BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Wolves and Wilderness (1975)
Kluane: Pinnacle of the Yukon (ed.) (1980)
Legacy: The Natural History of Ontario (ed.) (1989)
Text copyright © 1998 John B. Theberge
Illustrations copyright © 1998 Mary T. Theberge
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisher — or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency — is an infringement of the copyright law.
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Theberge, John B., 1940-
Wolf country: eleven years tracking the Algonquin wolves
Includes bibliographical references.
eISBN: 978-1-55199-485-7
1. Wolves — Ontario — Algonquin Provincial Park.
I. Theberge, Mary T. II. Title.
QL737.C22T43 1998 599.773’09713’147 C98-931230-5
To the extent that this book contributes to an ecological perspective about wolves and their world, Mary and I should share the credit. How we selected and strung the events of eleven years together into an accurate account has been a joint effort. To the extent that our story disturbs people, we share the blame.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.
McClelland & Stewart Inc.
The Canadian Publishers
75 Sherbourne Street
Toronto, Ontario
M5A 2P9
v3.1
To the wolves of Algonquin, in hope that our research and this book make their world a safer place
CONTENTS
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
List of Maps
Foreword by Monte Hummel
Maps
Wolf Horizons
Amber Fire
Camp at the Rapids
Wolves Across the Dome
photo insert 1
Lasting Kingdom: The Jack Pine Pack
Transient Kingdoms
The Red Queen and Wolf-Moose Relationships
Wolf Web
Foys Lake Pack — Supra-organism
Winters of Death
Bureaucrats, Biopolitics, and the Wolf-Killing Ban
photo insert 2
Winter of Hate
Struggling Reoccupants of the Bonnechere Valley
Space Games and Wolf-Deer Relationships
New Adaptations, New Species
Wildness
Appendix: The Status of Wolf Management in Ontario, the Case for Wolf Protection Beyond Algonquin Park Boundaries, and the Government’s Position
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
LIST OF MAPS
Radio-collared Wolves, Algonquin Park and Surrounding Land, 1987-1998
Northwestern Algonquin Park
Central Algonquin Park
Eastern Algonquin Park
Foreword by Monte Hummel
President, World Wildlife Fund Canada
It happened more by accident than design. Ontario’s Algonquin Park, which was set aside over a hundred years ago for entirely different reasons, has become a last refuge for the southern-most viable population of wolves in North America. Now our challenge is to make sure the park continues to serve that purpose. And no one has furthered this goal more than John and Mary Theberge.
The Theberges come about as close as any two humans could to knowing the Algonquin landscape the way a wolf does — the den areas, rendezvous sites, deer yards, beaver lodges, moose browse, salt licks, travel routes, game trails, ridges, low spots, rivers, lakes, and the territory of an adjacent pack. They know where the kills are on frozen lakes, how many pups survived the summer in each family group, and when a strange wolf is moving in, not just moving through. But most important, John and Mary know what they don’t know, as their research poses an endless stream of puzzles and surprises that leave us all scratching our heads trying to figure out “what’s going on.”
Based on this knowledge, these questions, and thousands of hours in the bush, the Theberges are clearly left deeply concerned about the future of Algonquin wolves. Consequently, this book sounds a note of disappointment and impatience with the pace at which steps are being taken to ensure the wolves’ long-term survival. World Wildlife Fund shares this frustration. But we also recognize that we’ve come a long way since the 1950s when government employees were legally killing wolves in the park. That has stopped. There is no longer a bounty on wolves in Ontario. Thanks to John and Mary’s work, the provincial government has extended protection to Algonquin wolves outside the eastern boundary of the park when they follow deer there in late winter. I’m convinced that we will soon see wolves dignified with long-overdue bag limits and seasons in Ontario. Finally, a new multiparty initiative shows promise of extending protection outside Algonquin to all wolves that have 50 per cent or more of their range inside the park.
So the momentum is on the side of the wolf, as it should be. But this momentum hasn’t come about by magic. It has been built by vigilance, pushing, and teamwork with kindred spirits both in and outside government. Its maintenance requires an active, adequately supported research presence in the field. Above all, it requires agreement that without healthy “wolf country,” which is the crucible of evolution itself, there can be no wolves or anything else marked by wildness.
This book is testimony to ongoing work. Today, John’s students continue his efforts. John was a student of Doug Pimlott, who left John his canoe when he died in 1978 and who in turn was a student of Aldo Leopold, who died fighting a fire in 1948. Their combined achievement is a reflection of great beginnings, deep traditions, and an important cause. It now remains for the rest of us to speak up and make sure none of this good work has been in vain.
Radio-Collared Wolf Packs Studied in Algonquin Park and Adjacent Southeast Land, 1987-1998
Northwestern Algonquin Park
Central Algonquin Park
Eastern Algonquin Park
WOLF HORIZONS
THIS IS the story of an ongoing research study — eleven years, 1987 to 1998, following the most loved and hated of North America mammals, learning what wolves contribute ecologically to wilderness, probing their alchemy that brings out both the best and the worst in us. It is a story of science, and conservation issues, and conflicts with government and segments of the public. Controversy swirls around almost every study of this species.
So our narrative goes beyond what wolves do on starlit nights at thirty below in the snow-draped Algonquin forests into what unfolded in boardrooms and appeared in newspapers and on television. Introduced will be the stock players in such a conflict with their varying attitudes and behaviour.
Myth, folklore, fable, and outright lies plague the wolf as no other species. No more controversial animal lives. None is so hated, none so misunderstood. Its mystical presence persists in our memories from childhood stories, Jack London’s novels, werewolf horror films, western movies, and newspaper clippings about alleged wolf attacks. The wolf’s secretive nature alone typecasts it as villain. For some people, it is a danger, a shadow on our perception of “up north.”
At the same time, paradoxically, the wolf is a much beloved symbol of wilderness, its disappearance a measure of human meddling gone too far. In
its howl is the distillate of wilderness. Just by being there, the wolf spices wild country with intrigue.
So, we who now control the destiny of most wild things come to the embarrassing question of what to do with the wolf. It has become our ward, a passive reflection of our varied, whimsical, and emotion-laden attitudes towards nature. Not an enviable fate for any species.
The only antidote to wolf mythology, for those with open minds, is knowledge gleaned from careful observation, sieved through the research process. Knowledge breeds wisdom — or makes it possible. Sometimes we succeeded in quelling hostile argument with the question: Whatever you think about wolves, don’t you want to base your opinion on fact? Occasionally even that didn’t work.
The questions we wanted to answer were broad ecological ones. What are the rules of both cooperation and competition that wolves live by, hunt by, and use to space themselves out across the land? How do they maintain their social order? Do they play a vital role in wilderness as some people claim? We asked an unorthodox question: Is there any room to believe in survival of the best-fit group? This proposition, except when applied to kin groups, has been generally discredited. It runs contrary to traditional Darwinian natural selection. We asked if the standard interpretation of territorial behaviour is really valid. We also constructed and attempted to test some narrower, bite-sized hypotheses — the essence of the scientific method — such as: Algonquin wolves are limiting the size of the white-tailed deer and moose populations, or the distribution of wolf packs depends primarily on the distribution of their prey. Then we predicted the field evidence necessary to support or reject these statements.
We asked conservation questions too. How large must a park be to protect a wolf population? What is the impact of logging on the predator-prey system? Are Algonquin wolves, living as they do on the southern edge of wolf range, in danger of gene swamping by coyotes?
As an underlying concern, through studying this persecuted species, we tried to find a fundamental, sustainable relationship between humans and things wild and free. If there is none — even with such a fellow social mammal, the progenitor of dogs that we invite into our homes — then how will all the other less empathy-inducing ecosystem parts that make a viable biosphere — slime moulds, ferns, salamanders, soil nematodes — survive?
We already knew, or suspected we knew, some of the answers based on studies conducted elsewhere. Nevertheless, species-wide generalizations need broad confirmation and, besides, we found the unexpected so often that we came to expect it. We realized early in the study that we were chasing an ever-retreating horizon of knowledge. While research will never allow us to fully, or even adequately, understand the wolf, we may understand both ourselves and it better.
“Haven’t they been studied to death? They kill sheep. What more do you want to know?” In an auditorium full of sheep farmers one Saturday afternoon, a large, red-faced man in the third row obviously had not been impressed by my talk. I had explained the differences between wolves and coyotes that made coyotes more successful in farmlands like theirs. To his question I replied that one question in science inevitably leads to others, but he was not listening. As he took his seat he muttered, “The only good wolf is a dead one.”
I sat down wondering why I had agreed to come, especially because the convenor had warned me there would not be much pro-wolf sentiment in the room. Then the farmer sitting beside me leaned over and whispered, “Good talk. A voice of reason in a room full of rednecks. You can fence out the critters and still have them around. I like ’em. So do a few others, but they won’t admit it.”
Across central Canada, east of Alberta, in an abrupt northwest-southeast line, the edge of the Canadian Shield is the edge of the wild. Land to the south grows wheat and cities, automobiles and people. Land to the north grows wolves.
It is said that a land that can grow a wolf is a whole land, a complete land. We wanted to test that premise; it matters in a world where whole land is vanishing. Is a whole land untouched land? There is little of that. Almost all “wild” land yields trees for newsprint and lumber, and minerals such as nickel and iron. It provides for fishing, hunting, and trapping, is sought after and fought over by resource exploiters, dam builders, multinational interests, local interests, government agencies.
Still, this contested land is nature-dominated, possessed of stark ecological truths and mysteries. Symbolically tying it together is the wolf, backbone of wild country in a nation whose art, literature, and culture is imbedded in wilderness. Ecologically tying it together is the wolf, too, as a summit predator, top of the food chain, sum of maples and balsam firs, moose and deer, bogs and rolling hills.
We picked a small chunk of central Ontario wilderness, Algonquin Provincial Park, on the southern edge of “up north” to study wolves. Our reasons were partly historical, partly biological. I had studied wolves there in my undergraduate years as an assistant to the internationally recognized biologist Dr. Douglas Pimlott. Mary — my research partner and wife — and I had continued together there in the mid-1960s and again in the early 1970s. Although discontinuous, this string of wolf data is the longest in Canada. That makes Algonquin Park valuable. It takes time to puzzle out the causes of changing large mammal numbers in dynamic, ever-shifting ecosystems.
We picked Algonquin, too, because it is a world-famous wolf sanctuary, a special place for wolves. Over the past thirty-five years, possibly more people have learned about wolves and heard them howl in Algonquin Park than anywhere else in the world. On August nights, park visitors jam a campground amphitheatre for a talk about wolves, then go out in a motorcade with park interpreters to listen to howls. Often more than fifteen hundred people take part in such a trip. Many leave with a new appreciation of wilderness.
Algonquin is a land rich in species, situated in a transition zone between southern hardwood forests to the south and the vast boreal forests to the north. As transition, it is called “northern hardwood-boreal forest,” with maple and yellow birch covering its rolling uplands, spruce and balsam fir stringing along its waterways. The 7,725-square-kilometre park consists of a low dome of granite and gneiss rocks that were pressure-cooked in the bowels of the earth, smashed by continental collision, lifted up into towering mountains, then dismantled piece by piece by erosion until only the cores of those mountains remained.
Then the glaciers worked the land, repeated advances wiping out the handiwork of previous ones. As the last one retreated ten thousand years ago, it created a huge spillway on the east side of the dome that carried prodigious volumes of water. Today’s Petawawa sand flats remain as the floor of that ancient waterway, and on those flats grow some of the finest white and red pines in eastern Canada — or did, as the whole landscape has been logged at least once, and more pines fall every year, despite park status. Logging has a place in our story, because it influences wolves along with everything else in the ecosystem.
Driving to our study area from the University of Waterloo is a trip across a threshold. Algonquin lies five hours north of Kitchener-Waterloo, four hours north of Toronto. It is upwind of southern Ontario’s industrial air for the most part, unless storm fronts sneak up the Ohio Valley and cross the lower Great Lakes to brew up international smog. It is a trip from a cultural landscape — farmlands dotted only with remnants of forest — to a natural landscape — forests dotted with occasional farms. Thanks to the forces of continental geology, shallow, infertile soils make much of Canada economically unattractive to urbanization and agriculture. Despite overexploitive logging and creeping development, we always greet with relief the forest-clad rocks of the Canadian Shield where they first poke out of the overlying Paleozoic strata north of the city of Orillia.
Any place suitable to study a mysterious animal such as a wolf must have its own mystery, its own myths. The word “Algonquin” conjures up visions of voyageurs and the fur trade that represented Europeans’ first assault on the Canadian wilderness. It was the famous explorer Samuel de Champlain who fir
st met the indigenous people of the area and translated the name they called themselves as “Algonquin.”
Maybe that is where the name came from. But there is a contending myth. The Hailstorm marshes on the north end of Opeongo Lake were well known by early loggers for their migrating waterfowl — good hunting. Sometime in the mid-1800s, two gentlemen were out in a boat poling through the marsh, hoping to bag a few ducks. It was a cold October day with grey cloud scuttling across the hilltops. Men in those early lumber camps came from a variety of ethnic backgrounds — Scandinavians, Irish, Scots, Frenchmen. One man in the boat was Irish, by the name of Quin; the other was a Scot — MacDonald.
To keep out the cold, MacDonald had brought along a flask of Scotch, which they passed back and forth between them. “Pass the bottle, MacDonald” and “Pass the bottle, Quin” were the repeated requests of one to the other as they poled or rowed along.
A bottle can only take so many requests, and soon MacDonald threw back his head and drained the last drops. Quin, his back turned to watch a flock of blue-winged teal get up off the water, did not notice. In a minute he requested, “Pass the bottle, MacDonald,” to which MacDonald raised his hands, palms upward, and made a statement that has become enshrined forever: “All gone, Quin.”
The principal humans in the story include Mary and me; together we have shared the highs and lows, the adulation and the hate that go with being wolf researchers. To conduct our research we lived in the bush, close to nature. That suits us. Our daughters, Jenny and Michelle, were part of the research team in the early years and periodically since then, working with us and then independently with other members of the crew, getting hooked on wildlife careers that they now both follow. Graham Forbes’ five years of field work and an additional year of writing and analysis earned him both a master’s and a Ph.D. He now follows an academic career at the University of New Brunswick. After the first three years, we were joined by Lee Swanson, who obtained a master’s degree by answering some questions about deer ecology that related to wolves. A Swanson-Forbes marriage enhanced field efficiency. Joy Cook followed and earned a master’s degree determining how wolves distribute themselves in winter. John Pisapio pursued the relationship between migratory and resident wolves living adjacent to the park. Hilary Sears studied wolf-coyote hybrids over a broader region.
Wolf Country Page 1
