by Helen Thayer
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.
Each day the pups expanded their perimeter as they grew stronger. They cautiously approached the stream and tested it with inquisitive black noses, then jumped back in alarm when the water splashed their faces. Mother, always close by, ushered them away whenever they were in any danger of falling in. As the pups grew older, the two teenagers spent more time with them, even engaging in gentle games of tug-of-war.
Mother left the pups in the care of Yukon and Klondike one day while she hunted with the pack. The two pup-sitters lay in the sun as the youngsters climbed all over them. Even when the pups braced their short legs and pulled Yukon’s fur ruff as hard as they could, she endured without protest. Only when the pups grabbed Klondike’s irresistible tail and pulled and shook it, as if to separate the whole thing from its owner, did Klondike halt the game.
But it was a momentary interruption. Klondike’s ear was too tempting and became the next “toy.” Needle teeth bit hard, causing Klondike to growl an indignant protest as she jumped to her feet. Swatting the offending pup with a front paw, she sent him tumbling head over heels. The pup staggered to his feet, reoriented himself, and charged back to grab another mouthful of fur.
Their short rounded bodies are covered in fluffy gray fur.
Klondike and Yukon displayed remarkable patience, but they eventually tired of fur pulling and switched to chase. The little gray balls on short legs weren’t fast enough. Soon they found they could catch their victim if they waited for the quarry to return. At just the right moment, they would leap, grab a pup-sitter, and hang on, their bodies dragging for a few feet until they let go. The game continued until both pups lay exhausted. Klondike and Yukon stretched out alongside them, and all slept. An occasional swat at an offending mosquito was the only movement.
July’s first week had arrived. We sat in the shade beside the tent, catching up on our journal entries and sorting camera film. A brisk breeze kept the mosquitoes away. Charlie dozed close to the stream. Suddenly the ponderous sound of a large animal fighting through willows farther downstream caught our attention. Jumping to our feet, Bill and I grabbed our loaded shotguns and waited with taut nerves as the crashing sounds moved closer. Charlie stood growling in anticipation, while the wolves sounded short barks of warning. The teenagers and Mother watched from the den entrance with the pups tucked away inside.
Moments later an adult cinnamon-colored grizzly, easily identified by the massive muscled hump that lay across his shoulders, burst through the undergrowth and marched toward Charlie, his mouth agape and his huge, square head swinging back and forth on powerful shoulders. Charlie’s snarls increased through bared teeth as he leaped at the bear at the end of his long leash, only fifty feet from the aggressive intruder. The wolves, led by Alpha with hackles raised in anger on the far side of the stream, sped toward the grizzly. The bear quickly turned his thick head toward the pack and tore into the stream to attack.
Charlie again leaped high in the air with an ear-tingling, mouth-frothing snarl. The bear momentarily turned to fix his black eyes on Charlie’s furious defense, then spun to race back downstream, clearly impressed by Charlie’s savage appearance. The wolves instantly gave chase to the fast-retreating bear, who fled to the safety of open space where he wouldn’t be trapped by willows. The pack dashed at top speed across the tundra to disappear over a low rise, leaving us staring into the silence. Charlie remained on guard until the wolves and bear disappeared.
Later, as evening mountain shadows crossed the valley, the pack trotted back single-file to the den. Charlie interrupted his dinner to stand on his side of the stream as the wolves greeted him with happy tail wagging. With the pack on one side of the stream and Charlie on the other, they joined in a chorus, heads back, howling to the sky. Charlie’s voice, of a similar pitch, spiraled up and down the scale with the wild voices.
In minutes the howling session ceased. The wolves continued to the den, where the pups rushed to greet them. Charlie returned to his dinner, but later that night he walked to the willows from which the bear had charged and carefully scent-marked all along the edge of the tangled thicket, perhaps as a warning to any other bear who might approach. Discussing the day’s events before bedtime, Bill and I surmised that the bear’s sensitive nose had detected the odor of leftover moose bones and meat scraps around the den.
The wolf family often enjoyed a good community howl. They celebrated joyfully when happy, and when returning from a hunt. Often a hunting party signaled their return long before their arrival by howling across the tundra or from a distant ridge. The echo would hardly have faded before the wolves at home replied with cries of joy.
Sometimes one wolf would simply start howling for no apparent reason, and the rest would join the songfest. Occasionally, after a long sleep, one wolf would wake up and begin a sleepy howl. Others would awaken and join in as if the activity were meant to clear their heads. These choruses began slowly and built as all the wolves became fully alert. Each wolf always sang in his own key and changed keys at will, causing two or three wolves to sound like a large pack.
Omega, the underdog, would sometimes be disciplined after tentatively joining a session. Alpha or Beta would stand over him as he groveled on his back. Eventually he would be allowed to slink away and howl from a distance. But most of the time he boldly joined in without incurring any discipline. It appeared that his skill lay in judging when to join the group and when to quietly stay in the background.
Although we knew that Omega’s role filled the family’s need for an occasional scapegoat, we found ourselves reflexively taking his side during confrontations. It was hard to watch him groveling for forgiveness when there appeared to have been no real infraction of the rules. As a result, our fondness for him grew beyond the close affection for the rest of the family that we steadily developed over our months in the wilderness.
The wolves’ strong social nature enabled them to form lasting emotional attachments with other pack members. The pups, profoundly attached to everyone, expressed absolute delight with excited bounces and frisky play when an adult played with them. They were especially bonded to Mother and Beta, and when either animal left to hunt, the pups gave them a wild welcome upon their return.
The adults often returned from scent-marking or hunting with a new stick or even a rock, which they lay outside the den, ready for the next frolic. Hunting, eating, playing, and sleeping were the major daily activities. After an abundant feast they frequently slept for six or seven hours.
The pups were often a nuisance to sleeping adults. They slept long hours themselves, after which they attempted to play with any pack member within reach, regardless of whether he or she was in the mood. Their supply of energy and stamina seemed endless. Although the pups often tested the other wolves’ p
atience, if the victims were too groggy to play, they just moved to another spot without visible protest. If the pup persisted, we sometimes heard a soft warning growl. Usually the pups took the hint.
Most of their games involved play-fighting. They pinned each other’s necks and growled and attacked again and again. One day they battled each other so vigorously that they rolled into the stream. Although this play helped build quick, strong bodies, it also prepared them for traveling long distances to find prey. Play-fighting also developed their competitive spirit, crucial to the establishment of their social rank as they matured.
Sometimes play became too serious, though. Often the brothers assaulted each other as if to tear limb from limb. As sharp teeth sank into soft flesh, their loud protests of outrage induced them to fight each other with even more murderous intent. At this point another wolf, often Beta or one of the teenagers, would put a stop to the free-for-all and demand peace in puppyville.
Eating was a mad, unrestrained ritual. At first the pups suckled at Mother’s teats, but as they grew they consumed an increasing amount of meat, first eating only food partly predigested by the other wolves. Whenever a hunting party returned with food, the pups swarmed the adults, frantically whining and licking their muzzles, which stimulated the adults to regurgitate partly digested meat. In a frenzy, the pups snatched the food almost before it hit the ground. Every scrap disappeared in seconds. We soon realized the origin of the expression “He wolfed his food down.”
The youngsters usually chose Beta or Alpha first, having learned these two usually provided food for them. The rest of the adults also provided nourishment at various times, but in smaller amounts. Sometimes a wolf regurgitated only part of its supply. Beta was particularly fussy. He would initially give a cup-size pile, then continue in several places, and finally stand back to watch the pups rapidly consume their fill.
After weaning at about eight weeks, the pups continued to eat regurgitated meat, but gradually consumed more fresh food. When the hunters dropped a carcass at the den, the pups leaped in with uninhibited gusto to feed alongside the adults, who always allowed the pups to eat until they could hold no more.
The hunters continually returned with an ample supply of prey in their jaws. Alpha, who often carried meat back to the den, always left his supply in one large heap. Later, even Yukon and Klondike, as they matured as hunters, supplied food. The entire family took responsibility for feeding and raising their cherished offspring. We never saw any wolf attempt to steal the pups’ food.
As the pups’ legs grew longer and stronger, they frequently climbed the ridge. Normally an adult accompanied them, usually Yukon, Klondike, Beta, or Mother. If they wandered off alone, a pack member instantly nudged them to head back. One day Beta herded a pup all the way back from the top, pushing the pup’s rear with his nose. At other times, a pup-sitter might lift the pup in gentle jaws and carry him home.
The whole family enjoyed high places, not only to watch for prey but also to lounge and dreamily gaze into the distance. They all loved exploring the nooks and crannies, which were perfect for ambushing a pack mate.
One afternoon a game unfolded as Yukon crouched and hid on the ridge top. Just as an unwary Klondike arrived, Yukon leaped at her unsuspecting sister. In the ensuing wrestling match, the pair rolled in a tight embrace all the way to the bottom. Occasionally, both wolves ganged up on an older member, and all three would tussle until too tired to continue.
As summer progressed, the mosquitoes attacked in bloodsucking hordes, rushing to complete their life cycle. If there was even a hint of a breeze, the wolves climbed to the crest of the windiest spot to escape the black swarms. Mother at first coped by retreating to the den with the pups, but as they grew, she would take them to a nearby windy ridge to relax in peace. We soon learned to follow their example when our sheltered valley became unbearable under a haze of the pests. We also wore netting over our hats and faces, and liberally spread deet over the fabric of our shirts.
The breeze not only kept mosquitoes away but also provided information concerning prey in the area. The wolves spent long hours sniffing with raised snouts for the special scent that revealed prey within range. When a promising odor was detected, they would assemble a hunting party and leave to stalk the prey. A wolf’s sense of smell is so acute that it can detect a scent many miles away, and its eyesight and hearing are just as impressive. Such highly tuned senses enable the pack to locate prey efficiently with the least amount of energy expenditure, a valuable trait for a predator in a land where food is sometimes scarce.
Early one morning as I prepared breakfast, Mother vigorously enlarged an old dugout a hundred feet from the den. She then carried the pups one at a time to the mound, probably hoping both would stay there while she worked. In minutes they ran in opposite directions. Mother stopped digging, hurrying to bring one back from the stream and the other from the ridge. But by the time she returned with the second pup, the first had already disappeared.
She let out a series of irritated yips. The two teenagers ran to her side. After a brief nuzzle with Mother, they set off after the troublemakers and soon ushered them back to the den, where Yukon and Klondike pup-sat while Mother finished her work in peace. A game of chase followed by a wrestling match kept the pups entertained.
Meanwhile, as Mother continued her task with the efficiency of a backhoe, the space quickly grew to twice its original size. The teenagers and their charges wandered over to inspect Mother’s work. After considerable sniffing all around the five-foot-wide entrance, the two pups attempted a little practice digging and then went inside to investigate. They apparently approved of the new accommodations, because an hour elapsed before they emerged.
Later Alpha and Denali, who had been out hunting, returned with a hare and inspected the enlarged dugout, after which they expressed their satisfaction by initiating a howling session. The entire family and Charlie joined in.
At first the pups simply watched; then, with pursed lips raised to the sky, they added wavering voices. The adults stopped and stared. Then, as if in celebration of the youngsters’ first attempts, they all howled together. The various pitches of the mature adults contrasted with the reedy, thin tones of the pups. As the last note died on the breeze, the adults nuzzled the pups affectionately and licked their faces.
Neighbors
IN MID-JULY, when the pups were about eight weeks old, Mother moved them from the den to the dugout, where they stayed from then on while the adults hunted. At this “rendezvous site,” the fast-growing youngsters moved about more freely, went on walks of increasing length with Beta or sometimes Mother, and learned how to catch small animals such as lemmings. When not eating or sleeping, they played ever more vigorous games as they grew. They would never again enter the den.
The term “rendezvous site,” still used today, was coined by pioneering wolf biologist Adolph Murie. Beginning in 1939, he studied wolf behavior in the region that would later become Denali National Park. There he noticed that when a pack transferred young from the den, they established several spots that provided not only more room but also greater security. The pups, who required larger feedings as they grew, remained alone when the pack spent longer hours away. When the hunters returned with food, they met and fed the youngsters at these rendezvous sites.
Wolves sometimes move pups a mile or more away, so we were relieved that the family hadn’t gone too far from our campsite. The new home, only two hundred feet from the den, allowed us to continue our close observation of the family. While exploring the surrounding ridges and valleys, we found several places with trampled and packed earth that appeared to have been used in past years as rendezvous sites, probably by this pack. We assumed that sites close by had been chosen because the area was so secure, especially from aircraft. Also, this location was surrounded by a plentiful supply of game.
By now the teenagers were as large as the adults, their bodies filled out and muscular. Mother, Yukon, and Klondike participated in
almost every hunt, which left Beta to care for and teach the pups most of the time. When at the den, though, Mother spent her time with her young. Even after several hours on a hunt, she stayed close to the pups upon her return and often took them for short walks, usually along the main trail.
Two days after the youngsters moved to their new home, all the adults except Beta left at 3 A.M. to hunt. Beta gathered his charges and set out through the trees on a simpler expedition. We followed at a distance so as not to distract the pups and earn Beta’s displeasure. For every hundred feet Beta traveled, the pups scurried, swerved, and darted at least three times as far, as they plunged inquisitive noses into clumps of grasses and sedges. They sniffed everything; they picked up sticks and then dropped them when other, more inviting specimens took their place.
One pup suddenly galloped full speed into the trees. With a reprimanding yip, Beta ran to the pup, picked him up around his middle, and dumped him roughly back on the trail. The subdued brothers quietly went along for a few yards but soon resumed their darting, circling travel pattern.
When Beta turned to go back to the rendezvous site, we waited quietly in the trees until the entourage passed. We were unnoticed by the pups, who were too busy exploring the new sights and sounds of their rapidly enlarging world.
One evening while on a jaunt with the pups, Beta spied a lemming as it scurried for safety. He pounced and held the little body down while the youngsters sprang to sniff it. Beta crunched the still body, killing it, then left it. The pups vigorously leaped on it, shook it, and chewed it. They “killed” it again and again, until Beta reached over, grabbed it in his mouth, and swallowed. The game was finished. The pups had just completed their first hunting lesson.
