3 Among the Wolves (15 page)

Whenever he indicated to us that it was time for a game, we let him off his leash to allow him room to maneuver. He would race away then turn to head straight at us, dodging at the last moment, racing around the tent and heading for us again, barely avoiding our outstretched hands. It was impossible to catch him. Sometimes Bill tried to outwit Charlie by diving headfirst to cut him off, but it was my husband who always ended up sprawled on the ground, with Charlie making another daring pass.

The wolves' response was one of intense curiosity as they gathered to watch the spectacle. Once Charlie discovered he had an attentive audience, he was spurred to new heights of ambush. He hid behind the boulder beside our tent, and when we pretended we didn't know he was there and walked by, he leaped out, racing past us at full throttle. When exhaustion ended the game, we clipped Charlie's leash back on. He usually got a drink of water and then slept hard, just as the wolves did following a strenuous game.

At times Charlie made it clear that he wanted to be free of his leash. But he generally accepted it, as if he understood that we could not allow him to roam freely among the wolves. In our adventure, his safety came above all else.

One day, though, we were tempted to take the risk. The three of us were hiking through a secluded valley of willow and spruce a little west of the den, scouting the slopes above for Dall sheep.
It was midafternoon, and after seeing a group of eight sheep and lambs who looked down at us with only mild interest, we were about to return to camp when Charlie barked to be let off his leash. We guessed that he wanted closer contact with the sheep.

At first I was adamant that we not break our rule of keeping him secured to the leash at all times, except when playing with us in camp. But as his pleading intensified and the sheep wandered out of sight, I began to consider letting him off just this once, thinking he would lead us back to camp. He wouldn't chase after the sheep now that he couldn't see them, I reasoned.

Bill agreed, sure that Charlie would stay close to us. But the moment he was free, he ran partway up the slope and at full speed followed the rocky trail the sheep had taken. He was soon out of sight in spite of our calls.

We stumbled across the uneven ground and up the slope to the narrow trail, hurrying as fast as the terrain allowed, which was nowhere near the speed at which Charlie had traveled. By now we were yelling at the top of our lungs, frantically trying to persuade him to return. We rounded a turn in the trail just in time to see him disappear as he chased the sheep over the next ridge. We quickly crested the ridge, but there was no sign of Charlie or the sheep.

We were distraught. We climbed down into the next valley, unsure which direction Charlie had taken. An hour went by with no sign of him. With tears streaming down my face, I followed Bill until he finally stopped and turned to face me. “We're never going to find him in such a rugged wilderness,” he said.

But we kept calling him anyway, with voices that were almost hoarse, and talked about where to turn next. I was reluctant to return to the den, but Bill argued that Charlie knew where the den was, and unless he ran into trouble with strange wolves, he would return. We sadly turned back. Bill put his arm
around my shoulders, trying to convince me that Charlie was okay. But his words sounded hollow, and I was inconsolable.

As we walked back, we kept calling. In an hour we reached the outskirts of the den area, at which point we became quiet lest our uncustomary loud voices disturb the wolves, who were lounging around the den. I was so upset that I hardly glanced at the teens and Beta, who lay close to Charlie's scent-marked boundary. Bill was glum and silent.

Suddenly a large black form crested the ridge above us and there was Charlie, calmly trotting downward to meet us with no sign of fatigue. We rushed him. I hugged him tight while Bill stroked his back. We were so giddy with relief we couldn't be angry. I cried tears of joy. Then Charlie calmly led us back to the tent and set about the serious business of licking his paws clean, while Bill clicked his leash firmly in place.

Although his calm return reminded us that Charlie was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, we knew we had broken an important wilderness rule. Many times, as we hiked in the Cascade Range, we had encountered hikers frantically searching for a lost dog. Often, in spite of trail rules that require dogs to remain on leashes, an owner releases a pet with the misguided notion that the animal will be happier. Many such animals, attracted by a wild scent, leave the trail and are never found; they fall victim to coyotes roaming the mountains. Now we understood the panic of those pet owners.

In relief, we sat outside the tent, sharing peanuts and allowing our nerves to settle, while Charlie begged for food until we filled his bowl. We wondered just how far had he chased the sheep and whether he had heard us calling him. But all that really mattered was that he was with us again.

C
LEAR SKY THE NEXT MORNING heralded a glorious sunny day. All the wolves except Mother left to hunt. When they returned three hours later, Alpha carried the leg of an adult moose. Denali and Omega followed, each dragging portions that were so heavy they had to straddle the precious meat with their front legs. The teenagers followed, accompanied by Beta, the wise old wolf, who appeared to urge the young ones on as they struggled with bulky loads. Beta carried nothing. We assumed his job was to supervise the teenagers, who hunted with increasing frequency as the summer progressed.

The moose carcass was a bloody, grisly sight. Most of the skin had been torn off, and the head was missing. The hunters' bellies were distended with food they had eaten at the kill site. Once at the den, Alpha left his load for Mother, and the rest left theirs in the shade. After Mother ate her fill and drank from the stream, she returned to the den while the rest of the pack relaxed and slept. Three hours later they all rose and gorged themselves again.

Around midnight, Denali and Alpha trotted away. They returned around 2 A.M. with an uneaten hare and a partly devoured beaver, which they left close to the den entrance. Mother came out and sat down alone to enjoy the bounty at her door. Apparently unable to eat much more, she left most of the beaver for the two teenagers, whose hostility as they competed for the food was at first subtle, then more serious as the beaver disappeared. They snarled at each other while gulping the
last pieces. Part of the beaver's furry skin served in a tug-of-war game the next day.

Now we knew that the wolves sometimes caught beavers. The sight of the limp beaver's body saddened us. We hoped it was not from the marsh we had visited.

We awoke early the next morning to the sound of snarling and crunching. The pack, including Mother, was devouring the rest of the moose. Omega darted back and forth, snatching meat whenever the opportunity presented itself. He appeared to have perfected the art of stealth. Sometimes a neighbor growled into his face as he grabbed a piece, but his quickness allowed him to escape with his prize intact.

After observing the activities for most of the night, we returned to our sleeping bags. The sound of wolves yipping happily awoke us. We forced our reluctant, sleep-deprived bodies from the tent to see what was going on in the neighborhood.

What we saw made us promptly forget our lack of sleep. Before us was the sight we had been longing for: Mother had two pups out on full display.

Their short, round bodies were covered in fluffy gray fur. They stood on stubby legs with feet that appeared far too large. Their little ears pointed upward, their tails were short and thin, and their eyes were still blue. It was the second week of June, so the pups must have been four weeks old. Alpha nudged them toward the stream. They clearly had no desire to go anywhere near the water. They wobbled back to Mother on unsteady legs, only to have her push them toward the water again. But the pups had made up their minds: They were not going close to the stream, at least not today.

Charlie was fascinated. He made gentle whimpering sounds and wagged his tail as he bounded to the end of his leash to meet the pups. Given their feeble eyesight at this age, they at first didn't see him. Then one round furball looked up, paused a moment to figure out what Charlie was, then tottered toward him. We started toward Charlie to lead him away from the pup in case Mother and her kin became upset. But before we could reach him, he had already bent to nuzzle the new wolf.

We stopped in midstride. The meeting was going well, and the adults didn't seem distressed. Mother walked slowly toward Charlie and stopped fifteen feet away. Charlie saw her and nosed the pup in her direction. The little fellow adjusted his eyes, saw his mother, and wove his way back to her as fast as his short legs would take him. He immediately reached for a nipple and had a milk break. Then Mother returned the pups to the den while the rest of the family stretched out in the shade. As for Bill and me, we were overjoyed to have finally seen the pups. Until now we had worried that Mother would be too nervous to allow her pups so close to us.

Wolves are born blind and deaf. They can hear a week after birth, but their eyes don't open for two weeks, and even then they don't see well. Over the next few weeks their eyesight
improves. We suspected that Mother had taken the pups out of the den now and then over the previous week, while we were away from our camp, but had been uncertain of our trustworthiness until now. Apparently we had gained her confidence.

The gestation period for wolves is sixty to sixty-three days. This small litter was far below the average of six pups. Mothers have eight teats, so a small litter of only two would receive plenty of milk, eliminating the competition that results from larger litters.

Mother usually stayed inside until late afternoon. Just as we began to cook dinner that night, a pup appeared outside the den and was quickly joined by his brother. They inspected a small pebble, rolling it around and pushing it with their blunt noses. Suddenly their attention shifted to a raven's black feather on the ground. A battle ensued over who would keep the feather. After a short tussle, one tried to run off with his prize, while the other pursued him on his short new legs. They both collided with a high rock and promptly sat down.

The teenagers, who appeared to have pup-sitting responsibilities, nudged both little ones back to the den. For the next week, the pups were not allowed to wander more than a few feet. Beta kept an eye on both the pups and the teenagers, but Bill and I suspected he was mostly watching to make sure the teenagers performed their pup-sitting duties adequately.

As the days passed, the pups spent more time out of the den and were allowed to investigate some enticing rocks a few yards away. They were the center of the family's attention. While Mother, the teenagers, and Beta spent the most time with them, the rest of the pack was attentive as well. Even Omega nuzzled them without incurring any wrath.

One sunny June afternoon, Bill and I had stretched out on our sleeping pads to enjoy a snooze in the meadow, wolf-style. The mosquitoes, disliking the breeze, had left us in peace. The only sound was the gurgle of the nearby stream. Charlie lay close
to his scent-marked boundary, dreaming the afternoon away. The wolves dozed in favorite places.

Suddenly Charlie broke the quiet with soft yipping. We awoke to see a pup pulling Charlie's fur, begging him to play. As Charlie got to his feet, he ever so gently nosed the pup toward Mother, who rested alongside the den. At the sound of Charlie's yips, she and the others awoke. Charlie returned the pup as far as his boundary, where he was met by Alpha.

We half-expected trouble, but Charlie had won the pack's trust, even with their most precious possession. Alpha calmly herded the pup the rest of the way to the den. Then, with the pup returned to Mother, everyone, including Charlie, went back to sleep.