3 Among the Wolves (22 page)

Just as the first sheep raced by, all three wolves leaped at it. Alpha grabbed the sheep's nose, while Yukon and Klondike tackled the flanks. The sheep, with a terrified scream, collapsed beneath the weight of a flurry of wolves, who raked its body
with their teeth. After a last few convulsions, all life was gone. The other three sheep veered sharply away as their leader fell.

The pack set to work to eat its fill. In twenty minutes the sheep was reduced to a skeleton. The wolves chewed bones for the next hour, then set off again in search of more prey.

They traveled through a narrow ravine a hundred yards ahead of and below us. After noting the direction they were headed, we took a shorter route, then descended to cross a meadow. We climbed another minor ridge, arriving at the crest in time to see the wolves stalking three sheep, this time all rams, using similar tactics as before.

Denali raced ahead and angled across to cut the sheep off from the open tundra. The confused sheep turned abruptly as one to flee down a shallow gully. The waiting wolves, led by Omega, ran across the lower gully with bodies slung low to a hiding place on the edge of sparsely growing willows to intersect the fleeing sheep.

Just as the sheep came abreast of the ambushing wolves, Omega leaped out to grab the throat of the first, while Denali caught the second sheep by its flank just as Alpha sprang and clung to its nose, dragging it down. Meanwhile, Omega, hanging on with all his strength, was dragged through the willows by the first big, powerful ram. Klondike leaped onto the sheep's back and sank her teeth into a shoulder as Yukon grabbed a rear leg. The ram kicked violently, sending Yukon tumbling to land several feet away. Instantly she was on her feet and leaping at the ram's neck.

With loud bleats of terror both sheep valiantly fought back but finally were no match for the attacking wolves. Minutes after the ambush began, both lay dead. As the wolves tore into the carcasses, the third ram raced to safety. After thirty minutes of gorging, the pack walked a few yards away to lick their paws and bodies clean, thus allowing the ravens, who had been circling overhead with raucous caws, to swoop down and eat. They chattered loudly with excitement as they swarmed the remains.

Wolves' sharp front teeth are well suited for slashing and clinging. Their imposing fangs, or canine teeth, combined with the powerful clamp of their incisors, enable wolves to grip and hang on to their victims, as we had just witnessed. Molars not only crush bones but tear off large chunks of meat, which wolves can then bolt down with little or no chewing. According to biologist David Mech, whole body parts and large chunks of unchewed meat have been found in wolves' stomachs.

An hour later the wolves repossessed both carcasses from the ravens and tore the remains to pieces. Then, with the ravens flying ahead to herald their triumph, each wolf set out for the trek back with a chunk of sheep held crosswise in powerful jaws. All that was left at the kill site was blood-soaked earth and snow and a few tufts of wool.

The two hunts had been a masterfully orchestrated group effort and were similar in method. Although Denali was the hunt leader, each wolf appeared to know his or her role. They had acted in unison, without waiting for a boss to issue instructions. Having cooperated many times, the pack knew each other's abilities. They sensed just the right moment to cut off a sheep in midflight or chase it back into an ambush. Clearly the wolves' traits of individual strength, lightning speed, and intelligence were the components of success.

The notion that wolves kill at will was disproved by their many unsuccessful hunting attempts. Most animals, especially
those as large as or larger than a wolf, possess enough agility and speed to escape the jaws of hungry wolves. As a result it is the sick, old, and very young that usually fall to wolf predation. Moose are perhaps the wolf's most dangerous prey. According to Mech, a moose that steadfastly stands its ground is often left alone.

We returned to camp feeling subdued. We understood the laws of nature. One species must live off a weaker species. Nevertheless, we both admitted that in our hearts we had rooted for the sheep to escape. Whenever we watched a hunt it was always a heart-wrenching experience to see magnificent animals die so violently. However, our sadness was always tempered by the knowledge that death had come quickly and the family needed the food to survive. We had had the rare opportunity to witness, up close in one day, two successful hunts in the wild that ended with wolves sharing their life-giving food supply with the ravens. There is a gentleness in nature that offsets the violence of having to kill to survive.

Charlie remained quiet throughout the chase but growled with excitement, hackles raised, during the final kill. Halfway back to camp, as we trekked through a shallow valley, five sheep stopped on a trail two hundred feet above us, stared briefly, and then ran, their hooves a blur of speed. Charlie leaped to the end of his leash, jerking Bill off his feet. Charlie seemed not to notice as he pulled Bill forward. I sprang to grab the leash too, and with our combined effort we stopped Charlie, much to his dismay. After witnessing two hunts in one day, he was so excited that he was more than ready to conduct his own hunt. Not until we approached the outskirts of camp did he consent to walk forward instead of looking back in the direction of the sheep, who had long since disappeared.

We arrived in camp just as darkness approached. All was silent. The entire wolf family was sprawled about, sleeping off their meal. Even the ravens were quiet.

Toward the end of September, we awoke to winter's first serious snowfall. In three hours, the snow was four inches thick. We needed to plan our departure before the onset of deep winter.

The snow accumulating on the ground over the next several weeks would provide insulation for those animals who hibernated during the winter, as well as for those large and small creatures who continued to hunt throughout the dark months. Animals sheltering in tunnels beneath a foot of snow would enjoy temperatures many degrees warmer than those above.

A blizzard heralded the first week of October. We had been living beside the den for almost six months. The well-fed pack was in good flesh, ready for the winter. With increasing frequency the pups traveled longer distances from the den under strict supervision, sometimes for most of the night and all day. Packs normally leave the last rendezvous site at the beginning of winter, so we knew the entire family would soon be departing to hunt and travel the full range of their territory.

The brothers, who now resembled adults, would go with the group. With their pups accompanying them, wolves can travel over a much wider hunting area in winter, since they do not have to return to den sites until spring. Then the group either goes to an old site, as this family had, or digs a new den in another area to accommodate the next litter of pups.

But Bill, Charlie, and I had to leave. Dreading the parting, we delayed it as long as possible, knowing it would be wrenching for us and even more so for Charlie. When we had first arrived at the den, we resolved not to become emotionally bonded to the pack, but it took only a short time for us to understand the special privilege they had given us.

We could not remain emotionally separate from these intelligent, wild hunters who at times acted like playful children. As we lived close to them and learned of the challenges they faced, we found ourselves caught up in their daily lives. We grew to love them and to appreciate how much they had to teach us. They had captured our hearts.

As for Charlie, he seemed thoroughly enthralled with the wolves and his life in the wild. We knew he wouldn't want to leave.

But we had come prepared only for summer and autumn. We knew that once the pack left to travel their winter range, we could never keep up with them. With just four days of food left, we had to depart before any more winter blizzards arrived.

With our two-way radio turned on, we waited for Margaret's transmission. At 10 A.M. the silence was broken by static and the faint sound of her voice. We fiddled with the dials until she came through more clearly, then made final arrangements to meet her at the Dempster Highway in three days.

At daybreak the next morning, we packed our gear. We folded our sadly abused tent, which the wolves had reduced to a barely functional model. The rest of our things had fared relatively well: a few teeth marks on various items, and some
corners chewed off in odd places. We stowed everything in our rapidly expanding packs.

We bundled up the garbage, which was minimal because of our simple diet. We filled the deep latrine with soil, covering it with the original sod, which we had carefully kept alive at the side of the stream.

Charlie sat close to the den, watching us prepare to leave. Suddenly he gave the most mournful howl we had ever heard. The entire pack, even the pups, joined him at his boundary. They all sensed our imminent departure. Bill and I paused where our tent had stood and spoke to the wolves. We made no sense to them, of course, but we hoped we might communicate our love and respect.

We also promised them we would return. Weeks ago, we had decided that we must come back the next summer, and for several more, to make sure the wolves had remained safe from hunters. The only way we could leave them was to know we would see them again.

Finally it was time to leave. We both stood facing the family to bid our farewell, fighting tears as we looked across at the group. “If only we could know they'll come to no harm, it would be easier,” I said. We had talked for many hours about how we could protect the family, but in the end we concluded that all we could do was keep the den's exact location a secret forever.

One by one I called to them by name and said good-bye.

Bill did the same. “We won't forget you,” he said.

We lifted our packs and struggled into the shoulder straps, then sadly turned toward the valley. But Charlie refused to budge. He stood facing the wolves. We sat with him and cried.

While Bill held Charlie close, I explained to him, “Charlie, winter's here. We have to leave. We can't leave you behind.”

He seemed to sense our emotions. He turned to leave, looked back at his friends for one or two minutes, and then licked my hand.

With the wolves watching, we left the meadow we had called home for almost six months, and the wild family we had become a part of. As we stepped across the stream, we saw Mother and the pups sitting dejectedly on our tent's spot. The teenagers, who had now grown into two elegant young adults, gathered near Mother and the pups. They all gave a mournful howl.

Alpha yipped twice. Then, accompanied by Denali, Beta, and Omega, he followed us for the next three hours. As we crossed a ridge, Charlie raised his muzzle to the sky for one last cry with his friends. They all howled together for ten minutes, a heart-rending sound. Then the wolves turned and slowly began to walk back in the direction of their den. Several times they stopped to look back as Charlie watched them leave. Finally they were gone. A subdued Charlie led us away. Bill and I followed in silence.

When at last we met Margaret, she immediately understood the difficulty of our departure. She hugged us and helped us load our gear onto the truck. Charlie received a large piece of his favorite beef jerky as a reward for his job well done.

Before we climbed in for the long drive home, Bill and I embraced. Our journey had been more successful than we could have ever imagined. We would return to visit our summer wolves. But in the meantime, our thoughts turned to our upcoming adventure among the winter wolves.

W
E SPENT NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER training in the untamed areas of the Cascade Range, skiing and pulling sleds. We experimented to find the fastest way to erect a tent in a storm and the best way to load a sled so it would pull evenly. We amassed winter food supplies and tapped the polar clothing and equipment stockpile in our basement. After years of expeditions to the remote corners of the world, we have a wide variety of gear suitable for any climate.