Watching for Wolves in the Wilds of Minnesota

Lifting off from the remote airfield minutes ahead of a snowstorm, we hoped to locate wolves in the vast wilderness below.

We were 2,000 feet over Superior National Forest, on the north side of Lake Superior. Below us was a winter landscape of frozen rivers, lakes and islands buried deep under snow.

The aerial safari was the start of a program offered by the Audubon Center of the North Woods, in association with the Ely-based International Wolf Center, in which we were to spend three days and nights in northern Minnesota, observing wolves in the wild.

Ours was a diverse group--a writer and a naturalist, both from California, a photographer from Alabama, a wildlife artist from Oklahoma, a salesman from Tennessee and a retail clerk from Minneapolis--unified by a common desire to see and learn more about this magnificent and much-misunderstood predator.

The wolves we were tracking from the sky had been tagged with telemetry collars that emit radio signals announcing their location. Above the noise of the airplane’s engine, our guide, biologist Dan Groebner, explained that both wings of the airplane were tipped with antennas.

When the signal was stronger on one side, the pilot would turn the plane in that direction, navigating to the electronic pulses of the 30 collared wolves somewhere in the woods below.

“Once the signal becomes strong, the wolves are easy to see against the backdrop of white snow,” Groebner said.

We didn’t have to wait long. On the edge of a frozen lake we spotted one of the most powerful sights in nature, a wolf standing over its prey.

Maintaining a respectable distance, the pilot turned the plane in tight circles as Groebner explained that the kill had occurred only hours before. The wolf pack had chased the big buck out from the woods and onto the frozen lake, where its fate was sealed by the deep snow.

Later in the day when the last wolf had gone, we flew back to the kill site and landed our ski-plane on the frozen lake. Groebner led us over to the deer, or rather to what remained of it: a small patch of hide and a few scattered bones that had been cracked open and scoured clean of marrow. A vital 120-pound animal had been reduced to scraps in a couple of hours. We stood there stunned by the wolves’ efficiency and power--until the intense cold bit our noses and ears.

“It’s an unforgiving world out here in the winter,” Groebner said as we all dashed for the warmth of the plane’s cabin.

Our headquarters for the three-day program was Camp Widjiwagan, about 15 miles from the village of Ely. The center of the camp, a YMCA property that opened in 1929, is a two-story wooden lodge with two dormitories and a dining room. Single men and women bunk in separate dorms. (Guests bring their own sleeping bags, though bedding can be provided for the forgetful.) Families are accommodated in nearby cabins, each with heat and electricity.

One highlight of our stay was the food. Lumberjack meals, along with nonstop snacks, were served in the dining room, which itself was a feast for the eye. Grand windows looked out on the lake and surrounding woods. All meals were served at the dining room’s large round tables, though our group usually carried out a lunch of sandwiches and hot drinks. The cookery might be called “Mom’s All-American,” being heavy on fresh-baked breads and pastries, which provided a needed energy boost for our cold-weather exertions.

The program fee of $270 per person included meals, lodging and the various forms of transportation involved in following wildlife biologists as they go about their work: snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, dog sledding and a survey flight by airplane.

On a typical day we had breakfast, went on an outdoor excursion with our guide, had lunch in the field, continued our excursion and returned to the lodge for dinner. In the evening we gathered again for a wildlife slide show and discussion.

One night we took time off from our wolf study to become members of the Polar Bear Club--an exclusive organization to which you gain entry by one simple, crazed yet courageous act: jumping naked through a hole in the ice for submersion in freezing cold water.

It was 17 degrees below zero at 10 p.m. as we all stood fully clothed on the edge of the lake, peering down into what looked like a liquid coffin, a rectangular opening cut through the snow and ice that one of the camp staff kept stirring with an oar, pushing the rapidly forming ice crystals out to the side. Staring down into the dark water, we couldn’t imagine shedding our clothes--but we were then provided the impetus.

We all sat in a Finnish family sauna. Basting for 20 minutes in 180 degrees actually makes a dunk in ice-cold water appealing. Like first-time parachuters, we lined up at the sauna door, then popped out, wearing only cloaks of steam in the night air as we sprinted downhill. Then the stars, trees and snow fell away as we plunged for a moment into eternity--the cold slamming shut every pore the hot sauna opened. Somehow, we were then standing naked and dripping wet on the surface, now strangely numb to the freezing air. Full of bravura, we rolled three times in the snow, and then with our valor wearing thin, sprinted for our clothes.

Back in the lodge, we all agreed we felt deeply clean and relaxed, and as brand-new “Polar Bears,” we were now totally at home in the north.

Another night, we walked from the lodge to the edge of the woods to try our luck at a primitive method of finding wolves: offering up a human imitation of a howl. Groebner has developed a howl so authentic that he once brought two wolf cubs on a full run out of the woods, banging into his legs before realizing something was amiss.

As we made our way from the lodge, the snow glittered before us like a field of diamonds in the moonlight. The trees on the distant islands were absolutely still. It was fiercely cold.

Groebner led off with an upwelling of ululations, tapering into a wild tremolo--then silence rang in our ears. Next he had us face in various directions to project the sound of an entire wolf pack. The maestro started and we joined in--our chorus of chords and discords rolling over the open terrain. We tried again as a group, without response, then stepped forward for solo performances.

A barred owl hooted back, the lone answer to our savage symphony.

Groebner explained that, like so much about the wolf, what sets a pack to howling is a mystery. Often, it seems, just a particular pitch will do it, and there’s no predicting which wolf will have it or when.

Among the facts we learned at the camp:

--Once second only to man in natural range, the wolf exists in significant numbers only in Greece, Spain, northern Eurasia and the northern wilds of this hemisphere. There are about 1,500 wolves in Minnesota, 30 in Wisconsin, perhaps 10 in upper Michigan and 30 in Montana. Canada supports as many as 50,000 wolves and Alaska 5,000.

--A wolf in the wild survives only eight or nine years.

--Wolves spend about 10 hours out of every 24 on the move, usually traveling 30 to 50 miles. A wolf in Minnesota will kill about 15 white-tail deer a year, and will also take beaver and moose. The average success rate of a wolf hunt is only 10%. Wolves can go three weeks without feeding.

After breakfast on our second day, we snowshoed down a steep trail through fallen trees and bramble, searching for a reported moose kill. We crossed a frozen stream. Lying upside down in the brush, like the hull of a wrecked ship, was a moose skeleton. Groebner pointed out the smashed bramble, the convergent wolf tracks and patches of moose hair. Our imaginations filled in the blanks.

A pack of 13 wolves “owned” these woods. One could almost see them coordinating the attack: The lead or “alpha” male biting the moose’s rubbery nose and pulling down while the others bit and held the animal’s rump, legs and flanks. Moose is the wolf’s most dangerous prey, and looking at the skeleton it was easy to see why. The immense antlers and hooves are both capable of crushing a wolf’s skull or caving in its ribs.

It’s a mystery as to why a hungry wolf pack will sometimes approach a moose or deer, stare at it, then move on. The naturalist Barry Lopez, in his book “Of Wolves and Men,” hypothesizes that the decision to attack is determined by the initial eye exchange--”the stare of death”--together with subtle body language. If the prey flinches, the wolves move in, but if the prey returns the stare unbroken, the wolves are likely to move on--even though the prey is outnumbered.

Groebner told us that the strongest impression which remains after observing wolves for extended periods is their social nature and friendliness, or capacity for making emotional attachments to other wolves. Such attachments begin when the wolves are only three weeks old, helping to form the pack as the basic unit of wolf society.

In recent years there is evidence that even wolves and humans are growing closer together. In a 1985 study of Minnesotans, Steven Kellert of Yale University found that 72% who live within the hunting range of wolves agreed with the statement that “the timber wolf symbolizes the beauty and wonder of nature.” Even Minnesota farmers, some of whom had lost livestock to wolves, showed surprising tolerance. Only 24% agreed that timber wolves “belong in places like Alaska, not Minnesota.”

On our final day, we traveled by dog sled and skis over a frozen lake to view Indian pictographs painted hundreds of years ago on an island’s granite rocks. Our skiers were breaking trail ahead of the hardy Siberian huskies when they came upon deep indentations in the smooth snow--four parallel tracks that were unmistakenly left by wolves. The pack had bounded ahead of us toward the island, their bellies pressing the snow flat every three feet. The tracks were so fresh that they appeared to quiver.

“The wolves must be only a minute or so ahead of us,” said one of our group, naturalist John Meriwether. “They saw or smelled us and headed for cover.”

Slowly, we followed the tracks into the woods, scanning every inch of landscape, looking in vain for the wolves to materialize.

“They must have gone up there,” Meriwether whispered when we had reached the base of a sloping bluff. “Up to higher ground.”

GUIDEBOOK

Getting to Know the Wolves

Getting there: Northwest flies daily from LAX to Duluth, Minn., with a change of aircraft in Minneapolis. Round-trip coach fare, with 14-day advance purchase, is $390. Service to Duluth from Chicago is also available on many other airlines.

When to go: Four weekends remain in this winter’s schedule: Feb. 22-24, March 1-3, March 8-10 and March 15-17.

Cost: $270 per person includes meals, lodging, use of snowshoes, skis and other equipment, and a wolf survey flight. For pick-up and return to the Duluth airport, add $40. Reservation deposit is $100. Maximum enrollment: 15 per weekend.

What to bring: Bedding or sleeping bag, waterproof or water-repellent winter boots, layers of wool or synthetic winter clothing (no cotton; it stays cold when wet), a warm hat, gloves and camera.

For more information: Contact Craig Prudhomme, program director, Audubon Center of the North Woods, Route 1, Box 288, Sandstone, Minn. 55072, (612) 245-2648.