females are usually smaller and faster on their feet. They can often be seen initiating the hunt and testing a prey animal to see if it’s worth pursuing. Jamie and I noticed another sign of the alpha female’s elevated status: When Chemukh dug her den, no other wolf, not even Kamots, entered it. That was her domain and hers alone. Because a wolf pack is above all else a family and raising healthy pups is the pack’s primary mission, it’s not surprising that the mother of the pups would play the key role.
Still, I can say without question that in the Sawtooth Pack, Kamots was the one in charge. He alone patrolled their territory and kept an eye out for danger. When they gathered for a pack rally—a spirited display of pack solidarity—the other wolves rallied around him. When they howled, Kamots led them in their song. Whether the male or female—or both—the alpha is the center of gravity that holds the pack together.
After many years leading her pack, the Cinderella Wolf was found dead near an elk carcass at the edge of her territory. A few months later, her mate, a grizzled male called 21, left the pack and walked alone to a ridge, laid down under a tree, and died peacefully. It was a momentous time, reshaping the world of the Yellowstone wolves. Imagine the sun abruptly vanishing and the planets, with no force to hold them in orbit, spinning off into the void. For the remainder of the Druid Peak Pack, that’s how it probably felt. Some splintered off on their own to seek out new territory. A small pack under a new alpha pair tried to rebuild on the old territory, but the pack never regained its former power. By 2010 the Druid Peak Pack had ceased to be.
Wolf packs aren’t made to last forever. During their long reign, Cinderella and her mate 21 likely raised more offspring than any other wolf pair in Yellowstone. Their blood runs in many of the wolves who lead packs today throughout the greater Yellowstone ecosystem. So although it is sad to think of the passing of these two well-known wolves of Yellowstone, it is worth remembering that they were victorious. The greater tragedy is that many great alpha wolves out there today do not get the chance to have that success.
We know from our own human experience that stories of heroism are often tragic tales. The courage, compassion, and sacrifice that make a human—or a wolf—a great leader often sow the seeds of their downfall. Consider these facts: In Alaska trappers run their lines right along the boundaries of Denali National Park and Preserve, taking advantage if any wolf steps across the invisible border. In Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks, wolf hunters may even be using radio telemetry to track the movements of rad
io-collared park wolves. If any wolf leaves the protected area (and in the pursuit of migrating elk, they inevitably do), hunters are already lined up and waiting. In the Idaho wilderness, there is no safe zone for wolves, and hunting them recreationally is encouraged. In 2014, Idaho’s Department of Fish and Game sold 43,300 wolf hunting tags, or permits. That year there were a mere 650 wolves in Idaho. In several regions in Idaho today, including in federally protected wilderness areas, management plans in place are designed to reduce already tiny populations of wolves by as much as 40 to 60 percent. In such a hostile environment, what would have befallen a leader such as Kamots? He was always the one to investigate danger, and he would never have hesitated to put himself between a threat and his pack. It’s what great leaders do.
So when hunters are combing the wilderness looking for wolves, which ones are they going to see—and shoot? Every time we read a headline about wolves getting shot, we have come to expect that at least one of an alpha pair was among the victims. Protecting the pack is the alpha’s solemn duty—and may likely be his or her doom.
When an alpha is killed, the pack goes into shock and grief. We’re talking about young and mid-ranking wolves literally losing their mother or father. Wolves suffer this emotional loss intensely. The pack has just lost experience, knowledge—and its gravitational center. Just as we saw when the Druid Peak Pack lost its alphas, the surviving wolves often scatter. A fragmented and traumatized pack of two or three wolves without an alpha will have a much more difficult time bringing down an adult elk or even defending their kill from bears and other predators. Ranchers may even suffer from the impact, for a smaller pack of less experienced wolves may go after easier prey, such as livestock.
A large pack with strong leaders is far more predictable. The alphas maintain their territory so they can hunt on familiar ground. Once alpha females establish a safe den site, they’ll often return to it year after year and even pass it on to the next generation. Experienced alpha wolves know the danger that humans present. Knowledgeable alphas will pick a safe place to hunt and raise young that minimizes conflict with rival packs and with humans—and once they’ve taken possession of that locale, they will hold onto it.
When we talk to policy makers, we often stress these practical issues because of their repercussions through the landscape that wolves share with humans. It is easy to discuss the importance of an alpha as the one that brings experience, strength, and stability to a pack. Kamots certainly had those attributes. But for Jamie and me, there was something more difficult to define—something in the alpha’s mere presence. I may have been the human in charge of the Sawtooth wolf project, responsible for all logistical and practical matters, but I looked upon Kamots as the true leader and spirit of the pack and the project.
By the time our wolf camp project reached its halfway point, the anti-wolf community was making it far more difficult and disturbing than I had ever imagined it could. One autumn day in the project’s fourth year, I felt my confidence falter. I had just received a series of disappointing messages from the authorities holding our land use permits. They were under pressure to cancel my certifications, and if that happened, the wolves would have to go. We were still searching for a permanent home for the pack, and the consequences of an eviction were unthinkable. Even more concerning were letters that had begun to appear in our mailbox—anonymous threats to “get rid of those wolves or we will.” Someone posted signs near our camp warning us to be gone or “wind up in the Custer County jail.” Even a former governor weighed in, saying our project was nothing more than “wolf propaganda” and should not be allowed to exist. Jamie and I were painfully aware that we were responsible for the lives of these wolves, but our ability to keep them safe seemed increasingly beyond our control.
With all these concerns swirling around in my mind, I decided to go for a walk to sort things out. I was hoping Kamots would join me. He was always the most inquisitive member of the pack, so I suspected he would follow if I walked alone into his domain. Normally I would have set out carrying a camera and tripod but this time my mission wasn’t to film. It was just to think.
Sure enough, as I hiked uphill toward Williams Peak, Kamots trotted along after me, although he followed at a dignified distance, pretending to be more interested in chipmunks than what I was doing. As I walked, he would disappear into the trees then reappear in front of me, only to disappear again. I got to a ridge overlooking the meadow where the pack often played. I could see the white canvas of our tents and a thin column of smoke rising from the woodstove inside our yurt. I sat down, and Kamots emerged from the forest. He solemnly walked over and sat down, facing me.
We had accomplished so much together—Kamots, his packmates, Jamie, and me. We were documenting the intimate family-oriented side of wolves that people had never seen before. A new audience was developing a more accurate understanding of these misunderstood creatures. We had to find a way to continue our work and, more importantly, protect the pack that had already given so much of itself.
As I sat and wondered what to do, Kamots seemed to be wondering about me. I had the habit of talking to myself when I was trying to sort out problems, and with each sound I made, he cocked his head, the light fur above his eyes knitting together in an expression of curiosity and concern.
Then, in a gesture I’d never seen before, he raised his paw up to me. I put out my hand and pressed it against his paw, and we sat there like that for a minute in silence. I felt as though he was assuring me that if we held up our end, he would hold up his. We should continue to deal with the human world, and in his calm, strong, confident way, he would keep his pack stable and safe. He was that kind of leader.
An exuberant pack rally
CHAPTER FOUR
ONE FOR ALL
JAMIE
ON A DISMAL FEBRUARY MORNING our taxi came to a stop in front of what we believed to be our destination. Peering from the backseat through the pouring rain, we could only see a massive brick multigabled building, shrouded by leafless trees.
“Jim, is that it?” I laughed. “I think we’re at Hogwarts!”
I am the product of an all-American suburban public school, and with its collegiate gothic facade, the Taft preparatory school in western Connecticut looked like something from another world to me—stately and yet somewhat menacing. Alas, instead of Albus Dumbledore, a smiling headmaster escorted us to Bingham Auditorium, where row after row of typical kids were quietly shuffling in to fill the seats.
We had come to Taft to deliver our multimedia presentation for the entire school. It’s what we’ve been doing in the years since we said goodbye to the Sawtooth Pack. Sharing with others what they taught us is our way of keeping their memory alive and honoring our commitment to the wolves who still struggle for survival today. The students had been required to read Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat over their summer vacation.
Many of them had seen our films, and a few even welled up with emotion as we greeted them before they filed into the auditorium.
The Sawtooth Pack has touched a lot of hearts, but even in the 21st century some children know more about the “Big Bad Wolf” of fables than they do about the real thing. That is why we speak at schools. Farley Mowat’s wonderful writing may have been their first exposure to the curious, gentle, family-oriented animals who Jim and I have come to know. We were eager to introduce them to Kamots, Lakota, Chemukh, and the rest of the pack through our films, photographs, and stories, and to talk with the students about comparisons between the Sawtooth Pack and Mowat’s wolves of subarctic Canada.
The children of the Taft School were well prepared for our visit and took their seats quickly. Then as we stepped onto the stage, a familiar yet decidedly out-of-place sound began to rise from the auditorium. More than 600 students were howling in unison! We stood there spellbound, enjoying how much they were clearly loving the outburst. Eventually the headmaster decided the welcome had gone
on for a respectable length of time and tried to quiet the students, but a pack howl is a contagious event. It took a while to calm everyone down.
I came to learn from the teachers that this wasn’t an orchestrated event but a spontaneous gesture of welcome that had spread through the room. They were excited about our visit, and their howl seemed to channel that excitement. What was especially wonderful to see was how much the kids genuinely loved howling together. The fact is: We’re both social animals—people and wolves. This kind of group behavior reinforces a sense of unity, cooperation, and togetherness, and it just feels good.
I often like to say that wolves howl for more reasons than we will ever know. The Sawtooth Pack sometimes howled in celebration after a meal. They sometimes howled back and forth at night to communicate to one another, as if to say, “I’m over here; I’m okay.” They howled mournfully in sadness when one of their family members died. Sometimes it seemed as if they howled just because they felt it was time to howl. Although their howls carried many different moods, the one quality that always seemed to be present was a sense of togetherness. I’m certain that wolves enjoy that sense of togetherness as much as those Taft students did.
Through our years living with the Sawtooth Pack, we often saw the wolves behaving with what seemed to be a common mind. One of the most astonishing scenes Jim and I ever witnessed involved the watchful wolf Motomo, this time in partnership with his brother Amani. These two had an interesting relationship that we could never entirely work out. Amani was sometimes pugnacious and often tried to make a show of dominating his brother. Motomo, on the other hand, was cool and never seemed very perturbed by these displays—except when there was food around. When a deer or elk carcass appeared, Motomo refused to back down, leading us to believe that despite Amani’s showmanship, Motomo was probably the more dominant of the two, but he only bothered to show it when it mattered.