3 Among the Wolves (5 page)

After another day spent climbing and scrambling, we camped early beside a foot-wide stream. Even Charlie was tired. Without ceremony he spread out on the soft earth with a contented sigh.

The tent was barely erect when a large grizzly walked by, a silent dark shadow, only two hundred yards away, his chocolate-colored fur covering a powerful body. We each grabbed our shotguns, but the bear only glanced in our direction, displaying little interest, and then disappeared into the brush.

Charlie was unconcerned. He raised his head, decided there was no danger, and returned to his dreams.

“How can Charlie sleep at a time like this?” I marveled.

Until we two troubled humans were sure the bear wouldn't return for another look, we kept a nervous watch, but only silence floated on the breeze as Charlie slept on.

S
IX DAYS AFTER LEAVING MARGARET, we neared the wolf den. For most of the morning we crossed bogs, enduring icy water flowing over our boot tops. The afternoon was a forced march through an entanglement of head-high willows. Our mood darkened by the hour as we struggled with maddening thickets that twisted in every direction. One small branch jabbed Bill's left eye, drawing blood, which caused our fast-diminishing good spirits to dwindle even further.

It wasn't fun for Charlie either. At one point he sat down and refused to move. His body language firmly informed us that he had had enough and was going on strike. We sat with him, offering tidbits of beef jerky and other tasty morsels. But when we attempted to resume our hike, Charlie only sat and begged for more treats. Only after another half hour of shameless begging and snacking did he finally agree to accompany us.

We crawled on hands and knees through branches that snagged our packs, then changed tactics and, in desperation, tried a stand-up charge. But the more aggressive strategy made no difference. The wall of branches dictated our dismally slow pace. With our sleeves pulled down, collars pulled up, and gloves pulled on, we did everything we could to minimize the punishment to our bodies. Finally, at 5 P.M., an inviting clearing lay just one hundred feet ahead. Our ordeal was over.

As we broke clear, Charlie's tail fanned back and forth; he seemed relieved too. We set up camp in a miniature, snow-free
meadow tucked into a gap at the base of a rock cliff. A cup of hot chocolate restored our optimistic mood, although we both agreed that if we encountered more dense undergrowth, we would go miles out of our way rather than bushwhack again.

Charlie rose at four the next morning, eager to go outside. His breakfast normally took top priority, but a scent out there preoccupied him today. He raised his sensitive nose in the brisk breeze. After catching just the right whiff, he let loose with a long, wild howl that spiraled down the scale to resonate off the mountainsides all around us. Immediately, an answering far-off cry drifted back to us, followed by additional voices with different pitches. We were ecstatic.

Because a pack's hunting territory ranges over many square miles, we were sure the howls were those of our target family. Charlie was already in conversation with them. To allow the wolves time to accept our approach to their den, we would now change tactics and begin a slow, nonthreatening advance to gain their trust.

Under sunny skies, we broke camp and descended into a short valley, skirting willow thickets as we went. Preoccupied with wolf scent, Charlie stopped frequently, at times cocking his head to one side. He occasionally paused to howl, then listened for a reply. Once in a while wolf voices, which drew closer as the day wore on, answered him. Here and there a scent attracted Charlie's attention. He followed with his nose close to the ground, at the end of his leash, pulling us along.

Around noon, just as we veered around a rock incline, the appearance of two wolves startled us. Both stood motionless,
watching from an outcrop a hundred feet away. One was the same black wolf we had seen earlier; the other was gray.

Charlie stopped. For a few moments he calmly returned their steady gaze, then quietly lay in a submissive pose, head resting on his paws and half turned away.

Following his lead, we sat and looked to the side. The two stone-still wolves continued their inquiring stare while we waited for their next move. Ten minutes later, without a sound, they turned and disappeared in the direction of the den.

Charlie stood and pulled on his leash, eager to follow the two scouts. He led us at a rapid pace, ignoring our appeals to slow down. After we scaled a slippery snow-covered rampart, we stopped for the day. The only suitable campsite was a ledge with a narrow flat place barely large enough for our tent.

As we ate a dinner of rice and beans, we planned our approach tactics. Just as mountain shadows plunged us into deep shade, we caught a brief glimpse of a wolf on an exposed ridge three hundred feet to the south. An hour later, another wolf stood watching. The surveillance crew was taking turns keeping an eye on us! Bill and I agreed that they might be getting nervous as we closed in on their den. We would move slowly tomorrow so as not to spook them.

The next morning, after trekking for an hour, we climbed a gradual ridge located a half mile from the den. With powerful binoculars, we scanned the area.

“I see wolves at the den,” I said as my heart beat faster. We could be sure of it now: The wolves were using the same den as the year before.

Two wolves lay on a barren patch of earth, stretched out side by side in the sun. Close by, the black and gray wolves we had seen earlier sprawled near huge rocks, enjoying their shade. A blond wolf appeared at the place our memories told us the den entrance should be. Two more wolves, probably lookouts, stood on the highest point around, directly above the den. As we
remembered from our reconnaissance journey, the den itself was dug into the side of the steep slope and shielded by boulders.

Suddenly one of the wolves gave a sharp bark. He and his companion must have caught our scent. They bounded down the steep slope to the black wolf's side. All three wheeled to stare directly at us in our exposed position. The two wolves lounging in the sun jumped to their feet to follow their companion's gaze and barked another alarm. Our plans for an inconspicuous approach rapidly crumbled. One wolf returned to the ridge top to continue his lookout duties.

As we watched the wolves, we saw that they had become agitated. We agreed to stop for the day to allow them time to calm down before we moved on. If we approached too quickly, the family might panic.

Out of sight of the den, we camped on a barren gravel patch screened by willows and a few scraggly spruce trees. “We'd better avoid any eye contact,” Bill advised. “They might interpret it as threatening.” And that, we knew, could cause the entire wolf family to leave the area.

Charlie, unhappy with our choice of a site, pulled at his leash. He wanted to camp where he could see the wolves. Finally he sat down but, moments later, not to be defeated, he tossed his head back and howled to the heavens. A minute later, an answering short call bounded across the valley. Still on his leash, Charlie contentedly returned to the tent and his food bowl. We hoped a friendship had begun.

That night, as we sat on a large, flat rock outside our tent eating a leisurely dinner of freeze-dried vegetables and rice, Bill and I discussed our plans. Although pleased with our progress and encouraged by Charlie's reactions, we were worried that if we moved too fast, we could undo our so-far successful approach. The next few days would be critical. We agreed to adopt a slow, cautious pace while keeping a sharp eye out for nervous reactions from the wolves.

We had originally planned to move ahead the next day, but instead we camped on the gravel patch for the next two days. It was the last week of April. We had the waning days of spring, in addition to all of summer and autumn, to interact with the wolves. We felt no need to hurry. Time was on our side.

While we remained close to our tent we caught up on our journal notes and aired out our sleeping bags and clothing. About midafternoon, Charlie sent a single howl across the valley. Hearing no answer, he returned to the tent and went to sleep. Toward evening, he made another call; this time, answering voices of intermingling tones echoed through the valley. I wondered aloud whether the calls were territorial, meant to warn us away.

“I'd rather believe they're welcoming us,” Bill said.

“Charlie seems eager to talk to them,” I observed. He was standing at attention, alertly listening to the wolves' conversation. Now and then throughout the day he had suddenly looked up, stared into the brush, and then lay down to display submission. Although Bill and I saw no wolves, we knew they were keeping silent vigil close by.

We busied ourselves with washing clothes in a barely adequate stream at the back of our camp. I mended a willow-torn shirt while Bill repaired a pack strap jerked loose by a branch. During these two days the wolves were less secretive, sometimes boldly watching from rock ledges protruding from the steep slopes above us. Usually Charlie merely glanced at them, but he always showed submission when the black one stood guard.

On the third day we slowly moved our tent two hundred yards closer to the den, to a place where the brush thinned. Halfway through the short move, the terrain forced us to drop into a narrow depression out of sight of the den. Charlie abruptly raised his head, looking to his right and then quickly to his left. Wolves had maneuvered around us in the underbrush. They
circled in and out of the brush, eyes fixed on Charlie, who stood stiff-legged, silent, monitoring them.

I felt panic flood in. What if the wolves had turned against Charlie? Could we protect him from so many attackers at once? I stepped between the wolves and Charlie to shield him, then realized the wolves were showing no aggression.

“Let's sit,” I whispered to Bill. We sat on the ground on either side of Charlie, looking down to show our submission.

“They must be testing Charlie. I don't think they'll attack him,” Bill said. “But we'd better stay on the ground so we don't look like a threat.” As we sat with our eyes averted, the rustle of the brush told us the wolves still surrounded us. But Charlie remained calm, as if understanding all.

After thirty minutes the wolves departed, and we heard nothing but the low moan of a rising wind that prowled the ridge tops. Wispy clouds scattered across the blue sky, signaling a weather change.

Charlie sat in the warm sun as the melting snow dripped from the surrounding rock ledges. But Bill and I couldn't share his relaxed attitude. We were worried that the wolves had staged the afternoon's events to persuade us to leave, and that made us nervous. We decided to camp in the depression that night. Now that we had established continuous contact with the pack, we hoped an unhurried appearance would demonstrate that we were no threat.

“I hope we haven't made a mistake by approaching the den too fast,” I said as I cooked a dinner of instant potatoes and freeze-dried peas and beans.

“The next few days will tell us if we should stay,” Bill said. “If we seem to disturb them too much, it'd be better to leave than to cause stress to the pack.”

The next afternoon we shifted camp without interruption to a wide patch of snow among misshapen spruce trees. The
scattered cotton grass was already pushing its new stalks upward to meet the spring temperatures in the midforties.

Late the following day, we broke camp to move another hundred feet closer to the den. We watched for any sign that our approach might frighten the wolves into flight. The evening sun sent golden shafts of light through gaps in the gathering clouds. As we reached a clearing big enough for our tent, we unexpectedly came upon a wolf fifty feet away. His streaked blond-black fur glowed as he chewed what appeared to be a hare. With no sign of alarm, his steady yellow-green eyes swept the short distance from Bill and me to Charlie, who stood rigid and perfectly still.