3 Among the Wolves (31 page)

Together we ate lunch and talked about the only subject John cared about: wolves. He was amused at the names we had given the family. It had never occurred to him to name them.

He was excited to hear of our contact with the family on the sea ice. In his travels to hunt seals, he had seen an unusual number of wolves on the ice for the past three years and had wondered if they stayed out there all winter. Now he had an answer.

As soon as John had arrived in camp, he noticed a change in Charlie, whom he had first met in Inuvik: “There he was a dog, now he's a wolf!” With his intimate knowledge of wild creatures, John instantly understood why we had been so successful in contacting wolves. He could see that Charlie was acting like a dominant wolf in the wild. After watching Mackenzie gazing at Charlie from his usual vantage point at the tree line, John chuckled and told us that Mackenzie was trying to imitate Charlie's sitting and standing posture.

John saw the wolves through the eyes of many generations of Inuit. He was able to look into their souls, to know them at a level we
kabloona
never could. He missed the dark alpha who had disappeared, and was visibly upset at the thought that a
hunter might have killed him. It was more clear to us than ever that wolves were John's life.

Charlie's dominant, even pompous strutting captivated John. When Charlie looked at the wolves, John claimed that he could “see him talking to them with his eyes and body.” Each day and late into the night, John sat silently watching Charlie and the wolves. Finally he asked us if we would consider leaving Charlie to live with him, so he and Charlie could travel together looking for wolves. John recognized that Charlie would be a bridge to the wolves for him, just as he had been for Bill and me. Charlie could pave the way for John to live closer to the animals he loved.

But John soon agreed that it wouldn't be possible. He sensed our unbreakable bond with Charlie, and knew he could never replace us. He knew Charlie's place was with Bill and me.

The delta wolves usually hunted at night, but early one morning, after a frenzy of howling, they left to hunt under a sky marked by threatening storm clouds. With John, we followed a narrow trail in the snow that led away from the forest, across the flat tundra, and over a low willow-covered rise. The wolves had traveled single file, stepping in the same tracks to save energy. Only the front wolf would break trail, and when he tired, another would take the lead. Their snowshoelike paws kept them on the snow's surface.

We cut across a frozen lake to a low hill as the wolves outdistanced us. From there we watched through binoculars as they chased a moose. They gave up after a short distance when the moose sped away on a frozen side channel of the river. The thin covering of snow over ice provided a firm footing for the speedy animal.

Undaunted, the hunters veered to the west and chased a caribou who made the mistake of breaking away from its main group. Caught in soft snow, the caribou floundered and soon went down under the mass of six wolves as its panicked companions dashed
to safety. The wolves tore and slashed at the body, bolting down huge chunks of steaming meat with ravenous abandon. We were impressed by the wolves' efficient movement, even in snow—and especially compared to our more clumsy efforts. A cold seventeen-mile-per-hour wind picked up as we turned back to camp, leaving the wolves to eat and hunt.

We reached camp in time to escape the full strength of the storm, which built to a shrieking crescendo and kept us tentbound for three days. Charlie, who clearly missed his new neighbors, stepped outside now and then, in spite of the tent-shaking winds, to see whether Mackenzie and his family had returned. But this time six days would elapse before they returned. We guessed that they had hunkered down in the storm and continued hunting after the weather cleared.

After spending ten days with us, John left to travel to the other side of the delta, where he thought he might see a few more of his wolf friends. He had been out on the delta for most of the winter, returning to town only to pick up his government check and buy supplies, and taking brief seal-hunting trips on the sea ice.

Even before John had agreed to tell us of the delta pack's location, we had promised to keep the rendezvous site's exact position a secret, just as for the summer pack. There was always the possibility that either pack, especially the delta one, might be found by hunters. Both families had given us so much. Anything that might lead hunters to them would be a betrayal to the wolves and to John.

We accompanied John to his snowmobile and agreed to meet him in Inuvik after we returned from the delta. As he drove westward in search of more wolves, we were sorry to see him go. His Inuit wisdom, quiet ways, and ability to understand Charlie's acceptance by wild wolves amazed us. His sense of “wolf language,” as he called it, had given us greater insight into the wolves' thinking and Charlie's place in their lives.

M
ARCH SLIPPED IN ON WARMER TEMPERATURES. As dawn made its appearance one morning, a solitary howl ending in a sorrowful wail carried across the tundra on the light breeze.

Six wolves were instantly at the edge of the trees, their triangular ears bolt upright, watching a single wolf approach slowly but steadily from a half mile away. The pack tensed as the stranger approached. He stopped now and then to howl tremulously, perhaps seeking permission to approach. Mackenzie stepped to the front of his family and howled briefly in response.

When the stranger, an immature male with a bloody shoulder, was three hundred feet from the pack, Mackenzie advanced, stiff-legged, his fur ruff raised. His lips drew back, exposing teeth set in powerful jaws, and a deep, angry rumble rose from his throat. The stranger's blood-covered shoulder was gashed, but his steady gait showed no limp. He stopped as Mackenzie drew close, then yelped and cowered in submission as the aggressive alpha steadily approached.

With a savage snarl, Mackenzie—his face contorted into a vicious mask, his ears pointing hornlike to the side—suddenly jumped to partially straddle the stranger, who immediately dropped to the snow and flipped onto his back, tail clamped tightly between his legs. Mackenzie stood over him, his fangs stabbing the stranger, snatching quick bites of fur. Then, after inspecting the stranger's genital and anal areas, he stepped back, still snarling. The stranger lay on his back, whining pitifully.

By now the entire family had approached and stood over the cringing wolf. Willow grabbed a mouthful of fur and yanked hard, pulling the prostrate wolf a few feet. The rest, snarling and biting, tormented the poor beast for several minutes, drawing blood from his rump and neck. Then, led by Mackenzie, the family withdrew to the tree line, leaving the young wolf groveling on his back.

Meanwhile, just as Mackenzie first advanced on the stranger, Charlie rushed to his scent marker closest to the scene to stand guard over his territory. He snarled a vicious warning to the stranger to stay back. Straining to the end of his leash, he breached his boundary to further emphasize his message. Even as Mackenzie led his family away, Charlie continued a rumbling growl. Bill and I, shotguns in hand, stood within a few feet of Charlie in case the stranger decided to fight the dog that confronted him.

The pack disappeared into the trees, but we suspected they still watched. It was an hour before the stranger slowly rose. Immediately all six wolves silently reappeared at the tree line. Charlie, who at our urging had retreated to the side of the tent, resumed his aggressive boundary stance: teeth bared, deep-throated snarls catching in his throat, facing down the bloodied wolf.

Slowly the wolf advanced, shying away from Charlie. Finally, only fifty feet away from Mackenzie, the wolf again cowered on the snow and whined. Mackenzie walked to him, this time without aggression, and sniffed his bloodied fur. He turned toward his family with the stranger walking behind: head down, back arched, and tail tightly tucked beneath his body. The family gathered about, sniffing and moving in short, sudden jumps: leaping sideways to the stranger, then jumping to the front to block him. Thirty minutes later they wandered away to resume family life, leaving him alone.

Not so Charlie. Every time the stranger looked toward him, Charlie resumed an aggressive posture, snarling fiercely. The wolf seemed to have been somewhat accepted by the family, but not by Charlie.

The stranger lay a hundred feet away, cleaning his bloodied wounds. We were relieved that the possibility of a fight seemed to have evaporated. The stranger was gradually gaining acceptance, but we wondered whether the family would accept him as a pack member.

Night arrived with the stranger lying at the edge of the trees, still being ignored. Charlie had calmed and ceased to continually guard his territory. Concerned that the outsider might still be rejected by the pack, and troubled about the bites the family had inflicted on him, we looked out now and then. In the darkness all we could see was a form huddled in the snow, all alone. Charlie showed no interest.

At dawn the lonely animal was on his feet, but limping slightly. Mackenzie approached. The two gently touched muzzles and Mackenzie led the stranger into the trees—to where the family waited, we presumed.

Toward nightfall the family reappeared, with the newcomer following close behind. He appeared to have been accepted, although he carefully kept to the rear. We were thankful to see that he walked confidently and his limp had improved.

By now we had seen many instances in which wolves displayed intense emotions toward each other. Once the family accepted the newcomer, they demonstrated compassion toward him, as demonstrated by Mackenzie's soft muzzle touch, signaling acceptance. It was a glimpse of the gentler side of wolf family life.

Charlie's attitude was now one of complete indifference, as if his high status within the pack placed him above concern over a newcomer.

A day later all the wolves, including the outsider, left the area. Four days later they reappeared, the family's new addition bringing up the rear. His appearance had changed dramatically. His coat was clean, and he gave no sign of a limp. He held his head high and stepped along with a certain jauntiness. He had found a new family, and all was well in wolf town. Even Charlie allowed him a softer look as they passed by.

They all burrowed down in the snow to rest for the next several hours. After awakening with the usual long stretches and wide yawns, the stranger carefully approached Charlie's boundary, as if to make friends with the last holdout. Charlie at first simply watched him and then, just as with Mackenzie, he stepped inside the tent and ignored the stranger, who sniffed one or two markers and then discreetly retired to the forest.

It took me twelve journal pages to describe all that had transpired from the moment the newcomer had first appeared. Watching the acceptance of a stranger into the family circle was an unforgettable experience. “Just when we think we have seen
everything in wolfdom,” I wrote, “something happens to remind us that there will always be more to learn.” In our notes we both referred to the new wolf as Stranger. We agreed that would be his name.

His immature body, exceptionally long-legged and large for his age, was covered in dense fur characteristic of that found on northern wolves, who must endure cold temperatures. His markings were typical of a gray wolf. Along his back and around his ruff, coarse, black-tipped guard hairs covered gray and white fur, giving his entire coat a gray cast.

As the days passed he played, but he always kept to the fringes. He didn't fit the role of omega, though. The family, which now numbered seven, accepted him as an equal and never picked on him, as they would have a true omega. Judging by his gashed shoulder, we guessed that Stranger had been driven forcefully from his pack and had traveled the delta alone, looking for a new family. Happily, he seemed to have found one.