Location: New Mexico
I'll start with what is probably my favorite wildlife memory of all, which took place while I was volunteering on the Mexican wolf reintroduction project.
In June, the wolf's locations became more and more predictable - most of the times we located her from the plane or from the ground, she was in a particular canyon near her capture site. Though this wolf was not pregnant or lactating when we caught her, we thought maybe she was hanging out at a den or rendezvous site - perhaps the pups of another wolf in her pack.
And so, on a cloudy morning in June, I was given the task of hiking in to this canyon to get a visual.
It took about two hours to get to the entrance to the canyon. I had been there before, prior to capturing the female wolf, to look for tracks. That experience had been hellacious; I had tackled the canyon from the western edge, hiking down and crawling over boulders at the canyon bottom, hiking back up steep muddy hillsides to escape the boulders, and finding everywhere the unmistakable signs of not wolves, but bears. This time I was more prepared. Armed with topographic maps and a plan, I drove to the southern edge of the canyon where the hillsides were less steep.
Along the way, the radio signal of the collared wolf (whose assigned code name was F1115) had been coming in loud and clear. Before turning north to get to the entrance to the canyon, I pulled over and scanned with the antenna. Before me lay a valley with a river running through it, and a round, grassy hill devoid of trees stood just beyond, surrounded by higher hillsides green with new grass under the charred remains of what used to be a dense ponderosa forest. The hills had burned years before, and under the gray sky the snags were like grim sentries guarding the silent landscape.
The signal continued to get stronger, and my eyes bore into the drab hill before me to see if I could pick out the wolf from so far away. Suddenly a movement, a slight flicker of white, caught my attention. I grabbed my binoculars, and sure enough, there she was - F1115 strolling across the hill, with another wolf close behind, probably the same wolf who had been howling at us during F1115's capture. They were side-hilling, heading northwest into the canyon.
I waited a few moments to see if any more wolves were accompanying her, waited for her and her companion to disappear into the first fold of hills before me, and hopped into the truck. The road to the southern entrance to the canyon wound through some low hills before ending next to a cattle pond. There were several veins and entrances to the canyon, and I figured the wolves would remain out of sight, entering the vein that seemed to begin right where I had seen them walking. If I hurried, I could beat them to the supposed den site - where the various veins joined to form a broad, open valley - and watch what happened.
I quickly packed some gear - water, binoculars, camera, GPS unit, field notebook, and some trail mix - and headed into the canyon. I held the telemetry receiver and antenna, planning to monitor the wolves' progress as I sought to head them off. I hadn't gotten far before the boulders began collecting along the canyon bottom, so I headed up east to walk closer toward the top of the ridge separating the canyon veins. The going was fairly easy; here at the entrance, the hillsides were not very steep and there was hardly any undergrowth, just green springy grass and scorched young trees marching up and up. I was disconcerted, however, by the very fresh bear tracks present in the soft mud beneath the trees. Beside the large tracks marched tiny ones - a mother and cub. I had a pretty good view all around, since the vegetation was so sparse, so I hoped I would see them before they saw me.
The terrain beside me became more and more steep, and I saw the canyon bottom choked with boulders and dense shrubs. I walked along it for about a half mile, until again the slope relented and began to grow shallow again. I was approaching the valley where the supposed den site was. The vein in which I presumed the wolves were traveling joined the valley further north, but here the gentle hillside became cut by shallow gullies all leading to the valley. Before heading down, I listened for F1115's signal, which was coming in pretty weakly. Perhaps she had got wind of me, or the terrain was blocking the signal. I quickly entered the first gully and followed it down to the canyon bottom.
It was an idyllic setting. A little stream flowed through a lovely valley dotted with wildflowers, sparse boulders and a few big logs perfect for sitting on, and the trees in and around it had escaped the blaze. Maybe not enough hiding places for a den, but it seemed like a perfect place for a rendezvous site (sort of a "day care" for wolf pups).
I walked along the valley for half an hour searching for any sign of wolves; bones, scat, tracks, anything. I couldn't find a thing. I couldn't think of any reason these wolves were coming into this valley so often - if they had killed something here, I'd have found the remains, and if pups had been here, I was sure I should be able to see evidence of them. I even howled a few times, hoping to get a response from the pups if they were there.
I couldn't figure it out, so I did the obvious thing: I plopped down on a log, pulled out my trail mix, and had lunch in this perfect little valley. I listened to the stream gurgling beside me, swatted at a fly, and wrote some notes in my field book. F1115's signal was audible but still fairly weak, and decided to wait half an hour to see if they would come.
After a few minutes, the signal became louder, then weaker, then louder, then weaker again. They must be in the canyon somewhere, and the signal was bouncing around the high walls. I waited some more, until the signal began booming in loud and clear. They were here, somewhere. I waited and waited, not moving, not making any sound. It was hard to tell where they were; the signal was so strong it boomed in from all directions, but I believed they were west of me, right where I had been when I headed down into the valley. I strained my eyes for any sign of movement. There was no wind, and a light drizzle had begun to fall.
This lasted for quite some time. What was going on? Where were they? Had they seen me, and were just waiting for me to leave, or watching to see what I would do? I became impatient. Finally I decided my cover was blown, and they were up above me somewhere, completely aware of me. I threw caution to the wind and decided to hike west, back up to the top, this time hiking up the hill on the other side of the gully that had led me down, across from where I thought the wolves were. Maybe I could sit at the top and watch them when they decided to come down into the valley.
I was not cautious at all. I was sure they had seen me. The rain seemed to dampen the sound of my movements, and I headed hastily uphill, keeping my eyes to the adjacent hillside for any sign of movement.
Suddenly, I noticed a patch of white underneath a tree. I dove onto my stomach and inched my way to a big ponderosa for cover, and pulled out my binoculars. It took me a few minutes to realize what I was looking at, but there, curled against the trunk of a big pine, were the wolves. They were asleep, not 100 yards from me across the gully, right where I had walked before. They must have cut off the last few hundreds yards of their journey through the adjacent canyon, heading up and over the ridge to the valley below.
The next hour was one of the most wonderful of my life. There I was, lying on my stomach, watching two federally endangered wolves sleeping in the wild above the canyon, as a soft rain fell. I was thankful of my wardrobe choices that morning: earthy green fleece and brown curdoroy pants, blending in perfectly with the drab landscape. I couldn't believe that the wolves hadn't seen me - they seemed completely unaware despite my haphazard wandering.
There was F1115 with her collar, and the other wolf was much larger than she was. I assumed it was a male, still convinced it was the same companion howling at us from the trees during her capture. F1115 was very light colored, with hardly any red coloration, but the other wolf was very rusty. I could see his black lips curled into a grin as he slept. She slept more fitfully, lifting her head often to gaze around and smell the air. Once the bigger wolf jerked awake to snap at a fly, stood up, walked in a circle, and laid back down. He reminded me of a pet dog circling around on one of those big fluffy dog pillows.
I didn't dare get my camera; the Velcro would surely alert them to my presence. I wrote some notes in my field book, noting their behavior, their appearance. After about an hour, F1115 stood up again, but this time she began to move down the gully into the valley. The other wolf lifted his head to watch her go, but showed no immediate inclination to follow. I was torn between staying still to watch him, or repositioning to see where F1115 would go.
I had to know if there were pups down there. I stood up, trying to keep to the tree for cover, and watched as F1115 reached the valley floor and then, to my surprise, headed right back up the other side. I glanced over at the other wolf, who had finally stood and looked like he was about to follow; but I must have made a noise or a sudden movement, for suddenly he stood stock still, staring hard in my direction. Then he jumped high into the air, turned 180 degrees, and stopped again, still looking at me over his back. A few seconds later he was gone, diving into the gully after F1115.
I never figured out what they had been doing there. I can only guess that they had seen me down there, and were just nonchalantly waiting for me to leave. There must have been something there; why else would they wait for me to leave, rather than just take a different route? I couldn't follow them to the other side of the hill, because I knew at the top was grassy plains leading to private grazing land. I had scouted it before. Maybe there were pups in a hidden nook or rocky outcrop, but now that my cover was surely blown I decided to give up the chase. The last thing I wanted to do was spook pups, scaring the whole family onto open land where they were much more vulnerable.
As I walked back the way I had come, above the canyon through the scorched trees and soft grass, I felt elated. I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. I reached the truck just as a heavy rain began to fall and the lightning became more frequent.
Technically, I had failed in my mission, but I didn't feel too bad about it. I had been given an amazing show, shared an hour of peace and contentment with the napping wolves. They could keep their secret.
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