by Jim Dutcher
Wahots, as always, watched his sister intently. He had learned about his sister’s tricks early in life, and he knew that if he sat back and waited, Wyakin would amass a bountiful supply of leftovers for him. He would shift his gaze between his sister and the rest of the pack, lest one of the others catch on and spoil his fun. Every time Wyakin returned to the carcass for another load, Wahots would step away with an air of nonchalance, only to return a few minutes later looking as though he’d just been for a casual stroll. Then Wyakin would spend the next hour scouring the willows, trying to figure out where her food went. The siblings played out this scenario time and time again, and Wyakin never did catch on—though there were times I could have sworn she must have known and that this was all just a big game between the two of them.
Wahots and Wyakin were especially fond of jaw sparring, in which one wolf tries to clamp down on the snout of the other. It’s fun for them, but it’s also a subtle way of asserting dominance. In this case, play has a serious side: By the time they’re juveniles, pups have sorted out their social structure, mostly by playing with each other.
As young wolves are building pack bonds and working out their pup hierarchy, they’re also developing the skills they’ll need to survive and become contributing members of the pack. Most of the play we witnessed involved a lot of running around, and that’s hardly an accident. There’s an old Russian proverb that goes “The wolf is kept fed by its feet.” The ability to chase after prey, sometimes for several miles, is the most critical survival skill a wolf possesses. Wolves, especially young ones, appear to run just for the pure joy of it. The Sawtooth Pack could spend hours chasing each other back and forth through the trees in a lively game of tag. There’s an evolutionary advantage to this childhood behavior—they are building speed and stamina—but it always just seemed like they were having fun.
If tag was their favorite game, keep-away was a close second. One wolf would pick up some random item and begin to prance about, flipping it up in the air, daring the others to try to take it away. This would usually end in another chase or tug-of-war for possession of the fetish. Just about anything could serve as a toy—a bone, a stick, even a pinecone—but nothing matched our human possessions. We tried to be vigilant and keep all our gear carefully stowed away, but wolves are very observant and people are easily distracted.
I was amazed at the things they managed to steal in a split second. Once they managed to grab a sledgehammer and had a marvelous time dragging it around the meadow, losing their grip, tripping over it, and stealing it from one another. Another time Matsi pulled a heavy toolbox out of a cart, spilling its contents in a heap. The crash sent him running away in surprise—and gave us the opportunity to retrieve our tools.
Their obsession with human objects sometimes caused embarrassing situations for me. In the project’s third year, Ted Koch, an official from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, paid a visit to our camp. Ted was recently assigned to be in charge of wolf recovery in Idaho, but wolves were so scarce in the wild that he had never actually seen one. Visiting the Sawtooth Pack gave him the opportunity to get a close look at the animals he would be managing. I was overjoyed that my project could be an asset to the wolf recovery effort, even before our films came out.
At the time of his visit, though, I was in Washington, D.C., extending our land use permit with the U.S. Forest Service, so I could not meet him at wolf camp. In my absence our assistant, Val Asher, took him into the enclosure. As the story goes, she did advise him not to put any of his gear on the ground. Ted had brought a small 35-mm camera as well as a video camcorder. When he first saw the pack, he began snapping photos, but when the wolves came closer, he put his still camera down and began videotaping. A moment later, Kamots and Matsi were frolicking a short distance away, playing keep-away with a small, black object. Ted filmed them happily for a minute, then looked up from his camcorder and innocently asked, “What is it they’re doing?”
Val took a good look and then said, as casually as possible, “They’re eating your camera.”
Ted was so captivated with the pack that he took it in stride. Weeks later, while walking through the meadow, I found a small chunk of plastic, about the size of a half-dollar, with a few shredded wires dangling from it. I put it in an envelope with a note that read: “Dear Ted, Kamots enjoyed your camera. He’s finished with it now.”
AS THE WOLVES OF THE SAWTOOTH PACK GREW from pups, to adults, to older wolves, their appetite for play never diminished. In fact, I’m sure that, just like pups, adult wolves play for the sheer joy of it. But there’s a lot going on in a little game of tag. For animals that live and hunt as a group, a solid foundation of trust and cooperation is critical. A wolf pack succeeds or fails as one.
Through play, adult wolves stay in tune with one another. After a good chase or a tussle over a bone, wolves have a better sense of one another’s physicality, strengths, and weaknesses. It isn’t that much different from a football team running practice plays. The more they move together, the better executed their plays become. Plus wolves have a great time doing it, which builds camaraderie and reinforces their pack bonds.
There’s another side to play that’s harder to define. It’s something Jamie and I came to understand as we observed the Sawtooth Pack. A wolf pack is indeed a family, but it’s also a hierarchy. We saw the wolves use play as an opportunity to put that hierarchy aside, if only for a short while. Lakota, the pack omega, was most often the one who instigated play. As the omega, he often had to endure dominance displays from the rest of the pack. But he was also a bit like a court jester. It stands to reason that the lowest wolf in the hierarchy would want to keep things light and relaxed. And so if social relations got tense, Lakota would be the first one to bow his head, wag his tail, and say, “Let’s play!”
I remember a moment when the wolves weren’t doing much of anything interesting and I was simply watching them, as I often did, hoping for a bit of behavior that would make a good filming opportunity. All of a sudden Lakota walked over to his brother, Kamots, and crouched into the characteristic play bow. It was as though Kamots had been waiting for a trigger. He sprang to his feet and darted after Lakota, snapping playfully. Soon they were coursing through the meadow, Lakota only inches ahead of Kamots’s jaws. Lakota had had his share of other wolves snapping at him, but this time it was clear from his posture that he understood this was not aggression.
Lakota zigzagged through the grass with his mouth agape, his lips pulled back in a wolf smile—that unmistakable expression of joy that we humans seem to understand instinctively. Several times he nearly allowed himself to be caught, only to leap just a hair ahead of Kamots. Eventually Kamots did catch him—or maybe Lakota let himself be caught. He flipped over onto his back in surrender, while the alpha snarled and snapped in mock ferocity. Then Lakota gently licked Kamots’s muzzle—the wolf equivalent of saying uncle—and the game was over.
In this case Lakota and Kamots played their roles in accordance with pack hierarchy, but after observing them do this over and over, I began to see that it wasn’t so simple. Not long after I had observed this interaction, I again watched the pair racing through the meadow. The two brothers are extremely similar in appearance, large with classic black and gray markings, so it took me a minute before I realized that this time Lakota was chasing Kamots. I couldn’t imagine how this role reversal could be happening. In an amazing twist in their standard game, Kamots was allowing himself to be caught in the game of tag.
Yellowstone’s Rick McIntyre, the most seasoned wolf-watcher in the park, shared a similar observation with us. He had once watched 21, the fabled leader of the Druid Peak Pack, mock-lose a fight with his pups, even rolling over in apparent submission. Although he was a big, powerful wolf and the top of the Druid hierarchy, he was willing to play a game to help build his pups’ confidence and instill a cooperative spirit within their pack.
On the surface this kind of r
ole reversal might seem like a simple thing, but it implies that there is a lot more going on in the inner life of wolves than we can imagine. In humans, an older, stronger brother might let a younger brother pin him in a mock wrestling match, feigning defeat and letting his younger sibling celebrate victory. It’s the same with wolves. Both participants know who the dominant one is, but it can also be fun for both to reverse the roles. Such behavior speaks volumes about both the self-awareness and the compassion of a wolf like Kamots. It means he had to have a concept of himself and a concept of how Lakota perceived him. He must have understood that it would be rewarding for Lakota to enjoy a moment of victory, even if it was all a game. It was important to Kamots that Lakota knew he belonged to the pack as much as any mid-ranking wolf. Watching the two of them play like this, I understood how much these wolves really cared for each other.
Knowing that a wolf has a self-concept and a concept of the other wolves in the pack is fascinating enough, but beyond that, I wonder if wolves understand their place in the larger world too. Wolves don’t limit their choice of playmates to other wolves. The Sawtooth Pack shared their territory with us, with various rodents, with songbirds, and with one other constant avian companion: the ravens. Biologists have written a great deal about the relationship between wolves and these extremely clever birds. Ravens know to follow wolves on the hunt because they will likely be rewarded with scraps after the wolves finish eating. It has been reported that ravens return the favor—guiding opportunistic wolves to animal carcasses and thus an easy meal. Because ravens have a bird’s-eye advantage for spotting prey on the ground, wolves have learned to look to ravens to guide them to a meal. By way of reciprocating, wolves tear through tough hides that the birds cannot penetrate. Both reap the reward of a team effort. However, the two species seem to share a camaraderie that goes beyond mutual benefit. We often saw ravens hanging out near the wolves even when no food was to be had. Both species are highly intelligent, social, and communicative—really, they have quite a bit in common.
And yet the ravens did not share any of this spirit of camaraderie with us. Wolves had passed the test eons ago, but people, it seemed, were not worthy of the ravens’ trust. They were skittish and never let Jamie or me get close to them, but at least we were allowed to observe at a distance the bizarre relationship that developed between the Sawtooth Pack and the resident ravens. Sometimes when we were feeding the pack, the ravens would gather nearby and keep a close eye out for any stray morsels. Every so often a bold individual would dart in, and one of the wolves would turn and snap furiously at the bird, perhaps removing a tail feather but never inflicting any real damage. I think it was mostly for show. The wolves’ attitude seemed to be, “We’re predators; we have to try to catch you, and you have to fly away.” The ravens at wolf camp actually seemed to enjoy flirting with disaster, making a game out of seeing just how close they could get to a wolf and still escape. I believe the wolves knew it was a game too and enjoyed it just as much as the birds did.
One day Amani was snoozing in the grass when a raven landed a few feet away and began bobbing and strutting back and forth. There was no food in sight; this was purely a social call. At first Amani showed little interest, so the raven began taunting him with caws and cackles, even pulling the sleeping wolf’s tail. Amani’s ears perked up and he slowly shifted his weight, trying to maintain the illusion of relaxation while subtly positioning himself to move. Suddenly he pounced and the bird leaped backward, flapping wildly. Amani twisted his neck this way and that, snapping and missing. The raven sailed up about 10 feet and then glided back to earth a short distance away. No sooner had he landed than he began to cackle and hop about. Again Amani feigned disinterest, and again the bird came closer. Once more the wolf pounced, just a feather’s width off the mark. This game went on for almost 20 minutes before Amani finally stood up, bored, gave a shake, and walked away, while the bird cawed after him.
On one level this simply could have been Amani’s predatory instinct at work, but I don’t believe he really wanted to catch that raven. In fact, although we saw plenty of interactions between the pack and ravens, we never saw a wolf catch one in six years. On two occasions we did find a dead raven lying in the grass, though. But what’s interesting is that the wolves never consumed the dead ravens, nor did they treat the carcass as a toy the way they sometimes did when they managed to catch a mouse or a vole. Once Jamie picked up a dead raven by the wing and tossed it on the ground in front of Matsi to see what he would do. He sort of looked at her as if to say, “How sad,” and walked away. If a wolf had killed that bird, I can only imagine it had been an unfortunate accident.
SEEING JUST HOW MUCH the Sawtooth Pack played, we wondered about their wild cousins. Were wolves in the wild, who were more burdened by survival issues such as being hunted and avoiding rival packs, still likely to play? Our friend Gordon Haber provided an answer. After spending a lifetime observing wolves in Alaska, he observed in his book, Among Wolves, “If a half hour passes without at least some play, it is an unusual half hour in the daily routine of a wolf family…It isn’t coincidental that wolves are at the same time probably the most playful, as well as the most socially cooperative, of nonhuman animals.” Jamie and I both feel that Haber was ahead of his time in how he understood the social order of a wolf pack. Where other biologists saw a family group of hunters, Gordon saw a shared culture and the passing of information over generations. He saw a true society in which play is the glue that holds it together.
Jamie and I were thrilled to have the opportunity to join Gordon on an expedition to film wolves in Alaska in 1995. The first surprise was the Alaskan weather. We arrived in a place called Delta Junction about a hundred miles southeast of Fairbanks on an unseasonably warm March day. We decided to go for a 30-minute run, wearing our light jackets, and before we made it back to our lodging, the temperature had dropped from about 40° above zero Fahrenheit to 40° below!
We were scheduled to fly in a small airplane over the Yukon River and look for wolves from the air, but when our pilot saw the gear we had brought, we had to delay and get properly equipped. Jamie and I had brought all the layers of clothing that got us through winter in the Sawtooths, so why should we worry about being cold in Alaska?
Our pilot had a treat for us filmmakers. When we got to the plane, we saw it had no door. That way I would be able to film wolves without having to peer through scratched Plexiglas windows. I’d have a great view, but the temperature inside the plane would be as frigid as the summit of Denali in a blizzard. That realization sent us to the nearest store in search of as many hand and toe warmers as we could find, plus a stop at the pilot’s home to borrow more gear—the same gear that pipeline workers use to survive prolonged exposure to the fierce cold of the tundra. By the time we boarded the plane, we were buried inside huge parkas, fur-lined pants, and enormous “bunny boots” that made us look like we had Mickey Mouse feet. We were prepared; the only problem was we could barely move.
This was a decade before sophisticated aerial mounts were widely used, and the miniature camera drones that everyone seems to have nowadays were years from being invented. I was tethered to the aircraft with a safety belt, holding a heavy 16-mm film camera, leaning out the open airplane door and taking the full blast of 100-mile-an-hour Arctic air in the face. But what a view!
Miles from anything, high over Alaska’s remote backcountry, we spotted a pack of about 15 wolves on a bald mountain slope. As they came into view, we could see them racing about, darting back and forth, moving up the mountain slope, then back down. They weren’t hunting and they weren’t patrolling their territory; they were playing. As we got closer, we could pick out one wolf in particular that seemed to be the master of ceremonies. He would run up the side of the slope, then run back down at breakneck speed, chasing one or another of his packmates. Then he’d tumble and roll in the snow, leap to his feet, and drop his head into a play bow. He seemed to be able to get every o
ther wolf into the mood. They all took turns bounding after him through the deep drifts. Although it was too far to see, I could imagine their wolf smiles as they chased each other and nipped at one another’s tails.
Watching these wolves, we thought right away of our Lakota. We knew that this exuberant ringleader below us was the omega, the one who got the game going and invited the others to play. He might get picked on occasionally, but he kept the mood light and helped all the wolves stay close and bonded to one other—truly an important and cherished member of the pack whose importance came in large part because he was always ready to play.
Matsi puppy-sitting Wyakin and Wahots with Chemukh behind
CHAPTER SIX
TEACH THE YOUNG, RESPECT THE OLD
JAMIE
WAHOTS, WYAKIN, AND CHEMUKH, four-month-old wolf pups, were heading off on an adventure. It was a sunny morning in August 1994, just one day after Jim and I had introduced these three into the pack. Matsi, the pack’s beta male, had stepped up to be the primary sitter and caregiver to his newly adopted packmates. Almost from the moment they met him, standing calmly, ready to greet them outside our camp gate, these awkward little pups seemed to understand that Matsi was their protector and mentor. They followed him immediately. They hadn’t chosen Matsi; he chose himself. He had this calm, even-keeled presence that must have been reassuring. Even shy Chemukh appeared to feel safe and comfortable around him. Although Kamots was the first to welcome the new pups into the pack, it was Matsi who took them under his wing.
From our small camp in the middle of their territory, we could witness this fascinating behavior without interrupting them. We were unobtrusive observers living in a little bubble within their kingdom. This idea of ours—to put our camp inside their territory—was paying off more than we ever expected. Our presence became a normal part of their day-to-day lives, and we were rewarded with unparalleled access to every aspect of their society.