Читать книгу The Rise of Wolf 8 - Rick McIntyre - Страница 14

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The Little Wolf and the Big Grizzly Bear

ON MAY 18, 1995, the same day the helicopter brought the Rose Creek wolves back to their acclimation pen, I saw one of the three Crystal Creek black yearlings on a fresh elk carcass. Then I spotted the other five pack members on another new carcass. The small gray yearling went to one of his brothers as the black walked off with a piece of meat in his mouth, and the two had a playful wrestling match. 8 snatched the meat away from his brother and ran off with it. He stopped, put it down, and played with it as the black watched. The wolves were so full that day it did not matter who ended up with that piece of meat. There was still plenty left on the carcasses, more than enough for all of them.

One of the law-enforcement rangers who had patrolled the Crystal Creek pen site the previous winter told me the three black yearlings had mercilessly picked on their smaller sibling throughout their captivity. She said they would chase 8, tackle and pin him, then nip at him for a long time. Since there was not much else for the yearlings to do during their confinement, harassing their gray brother was one of the three blacks’ favorite pastimes. Usually the bullied wolf would bed down away from his brothers, but they would creep up and pounce on him as he slept. 8 would either run off without fighting back or stand up to them for a moment, then run away.

Since he was the smallest wolf in the pen, the rangers patrolling the area called him “the little guy.” The ranger also told me the gray was normally the last to eat when new meat was brought into the pen, a sign of his lowly status. As she told me those stories about 8’s hard times in the pen when he was a pup, I recalled the famous quote from philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.” Would getting picked on and beaten up enable him to cope better with adversity and challenges now that he was growing up?

Knowing the hard times 8 had had in the pen for the ten weeks of the pack’s captivity, I was glad to see that his life was becoming more normal. His three brothers had plenty of things to do now that they were free roaming and less time to pick on him.

Later that day, when one of the black yearlings was at one of the new carcasses, a grizzly mother and her two yearling cubs approached. A cub charged the wolf four times. Each time, the black ran off just a few steps, correctly guessing the cub was only bluffing. After a while, the wolf walked toward the carcass, ending up in the middle of the bear family. The other cub charged a few feet at the wolf, then went back to the carcass and fed. That time the black did not even bother running off. I was letting a group of Wyoming schoolkids watch this interaction through my scope, and one boy yelled out to his friend, “This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” They were from a town known to be anti-wolf, and I was glad to see that watching these wolves was changing the way they saw the world.

FOR THE NEXT few weeks, the six Crystal Creek wolves were visible most mornings and evenings. Instead of doing roving interpretation in far-off places like Old Faithful, I could now drive the few miles from Tower to Lamar, find the wolves, show them to visitors, and tell the story of the reintroduction. News of the wolves’ visibility spread through word of mouth and newspaper stories, and more and more people came to the valley to look for them. Soon it was normal to have crowds of two hundred by the side of the road. When the Crystal wolves came into view, people reacted like fans following a popular rock band. Some of them cried when they saw wolves through my scope, and one woman ran to me, as the nearest government official, and hugged me because she was so happy that wolves had been brought back to the park.

I had been very involved with wildlife photography for my fifteen summers in Denali and through my first few years in Yellowstone. I had tried to take telephoto pictures of the wolves after their reintroduction to the park, but found photography got in the way of studying wolf behavior and helping people see the wolves. I was also growing increasingly uneasy with the common practice of trying to get closer to wild animals for pictures. Eventually, I chose to leave my camera equipment at home and give my total concentration to watching the wolves and inviting visitors to see them through my scope.

An unofficial code of behavior developed among the regular wolf watchers in Lamar. People looked for the wolves from the side of the road and did not approach them. Visitors did not howl at the wolves, which is illegal in the park. Instead, they quietly watched them through their binoculars or spotting scopes. Thanks to that respectful attitude, the wolves continued with their normal behavior and often stayed in sight for hours at a time. Wolf watchers with scopes invited other people to look at the wolves through their equipment. That sense of respect and sharing created a very positive experience for everyone. I had never seen anything like it in the other parks I worked in during my then twenty-one years with the National Park Service.

The experience of viewing wolves also attracted people from many different levels of society: working class, middle class, billionaires, and movie stars. One morning when the wolves were in view, a van pulled into my lot. I walked over and told the people they could join me and see wolves through my scope. A tall, take-charge man rushed up, saw the wolves, then asked if his wife could look. When she had seen the wolves as well, the man thanked me and introduced himself. He was Ted Turner and the woman was Jane Fonda. She later wrote me a very gracious thank-you letter.

As I had more sightings of the pack, I concentrated on getting to know the wolves as individuals. I was particularly interested in the four yearlings, and I soon learned that they loved to play. One evening when I was watching the three young blacks near a fresh carcass, I saw one of them go up to his brother and do a play bow in front of him. That seemed to be an invitation to play a game of catch me if you can. It worked, for the second black chased his brother. Later one of them picked up an old elk antler. Another yearling came over and stole it from him, but he soon ran back and the two played tug of war with it. When the alphas moved off, the three yearlings followed, still playing. One would turn around and prance in front of the one behind him, which would set off another playful chase. Both then took turns with first one, then the other in hot pursuit.

A few days later I found two of the black yearlings at another carcass. One grabbed a piece of meat, tossed it in the air, then leaped up and caught it in his jaws. He dropped it and pounced on it like it was alive and trying to get away. After that he ran off with the meat, threw it up again, and caught it on the run. I later began a list of games young wolves play and called this the tossing game.

Another black yearling ran in and chased the first one. The lead brother dropped the meat and the other black grabbed it. When he ran off with it, the first yearling chased him. They reversed the chase and the second black pursued the first. Then the lead black suddenly stopped and lay down in tall grass. As the other wolf ran in, the one hiding in the grass jumped up and wrestled him to the ground. I called that the ambush game.

Later, as the two stood side by side, one brother suddenly ran off. That looked like a dare for his brother to chase him. The other black accepted the challenge and went after him at top speed. The two took turns chasing each other in straight lines and in zigzag patterns, a game of catch me if you can. They ran, pranced, and twirled around in front of each other. It did not matter who chased whom, the point of all that playing was not to win, it was to have fun. The best word to describe the behavior of the yearlings was exuberant. As I watched them, I had a thought: they loved being wolves.

All that play served a purpose. I later saw a cow elk chase one of the yearlings. Although she could outrun the wolf in a straight-out race, he zigzagged back and forth so nimbly that she soon gave up in frustration. The vigorous play chasing had prepared him to outmaneuver the cow. At times the yearlings actively invited elk to chase them. I saw them do play bows in front of elk to get them to initiate a pursuit, then easily get away using the tricks they had perfected during their play sessions. It was like they were showing off.

As I watched the yearlings play that spring, I thought of how Yellowstone had become a promised land for the Crystal Creek wolves. No human in their new territory was trying to shoot, trap, or snare them. All they had to do was live the lives of wild wolves.

ONE MORNING I found 8 walking through Lamar Valley by himself. Five cow elk spotted him and chased him. As he ran off, he nervously looked back over his shoulder, saw they were gaining on him, and tried to run faster. They sped up as well. The cows got to within a few yards of him, then lost interest and veered off. A bit later he saw a big bison bull bedded down in a meadow. He dropped into a low crouch and stealthily approached the bull from behind. Soon he was within a few feet of the bull’s rear end, but seemed unsure of what to do next. The 2,000-pound bull casually turned his head and glanced at the insignificant small wolf behind him. Unimpressed, he turned his head back and resumed chewing his cud. Now the gray yearling was even more uncertain what he should do. At that moment, the bull flicked his tail to drive off some mosquitoes. The wolf spun around and ran off. If 8 was trying to figure out if this animal might be prey, he evidently decided that this bull was way too big for him to challenge.

Although he did not impress me that morning, I saw a different side of the young gray wolf that evening. He and two of his black brothers were playing and chasing each other. All three suddenly stopped, looked west, and ran into a stand of conifers in that direction. I got glimpses of animals running back and forth in the trees for a few moments, before I briefly lost sight of them. Suddenly, one of the blacks came running out of the forest with an elk calf carcass in his mouth. The other black, then the little gray, appeared a moment later, running in the same direction. Then I saw the grizzly. It was right behind 8 and gaining. The bear was huge compared to the wolf. It looked like a dinosaur chasing a kid in a Jurassic Park movie.

Apparently, the bear had killed the calf in those trees. The first yearling must have grabbed its prize while the other wolves were distracting the bear, which was now closing in on the small gray. I visualized the bear swatting the wolf with a front paw, knocking him down, and killing him. Anticipating what was going to happen, I tensed up. Based on what I knew of 8 and his history of being bullied by his bigger brothers, what happened next took me totally by surprise. I saw him stop, turn around, and confront the grizzly. Startled by this move, the bear pulled up abruptly. The two animals stood there, a few feet apart. It was like watching David standing up to Goliath. The bear looked like it couldn’t figure out what to do next as the wolf glared at him in defiance.

While the unlikely hero was confronting the bear, the black yearling with the calf was making good his escape with the other black right behind him. Both disappeared into a thick forest. I looked back at the little gray and the bear. They were still staring at each other from close quarters. Then the wolf turned around and casually trotted away. He seemed totally confident that the grizzly would not renew the chase.

The bear sniffed the ground and the air. Unable to figure out where the wolves had gone with its kill, it wandered off in the opposite direction. I later saw the three yearlings come back out of the forest. The yearling with the calf bedded down and fed on it while the other black and 8 lay down near him, respecting their brother’s right of possession.

That episode showed me there was more to 8 than I had first thought. He was the smallest yearling, the one the bigger brothers had picked on, but he was also the one who had had the nerve to stand up to a huge grizzly and get away with it. I realized that none of the other Crystal wolves, not his brothers or his parents, had seen him turn around and confront that bear. I was the only witness to his courageous behavior. Years later I heard Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson say something that applied to the little wolf that day: “Being a hero means doing the right thing, even if no one is watching you.” A few days later I saw 8 lead the pack on a chase of a cow moose, another indication of his rapidly developing maturity.

On July 5, I went out early to Lamar Valley and spotted 8 with two of his brothers. They were wrestling each other in different combinations, and the gray held his own. Later one of the blacks tripped, tumbled, and rolled several times as he was chasing his smaller brother. Seeing the black on the ground, 8 ran back and playfully pounced on him. The two sparred with their jaws until the black managed to squirm out from under him. The gray chased him for a while, then led both his brothers off, and I soon lost them in a forest.

That was my last sighting of the Crystal Creek wolves for the next few months. The elk left the valley to feed at higher elevations, and the wolves followed their migration. The tracking flights Mike and Doug did during those weeks found the pack roaming far and wide. They were often spotted twenty miles to the south in Pelican Valley, just north of Lake Yellowstone. I wondered what would become of 8. He was the lowest-ranking male in his family, but was exhibiting qualities that might make him a successful alpha male of his own pack if he found a mate and a vacant territory. I also thought about his three brothers. The coming year would be a critical one for the four yearlings and likely reveal their long-term fate.