In Praise of Wolves Read online

  IN

  PRAISE

  OF

  WOLVES

  Also by R.D. Lawrence

  Wildlife in Canada, 1966

  The Place in the Forest, 1967

  Where the Water Lilies Grow, 1968

  The Poison Makers, 1969

  Cry Wild, 1970

  Cry Wild, Special Edition 2005

  Maple Syrup, 1971

  Wildlife in North America: Mammals, 1974

  Wildlife in North America: Birds, 1974

  Paddy, 1977

  Discover Ste. Marie, 1978

  The North Runner, 1979

  Secret Go the Wolves, 1980

  The Study of Life: A Naturalist’s View, 1980

  The Zoo That Never Was, 1981

  Voyage of the Stella, 1982

  The Ghost Walker, 1983

  Canada’s National Parks, 1983

  The Shark, 1985

  In Praise of Wolves, 1986

  Trans-Canada Country, 1986

  The Natural History of Canada, 1988

  The Natural History of Canada

  Revised by Dr. Michal Polak, 2005

  For the Love of Mike (Pour L’Amour de Mike), 1989

  Wolves, 1990

  The White Puma, 1990

  Trail of the Wolf, 1993

  The Green Trees Beyond 1994

  A Shriek in the Forest Night, 1996

  Owls, the Silent Fliers, 1997

  For information visit

  www.crywild.com

  IN

  PRAISE

  OF

  WOLVES

  BY R.D. LAWRENCE

  E-book edition published in memory of Grace Oliver 2016

  Originally published:

  Henry Holt and Company, 1986

  521 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10175

  Barnes & Noble, Inc. 1997

  Copyright © 1986 by R.D. Lawrence

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published in Canada by Sharon Lawrence, 2012

  Cover Artwork by David Alexander Risk

  Designed by Linda Middleton, Crystal Image Studio, Harcourt, ON

  Ebook conversion by Human Powered Design

  ISBN 978-0-9738380-2-2 (paper)

  ISBN 978-0-9738380-7-7 (EPUB)

  ISBN 978-0-9738380-8-4 (mobi)

  T his book is dedicated to the memory of Douglas H. Pimlott, Ph.D, a biologist with whom I had the honour to work for a short time and a man whose commitment to his science, and especially to the study of wolves, won the admiration and respect of all those who knew him or who were exposed to his writings. Douglas Pimlott spent many years observing wolves in the field, a period during which he acquired a deep respect for the species. But, more than that, Doug became a champion of wolves; he wanted to see them protected and he wanted to ensure that future generations would have the opportunity to hear the wolf sing in the wilds of North America. The conclusion of an article that he wrote for the Winter 1971 issue of Science Affairs speaks of his hopes and issues a challenge to his readers which I now take up on his behalf by including it with this, my tribute to him: “I have high hopes for the future of wolves in North America. Many men will cease to think of them as vermin and see them as they are, one of the most interesting and intelligent animals that have ever lived on our globe. Do you dare to become involved in such a noble cause?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A lot of people have helped me in many ways during the years that I have devoted to the study of the wolves and the environment of North America. To all I am grateful, but I regret that space precludes my naming every one of them. Some, however, must be named, for their cooperation, interest, and encouragement have greatly contributed to the writing of this book.

  My thanks go to: Ed Addison, a biologist with the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources; Sylvia and Ed Altman, Seattle, Washington, friends and fellow conservationists who keep me informed; Clement W. Alspach, Columbus, Ohio, who fights hard on behalf of animals and the environment; Robert A. Jantzen, Director, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Washington, D.C., who welcomed me to his headquarters and gave my various enquiries his blessings; Steve Kuntz of Wolf Haven, Tenino, Washington, who gives sanctuary to wolves that have run afoul of humans; Janet Lidle, Clifton Heights, Pennsylvania, publisher of WOLF! Newsletter; Roxanne Mas-Proux, of the Canadian Wildlife Service, Ottawa, who has been a great help in many matters; Ken Robertson, Ministry of Natural Resources, Toronto, an old friend and colleague who has assisted me during many years: Sharon Sauvee, Haliburton, Ontario, for typing so industriously and cheerfully: Bertrand Tetreault, Director General, Canadian Wildlife Service, Ottawa, whose assistance has been invaluable; Larry Vanlieshout of Haliburton, Ontario, who “loaned” his computer for the typing of this manuscript; Wayne Wood, Haliburton, purveyor of wolf meat! To all of these, I am deeply grateful.

  I would also like to compliment Robert E. Hess, Acting Coordinator of the Endangered Species Program, and Edward J. Mikula, Chief of the Wildlife Division, Michigan Department of Natural Resources, for the encouragement they have given me during my study of Jim Wuepper’s wolves.

  Finally, although they are mentioned in this narrative, I must offer a special “thank you” to Dr. Allyn Roberts of Madison, Wisconsin; Dr. Danny B. Pence, Texas Tech University, Lubbock, Texas; Michael Collins, Gooderham, Ontario; Murray Palmer, Douro, Ontario; Dr. Rolf Peterson, Michigan Technological University, Houghton, Michigan; Dr. Laurie M. Brown, DVM, Haliburton, Ontario.

  IN

  PRAISE

  OF

  WOLVES

  Shawano, the alpha male. Photo by Jim Wuepper

  Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make:

  I see the heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;

  My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal,

  The fulness of your bliss, I feel – I feel it all.

  William Wordsworth, “Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.”

  1

  The leader of the wolf pack is a big, creamy-fawn animal whose kin still hunt the tundra of Canada’s Northwest Territories. His name is Shawano. He was six years old when I sought to win his trust during an afternoon in early April of 1983 in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula while Lake Superior winds blew chill through the forested land.

  I was crouching, one knee resting in the snow, speaking softly to the five wolves; my words inconsequential, my tone neutral and intended to offer reassurance. Deliberately, I kept my gaze away from Shawano, knowing that direct visual contact with wild animals during the early stages of acquaintance is most often looked upon as a threat or a challenge, and that if I was to win this wolf’s trust I could only do so with patience, allowing him to seek eye-to-eye unity of his own volition and in his own time.

  As he continued to make his slow approach I waited, realizing that he was angling toward my back, but that he was doing so without sinister intent, his direction of travel dictated by the fact that wolves are supremely cautious animals who rarely use a frontal approach when they are investigating anything unusual within their territory. Had Shawano been motivated by aggression, he would have signalled his intentions by the way he carried himself: his hackles would have been raised, his gait stiff-legged, his tail held high; a deep, rumbling growl would have further emphasized his belligerence. As it was, he moved fluidly, if at a measured pace; his tail was held low, at the
almost fully relaxed angle, and he was neither growling nor erecting his mane. Seeking to declare my own neutrality, I ignored the pack leader, pretending instead to be interested in the doings of one of the other wolves, who was standing about fifteen paces away, partly concealed by the trees and watching the action, his eyes alternately swivelling from me to Shawano with nearly metronomic timing. Perhaps a minute went by in this fashion. Then, by peripheral sight, I noted that Shawano had come to within three feet of my right shoulder, there to pause with raised head.

  It was clear that he was now seeking eye contact. I began to turn my head slowly toward him, observing wolf etiquette by smiling open-mouthed to reveal my teeth; as I was doing so, the big wolf closed the distance between us to about two feet. Our eyes met. He too was smiling, mouth agape and showing his own great fangs, to which small fragments of raw chicken still adhered, remnants of a recent meal and rather stark reminders that I was in close proximity to a powerful carnivore. But the interest and twinkling humour that I saw in the wolves almond shaped, yellow amber eyes belied any threat that might have been inherent in the ivory teeth and in the bloody shreds of meat decorating them.

  As we studied each other, I became aware that although he was prepared to be friendly, he was also still subjecting me to intense scrutiny. And as always happens when I look deeply into the eyes of a wolf, I found myself drawn into another realm, an altogether different plane of mystical dimension far removed from the material norms that today mold the affairs of mankind. Hypnotically impelling, Shawano’s glowing eyes probed into my being, reading me, looking for weakness, for fear, for aggression – above all, for honesty.

  No one can deceive the eyes of a wolf. They always know. They can strip away the shams of civilization. I knew that only if Shawano was satisfied by what he saw in me would he allow future encounters to develop into friendship; if it were otherwise, he would wheel away swiftly and lead his pack into the privacy of the trees.

  The wolf ‘s next move signalled that he was willing to trust me. Continuing to hold my gaze, he slid his front legs forward and downward, as if he were bowing; then, with that graceful swiftness so typical of his kind, he leaped at me, trying to steal the woollen cap that I was wearing. Knowing wolves, I had been expecting some sort of mischievous prank and had been watching him as keenly as he had been studying me. His body gave no clue to his intent, but his eyes did, even to the point of telegraphing the target that had been selected. With bare millimetres to spare, his teeth clicked emptily as I moved my head out of reach, chuckling while doing so and pretending to scold him in a quiet voice.

  Half sitting and still as a statue, his head tilted to one side, Shawano found my eyes again, telling me without words that I had been tested and that if he had managed to secure my cap, he would have taken it away, perhaps to chew it to pieces or, more likely, to bury it within the shelter of the trees and bushes. A moment later he rose to all fours, made a half-turn, wagged his tail, and moved on. But after seven paces he stopped to inspect again, his eyes still reflecting that gleam of puckish humour which is so characteristic of wolves, who love to tease and do so frequently.

  Following my close encounter with their Alpha male, the other four wolves that made up the pack at that time turned their attention away from Shawano and transferred it to me, openly curious, as all wolves are, but cautious, not yet willing to trust the strange human who had arrived so unexpectedly. I, in turn, took the opportunity to make special note of each of them.

  To my right, some twenty-five paces away, was Denali, Shawano’s black mate and the Alpha female of the pack. Statuesque and in her prime, her muzzle salted on both sides by pure white hairs, Denali stared at me almost arrogantly, her entire being proclaiming her high rank. Near her, but a respectful distance away, stood Thor, a two-year-old of brindled coat, the Beta, or second-ranking male. Almost as large as Shawano, Thor seemed an intense wolf who took life seriously and who one day might well challenge his leader’s authority. Toivo, the third male of the pack, stood the farthest away, a yearling who had earlier caused my wife, Sharon, to exclaim: “Look at him! He’s so scruffy. And funny! I bet he’s a Dennis the Menace kind of wolf.” Looking at him now, I had to agree with my wife’s assessment; he clearly gave the impression that even if he were to be carefully groomed by brush and human hand, he would instantly revert to full scruffiness. He wasn’t dirty, nor was his fur matted, but every guard hair along his mane stood up, each aiming in a different direction, and the rest of his coat, although in good condition, gave the impression that it had been obtained two sizes too large from some not-so-stylish thrift store. Toivo, I decided, was a natural comic, and like all good clowns, he had an intriguing personality, an air of charming insouciance that invited further acquaintance.

  The fifth member of the pack was another black female. Her name was Brigit; she was six years old and had been relegated to the lowest position of all. Brigit, I had been told, was having a hard time, but before I could do more than notice that she was standing well away from her companions, Shawano took his eyes off me and began to lope toward the trees, only to be immediately converged upon by Thor, Denali, and Toivo. They mobbed him, each smiling as though to applaud his short but daring exchange with the human intruder. Shawano, standing erect and courtly as a monarch, accepted the homage of his subjects, allowing his muzzle to be nibbled but advertising his status by holding his tail high, his head up, his ears erect, his mouth partly open. His lips were wrinkled by a benevolent grin. This in contrast to the other wolves, who were careful to keep their tails low and who flattened their ears and whined as they sought their leader’s approval and reassurance. The exchange was typical of wolves everywhere, an interaction often mistaken by human observers for a manifestation of dictatorial tyranny on one side and fawning subjugation on the other. What soon followed would have served to confirm that impression, for Shawano suddenly stopped grinning and peeled back his lips in a seemingly ferocious snarl as he concentrated his attention on Toivo who, in his enthusiasm, had become overly bold, allowing his tail to rise as he pressed too tightly against his leader.

  Shawano’s snarl turned into a rumbling growl. He sidestepped with his back legs, raised his shoulders so as to tower over Toivo and then leaned on his subordinate. The young wolf, realizing his trespass, immediately dropped to the ground, there to lie with his tail pressed tightly against his groin and his uppermost back leg raised to expose the stomach and inguinal region. At the same time, he arched his neck, offering his throat. As this was going on, Denali and Thor imitated their leader and began snarling at Toivo whose previous overconfident smile had turned into a mild grin of submission.

  It would have been easy to conclude that a really savage contest was taking place and that blood was about to flow. Thirty years earlier I might well have drawn such an inference, but by now I knew that I was watching a frequently repeated and most important interaction, one genetically designed to preserve peace and good order in the pack. During this sort of exchange, a dominant wolf displays ritualistic aggression and a subordinate animal willingly exhibits fully submissive behaviour, deliberately exposing its most vulnerable parts: the groin, the stomach, and the throat. Simultaneously, other members of the pack will rally to their Alpha’s side and copy his behaviour, in this way reinforcing his leadership during a mild altercation that usually lasts only a few seconds and ends, as it did that afternoon, when the dominant wolf fastens his fangs on the subordinate’s muzzle, a hold during which the pressure is just sufficient to dimple the skin.

  The mobbing of the leader by his subordinates, on the other hand, which is a frequent, daily occurrence, fulfils a pack’s need for physical contact, strengthens the bonds between individuals, and reinforces their leader’s self-confidence. Far from being a display of tyranny and subjection, such behaviour represents an outpouring of affection that maintains social unity.

  When Shawano released his hold on Toivo’s nose, the four wolves separated
, remaining near each other but momentarily busying themselves to work off the excitement generated by the mob display and by the ritualistic confrontation. Now there was much sniffing, yawning, urination, and body-shaking to resettle displaced hair; and there were many comings and goings as individuals sniffed at each others wet deposits and somehow managed to produce a little more of their own fluids to add to the total. Presently, after scratching vigorously with his back paws, Shawano walked away, heading west. The other three wolves followed him and moments later they all disappeared within the trees.

  Still kneeling. I returned to watching Brigit who had elected to remain in my vicinity. It was obvious that she was seeking my attention, but it was, also clear that she was afraid to come near me. Studying her, I noted that her coat was in poor condition and that she was thin, but it wasn’t until she turned her back on me to go and sniff at the place where Shawano had disciplined Toivo that I noticed the open sore at the base of her tail, an area almost three inches in diameter that was devoid of hair and blood-red in colour. Knowing that the other wolves had begun to harass Brigit in late January, at the start of the breeding period, I surmised that her injury had been inflicted by her companions, who were in the habit of nipping at the same place from time to time, keeping the sore open and enlarging it.

  Based on the information that I had been given, I calculated that the black bitch had now been subjected to constant punishment for almost six weeks, even to the point where she was frequently denied access to food, so I was not surprised by her poor condition nor by the appearance of general malaise that she exhibited. Neither did I find it remarkable that Brigit should now be behaving in a contradictory way, at one moment anxious to attract my attention, at the next seeking to avoid it. Having keen denied the companionship of her pack, she was eager to socialize with something, even a human. Yet the deeply rooted inhibitions imposed by wolf hierarchy were forcing her to remain in exile, even in the absence of the other wolves: she wanted to come to me, but she dared not.