3 Among the Wolves (26 page)

An hour later we met another bear and cubs. This mother immediately moved protectively ahead of her two offspring, who cautiously peeked from her side. She growled. Charlie sensed her aggression. She took a second step forward as her growls grew angry. He responded with mouth-frothing snarls as he leaped to the end of his leash. She turned with her cubs close to her side and, running with the polar bear's typical pigeon-toed gait, disappeared into the chaotic ice.

Later we sighted two distant polar bears being followed by a wolf, his dark coat easily visible against the glare. Scattered mounds of ice reflected pastel blue and green as we moved through the frozen landscape. Soft colors, framed by white, surrounded us. A perfect Arctic day.

Two hours before dark we camped, still within sight of the hunting bears and wolf. Charlie, who continued to keep watch, caught an array of smells on the gentle breeze. He was in his element, staring across the ice at the bears. One leaped into the water but returned without a seal. In anticipation of the bear's successful dive, the wolf leaned over the edge of the ice but trotted across to the second bear when he saw that the first had been unsuccessful.

Just as Charlie was about to turn his full attention to his food bowl, he suddenly whipped around to face the rear and leaped, snarling, to the end of his leash. To our horror, a bear emerged from head-high hummocks of ice three hundred feet away. He was striding straight toward us.

Charlie's snarls reached a fierce crescendo. We grabbed our loaded flare guns and rapidly fired several flares to land on the ice in front of the advancing bear. But he marched right through the first line. We reloaded and fired. He didn't stop. We each grabbed a shotgun and released the safety catches, still firing more flares. The bear stopped, raised his nose to test the thin curtain of flare smoke, and shook his head. Disturbed by the unfamiliar smell, he slowly backed away.

Charlie strained at the end of his leash in a frenzied rage. Apparently, Charlie and the smoke were too much for the bear. He turned and walked around us, defiantly tossing a look back over his shoulder as if he might return. But Charlie, who still leaped and snarled, discouraged him.

While I collected the empty casings and tossed them into our plastic garbage bag, Bill stood guard with his shotgun to make sure that our unwanted visitor had indeed left and would not double back. Eventually Charlie calmed down, but he remained vigilant for another hour, staring in the direction the bear had gone. We cautiously resumed our interrupted meal. Tonight the bear would have to look for his own dinner elsewhere.

The next day, after a blissfully bear-free night, we traveled over a minor ridge and skied across smooth ice. We reached an area of ice mounds molded and sculptured by nature into shapes delicately curved and tinted green with age. They reached upward to stand like sentinels, guarding the way ahead. Later the surface smoothed to a uniform whiteness, snow and clouds merging into one at the horizon.

At midday we arrived at an area of open water several hundred yards wide. Six seal-hunting polar bears were pacing the edges, followed by five wolves and numerous foxes who dodged in and out, careful to keep out of range of their larger companions. Two male bears growled nose to nose, testing each other over hunting space. We camped close by, reasoning that the animals were too busy searching for seals to notice us. We ate cold food so our noisy stove wouldn't mask the sound of an approaching bear.

A few years earlier, during a training expedition close to Resolute Bay, we had encountered thirteen bears striding along the edges of sea ice hunting for seals, accompanied by four wolves. We nervously skirted the area. We weren't prepared to meet that many bears in one place. Now, more experienced, we felt cautiously comfortable, although we continued to keep a sharp eye out and our shotguns and flare guns at hand.

Back at the water, one large male hovered over a patch of ice, several feet from the edge. Suddenly he rose on his hind legs and crashed down with enormous front paws to land his full weight over a seal lair. The ice broke. He thrust his head through the opening, yanked out a struggling seal, and dumped it on the ice. In seconds he had crushed the seal's head and torn off thick strips of blubber.

A sixth wolf, with a gray-tinted blond coat and a large dark patch on one rump, stood a few feet away. Occasionally the bear growled a warning to the wolf not to approach his meal. After he had consumed the blubber, the fatty part of the seal, the bear
left the meaty carcass and returned to the water's edge. The wolf immediately claimed the body while foxes scampered just out of reach, waiting for leftovers. Thirty minutes later, after the wolf had gorged himself, he left the skeleton and meat scraps for the half-dozen foxes.

Wolves' normal habitat is land, where their natural prey of caribou and moose are available. Wolves and foxes are not the natural swimmers that polar bears are, so they cannot hunt seals in the water. They also lack the weight and power to break the ice to reach seal lairs.

We were now beginning to understand how wolves survived on the ice. Polar bears appeared to be the key. We had observed wolves and foxes following as the bears hunted seals, waiting for a kill. The smaller animals cleverly allowed the bears to do the hunting, while they scavenged the leftovers. We theorized that after the sea ice was strong enough to provide a hunting platform for the bears, those wolves who travel with bears left the land for the sea ice and followed the bears as they hunted.

We watched the hunting activities until dark. Although the blond wolf, whom we called Patch because of his rump mark, seemed to prefer working alone, he joined the other five occasionally. Once, as he approached his companions, they all ran in tight circles. It seemed to be a game in which everyone chased everyone else. In minutes they stopped, joined in an enthusiastic display of muzzle licking, then rejoined the bears to see what was being offered for dinner. We wondered if these were members of a single family.

After dark, as a precaution against bears, we slept in two-hour shifts, with Bill taking the first watch. During my turn I stepped into the sharp air, a chilly -31 degrees. I pulled my bulky down parka around me and tucked my hands deeper into my polar gloves. The moonlight reflecting on the ice enabled me to see animals moving about at night. Now and then the ice spoke its own special language: cracking sounds, long humanlike sighs,
and a peculiar whine that built to a frenzied pitch before sliding back down the scale to silence. The immense frozen ocean was protesting its imprisonment, I imagined, as the ice moved with the ocean currents.

I felt very alone as I stood on guard. In the gray darkness, my world had shrunk. Pinnacles of ice, impossibly tall in the deceptive light, loomed against the starry sky. I looked to my left, straining to penetrate the dim surroundings. Was it my imagination, or did I really detect a slight movement in the distance?

I was reminded of my solo trek to the magnetic North Pole and of the many times I stood outside my tent trying to see through the darkness, hoping a polar bear wasn't watching and licking his lips in anticipation of a tasty meal. I don't mind traveling alone, even when faced with polar bears, dangerous ice, and storms. Along with vulnerability comes a mind-opening effect, an elation caused by a sharpened awareness as my senses become more acute. It's a time when I feel completely in step with nature.

But I'm always thankful to travel with Bill. We know each other so well that we can often tell what the other is thinking even before words are spoken. It's a comfort to express fears to someone. Daily tasks, such as navigating and bear watching, are simplified. And camp chores such as erecting the tent are quick and easy when the two of us work together and draw upon each other's strengths.

I tried to keep my nerves at bay, but nevertheless my anxiety built.
No,
I thought,
it's your imagination. Nothing's moving out there.
At one point Charlie joined me with hackles raised, his body tense and on guard. He stared into the distance, sensing a bear, and I braced myself and reached for the shotgun. But I saw nothing, and nothing happened.

After thirty minutes Charlie gave a low, sharp
woof
and disappeared into the tent. I both marveled at and envied his
instinctive ability to sense bears, and was thankful for his ceaseless desire to keep Bill and me safe.

Later, on his watch, Bill caught sight of a far-off bear and a wolf traveling together to the water's edge. Charlie stepped out of the tent, but this time, after a short, intense stare at the ghostly forms, he relaxed and, without a sound, returned to bed. The bear's intentions were peaceful, and Charlie understood.

Morning crept slowly across the ice, and with it came the blessed relief of good visibility. The bears had hunted throughout the night. We weren't surprised that day and night were the same to these sea ice hunters. During the summer Denali had led his family on many successful nighttime hunts, especially as temperatures rose, making daytime hunting less attractive.

We stayed another day to watch the activities. With a great splash a bear dived into the water and surfaced with a young seal. After the bear climbed onto the ice, he consumed most of the blubber before turning back to the water's edge to await further opportunities. Two wolves rushed to devour the rest of the seal. They left to follow the bears only after licking the bloodstains from the ice. Throughout the day the bears hunted, and the waiting wolves and foxes shared the leftovers.

Later a large, blond male wolf approached the water. He was followed by a smaller, limping female of slightly darker coloring. She appeared to have injured a front paw. Meanwhile, a massive bear with three wolves waiting at a respectful distance stood over a seal breathing hole. Two wolves were almost identical in their gray coats. One had a dried blood smudge on his shoulder but no other sign of injury, so we surmised it was from a seal carcass. The third wolf, slightly smaller, had a peculiar crablike gait as he ran across the ice, so we named him Crab.

Just as the female and blond male arrived, the bear thrust his head into the seal hole he had been standing over for at least a half hour. He hauled out a thrashing seal, crushed its head and, without stopping to eat, walked to the edge of the ice and stared into the water. The three wolves accompanying him wasted no time rushing to the body. Several foxes dashed in and out in short spurts, barely keeping out of reach of the snapping jaws as they grabbed small pieces.

While two of the wolves gorged themselves, the third one, the one with the smudge on his shoulder, tore off a large chunk of meat and delivered it to the blond male, who had stopped fifty feet away. After dropping the meat to the ice, he turned back to the seal. Meanwhile, the female had limped closer. Without taking a single bite, her blond companion took the meat to her. She hungrily grabbed it and gulped it down. Her companion turned back to the three wolves, and as he approached them, the same wolf who had provided him with the gift of meat, whom we named Smudge, once more took a large portion and dropped it at the blond wolf's feet. Blondy, as we now called him, chomped down the lot of it, while the other wolves finished off the rest of the carcass.

It appeared that food had been deliberately provided by the polar bear. The wolves had shared it among themselves and had divided it so that even the injured female could eat. We surmised that the female and Blondy might have been a bonded pair, while Smudge, who had delivered the meat, was probably an alpha taking care of all the members of his family.

Fascinated, we continued to watch. After the carcass disappeared, the first three wolves again shadowed the bear as he stalked the water's edge a quarter mile to the north. Blondy stayed with the female, as if to help her, and both remained within easy distance of their companions, as if to await further gifts of food. The episode reminded us of the attention given to Beta after he injured himself during the summer, and of the many times food was placed at his side by his caring family.

The process captivated us. Polar bears, the primary hunters, killed the prey and then ate mostly the fat. Wolves and foxes then shared the meat. During several years of Arctic travels, this was the first time we had actually seen this sequence of events, although for some time we had suspected it existed. The large number of bears and wolves we encountered was unusual, due no doubt to the open water and plentiful seal population, creating a perfect hunting ground.

Soon it was too dark to see more. The next morning we looked out at first light, but the bear and all the wolves had moved on.

S
TILL WITH NO ANIMALS IN SIGHT and many miles to go, we packed up in the last gray light of dawn and trekked in the direction of Richards and Pullen Islands, both named for early Arctic explorers who helped map the northern Canadian coastline. For several hours we skied with the distant outline of Richards Island to the west. Tiny Pullen Island was still invisible farther north in the Beaufort Sea, well into the western Northwest Passage.