3 Among the Wolves by Helen Thayer Page B

hastily grabbed our day packs and set out. But ten minutes from the den, just as we reached a right-hand turn in the trail, we met Mother striding confidently in front, bringing the group back home. They veered off the trail to avoid us while Charlie, who was leading Bill and me, made a quick left into the trees. Having averted a head-on meeting, we allowed the wolves to pass, then puzzled at the sudden turn of events.
    Back at the den, the three males affectionately licked Mother’s muzzle. After a few minutes she disappeared inside, and the others departed once more.
    â€œMother must have had a sudden change of heart,” Bill said.
    I was thinking of the pups. “I bet she had second thoughts about leaving the kids at home while she went off hunting.”
    â€œWell, if we’re going to keep up, we’d better hustle,” Bill said. “They’re already into the trees.”

    We need not have worried. Only two hundred yards away, we came upon all three wolves digging a large hole to one side of the trail at an astonishing rate. Wolves’ reputation as diggers has no equal. With heads down and paws flying, all three soon had dug a hole the size of a bathtub into the soft earth. Then for no apparent reason they all stopped, sniffed the edges, and raised their legs to aim jets of urine into the center. Having engaged in this mysterious group activity, they headed off once more with Denali in the lead.
    After inspecting the hole to nowhere and finding no purpose for it, we continued onward. Charlie added his own signatures, one on each side of the hole.
    Even when hunting, the wolves displayed their natural, unconstrained curiosity. As we hurried along after the pack, we saw a wolf now and then stop briefly, paw at something only he could see, and then run to catch up. Occasionally all three stopped to inspect small rocks in the woods. Or one would pause to scent-mark a bent old tree or a lichen-covered rock that no doubt had seen many years of scent-marking. Denali picked up a spruce stick and carried this prize for some distance, dropping it only when he reached the open tundra. Fresh bear scat on the trail caught their attention too, but proved to be of only momentary interest.
    The wolves traveled without urgency, as though they knew their prey would be there for the chase. They stopped frequently to raise sensitive noses to test the breeze for scent.
    We gradually fell behind. Charlie tugged hard at his leash, impatient with our slow pace. After he almost pulled me off my feet Bill helped restrain him, but our combined efforts barely contained his impressive strength. We jogged behind the wolves as they veered off to the north through a shadowed valley bordered by steep rock. Ahead the wolves were already out in the open on rolling tundra. We continued to jog on as the trail
faded into the pathless wilderness, but the threesome was now too distant to follow.
    We realized that if we were ever going to reach a hunt site, we would have to change tactics. As we snacked on dried fruit before heading back to camp to await the wolves, we discussed our options. First of all, we had to figure out where the wolves usually hunted and which route they traveled to get there. “Our only hope is to wait at a place where the wolves usually pass, then take a shortcut to where they’re headed,” I said, hoping I sounded more optimistic than I felt. The wolves’ ability to outdistance us so easily was discouraging.
    â€œThat’s no easy task,” said Bill, ever practical. “But if we find a high place along their most-used route, it might work.”
    For the next several days, we followed the wolves every time a group left the den. We soon discovered a frequently used junction three-quarters of a mile away: a two-foot-high rock and an ancient tree snag at the edge of the tundra. Both were heavily scent-marked and surrounded by numerous wolf scats left by passing hunters. From this