American Wolf: A True Story of Survival and Obsession in the West

by Nate Blakeslee

A bevy of circling ravens might mean wolves on a carcass somewhere nearby, or it might mean nothing at all.

Everywhere human civilization flourished, wolves were routed, until Homo sapiens, not Canis lupus, became the most widely spread species. Ironically, the dog—a domesticated wolf—became the first line of defense against depredating wolves, which grew more common as wild prey populations declined under pressure from human hunting and loss of habitat.

“Everywhere human civilization flourished, wolves were routed, until Homo sapiens, not Canis lupus, became the most widely spread species. Ironically, the dog—a domesticated wolf—became the first line of defense against depredating wolves, which grew more common as wild prey populations declined under pressure from human hunting and loss of habitat.”

Romans sometimes referred to dawn as inter lupum et canum: “between the wolf and the dog.” Dogs ruled the day, and wolves owned the night. Humanity’s most beloved animal and its most despised were essentially the same creature, but the wolf’s threat to the shepherd’s livelihood poisoned relations between men and wolves, and the wolf’s reputation never recovered.

“Romans sometimes referred to dawn as inter lupum et canum: “between the wolf and the dog.” Dogs ruled the day, and wolves owned the night. Humanity’s most beloved animal and its most despised were essentially the same creature, but the wolf’s threat to the shepherd’s livelihood poisoned relations between men and wolves, and the wolf’s reputation never recovered.”

In Western culture, the wolf became an embodiment of wickedness, from the Middle Ages, when the werewolf myth first appeared, to Grimm’s fairy tales in the early nineteenth century. Early Christians—“the flock,” as believers were called—saw themselves represented in the sheep; their shepherd was God. The wolf that preyed upon the flock was the devil himself.

“In Western culture, the wolf became an embodiment of wickedness, from the Middle Ages, when the werewolf myth first appeared, to Grimm’s fairy tales in the early nineteenth century. Early Christians—“ the flock,” as believers were called—saw themselves represented in the sheep; their shepherd was God. The wolf that preyed upon the flock was the devil himself.”

But even Crandall was changing. For the last thirty years at least—ever since A River Runs Through It was published—people all over the country had been buying vacation homes in the mountains around Yellowstone, looking to secure their own little piece of heaven.

“But even Crandall was changing. For the last thirty years at least—ever since A River Runs Through It was published—people all over the country had been buying vacation homes in the mountains around Yellowstone, looking to secure their own little piece of heaven.”

When he got within range, he called his mother, who was in camp cooking dinner, on his two-way radio.

One afternoon at the Painter Outpost, Turnbull overheard a tourist talking to his son about wolves. It seemed the pair had been in Yellowstone and had seen a pack take down an elk calf. “That was something special,” Turnbull heard the man tell his son. “We were pretty lucky to be there.” Turnbull couldn’t contain himself. “You weren’t lucky!” he shouted angrily, as the man listened in stunned silence. He found calves ripped apart by wolves every spring, Turnbull told him. Wolves weren’t special, not in Crandall. Wolves were killers.

“One afternoon at the Painter Outpost, Turnbull overheard a tourist talking to his son about wolves. It seemed the pair had been in Yellowstone and had seen a pack take down an elk calf. “That was something special,” Turnbull heard the man tell his son. “We were pretty lucky to be there.” Turnbull couldn’t contain himself. “You weren’t lucky!” he shouted angrily, as the man listened in stunned silence. He found calves ripped apart by wolves every spring, Turnbull told him. Wolves weren’t special, not in Crandall. Wolves were killers.”

It was a beautiful morning in May 2010, and spring had finally reached the Northern Range. The southern side of the mountain was greening up wonderfully, though snow still clung to the higher reaches. A grizzly sow and two yearling cubs had been working their way across the side of the mountain since dawn. Now they were in the bowl, grazing on the long grass below the den entrance.

“It was a beautiful morning in May 2010, and spring had finally reached the Northern Range. The southern side of the mountain was greening up wonderfully, though snow still clung to the higher reaches. A grizzly sow and two yearling cubs had been working their way across the side of the mountain since dawn. Now they were in the bowl, grazing on the long grass below the den entrance.”

One of the yearlings noticed the fresh dirt below the tunnel and began nosing its way up the slope. Attracted by the den’s earthy smell—fresh scat, mixed with the lingering scent of O-Six’s latest meal—it poked its nose inside. O-Six launched herself from the depths of the tunnel and hit the cub straight on, sending it tumbling down the hillside and into the sage below. A smaller cub she might have killed outright, but this was a yearling, roughly her own size. Even so, the stunned cub was in full retreat, with one hundred pounds of angry snapping wolf pursuing it. The sow was on them in seconds, lunging and slashing at O-Six with her three-inch claws, as the cub scrambled to safety. O-Six retreated toward the den, her lips pulled back to show her teeth, while the grizzly licked her startled cub and the second yearling hovered nearby.

“One of the yearlings noticed the fresh dirt below the tunnel and began nosing its way up the slope. Attracted by the den’s earthy smell—fresh scat, mixed with the lingering scent of O-Six’s latest meal—it poked its nose inside. O-Six launched herself from the depths of the tunnel and hit the cub straight on, sending it tumbling down the hillside and into the sage below. A smaller cub she might have killed outright, but this was a yearling, roughly her own size. Even so, the stunned cub was in full retreat, with one hundred pounds of angry snapping wolf pursuing it. The sow was on them in seconds, lunging and slashing at O-Six with her three-inch claws, as the cub scrambled to safety. O-Six retreated toward the den, her lips pulled back to show her teeth, while the grizzly licked her startled cub and the second yearling hovered nearby.”

Once he had eaten his fill, the bear laid himself down directly on top of it, challenging any creature larger than the ever-present ravens or magpies to come near. A large enough pack might have been able to drive him off, but with only each other to rely on, the brothers didn’t even try to dislodge their adversary. Here was a meal for O-Six and the pups, so close she could see it from the den mouth, yet the brothers were powerless to deliver it.

“Once he had eaten his fill, the bear laid himself down directly on top of it, challenging any creature larger than the ever-present ravens or magpies to come near. A large enough pack might have been able to drive him off, but with only each other to rely on, the brothers didn’t even try to dislodge their adversary. Here was a meal for O-Six and the pups, so close she could see it from the den mouth, yet the brothers were powerless to deliver it.”

More commonly the males used their stomachs as grocery bags, swallowing up to twenty pounds of meat and making the long journey back to the den. When they arrived, their sides bulging noticeably, they regurgitated the meat for the pups, like birds feeding chicks in a nest.

“More commonly the males used their stomachs as grocery bags, swallowing up to twenty pounds of meat and making the long journey back to the den. When they arrived, their sides bulging noticeably, they regurgitated the meat for the pups, like birds feeding chicks in a nest.”

As the pups made the switch from milk to meat, the brothers’ return from hunting forays set off a frenzy, with all four leaping to lick at their chins—which triggered the regurgitation—then diving headfirst into the meal.

“As the pups made the switch from milk to meat, the brothers’ return from hunting forays set off a frenzy, with all four leaping to lick at their chins—which triggered the regurgitation—then diving headfirst into the meal.”

While the bear problem never went away, it became more manageable, especially with 755’s help. He and O-Six developed a kind of tag-team routine, the alpha male driving the intruder away from the den, while his mate wandered off into the brush, luring the bear farther away, before doubling back by an unseen route.

“While the bear problem never went away, it became more manageable, especially with 755’ s help. He and O-Six developed a kind of tag-team routine, the alpha male driving the intruder away from the den, while his mate wandered off into the brush, luring the bear farther away, before doubling back by an unseen route.”

One morning she abruptly decided to move the pups to a hole she’d recently enlarged on the eastern side of the bowl.

Situated high on the mountainside, the den had a clear view of the flats of Slough Creek far below, as well as the Lamar River where it exited Lamar Canyon and, beyond, a long arm of Specimen Ridge.

“Situated high on the mountainside, the den had a clear view of the flats of Slough Creek far below, as well as the Lamar River where it exited Lamar Canyon and, beyond, a long arm of Specimen Ridge.”

O-Six walked to the center of the bowl and sat in a field of luxurious grass, surveying the mountainside that dropped away below her. Suddenly she threw her muzzle into the air and howled. The two males roused themselves and trotted to her side to join in. The pups scampered over, confused and startled, looking everywhere for the danger that had prompted their mother to sound this alarm. But there was no danger. There was just warm sunshine and soft grass and the bounty of an enormous territory that belonged only to them. They tilted their tiny heads back and added their voices to the chorus.

“O-Six walked to the center of the bowl and sat in a field of luxurious grass, surveying the mountainside that dropped away below her. Suddenly she threw her muzzle into the air and howled. The two males roused themselves and trotted to her side to join in. The pups scampered over, confused and startled, looking everywhere for the danger that had prompted their mother to sound this alarm. But there was no danger. There was just warm sunshine and soft grass and the bounty of an enormous territory that belonged only to them. They tilted their tiny heads back and added their voices to the chorus.”

The location of O-Six’s den was nothing if not strategic.

a low hill, nicknamed Bob’s Knob after filmmaker Bob Landis, that had a perfect view of the entire setting: the den area, the grassy mountainside below, and the broad marshy flats of Slough Creek at the base of the mountain.

“A low hill, nicknamed Bob’s Knob after filmmaker Bob Landis . . . had a perfect view of the entire setting: the den area, the grassy mountainside below, and the broad marshy flats of Slough Creek at the base of the mountain.”

O-Six’s family was now officially known as the Lamar Canyon Pack, though the watchers just called them the Lamars.

By the summer of 2010, O-Six had become the biggest star in Yellowstone.

His first appearance in front of an audience had come about more or less by accident. As a student at the University of Massachusetts, he spent three summers in the backcountry of the White Mountain National Forest in New Hampshire, surveying and re-marking old boundary lines and working on firefighting crews.

He grew up only ten miles from Concord, and after reading a selection from Thoreau’s Walden, he borrowed the family car and visited the replica of Thoreau’s cabin on Walden Pond. The solitude appealed to him, as did the notion that there was wisdom to be found in the study of nature. He also liked Thoreau’s ideas about work, which aligned nicely with the way a lot of young people saw the world in the late 1960s.

Back in the 1930s, Adolph Murie had been struck more than anything else by what he called the wolves’ “friendliness” to one another, a revelation at a time when the popular understanding of wolves still held them to be snarling killers, remorseless and insatiable.

“Back in the 1930s, Adolph Murie had been struck more than anything else by what he called the wolves’ “friendliness” to one another, a revelation at a time when the popular understanding of wolves still held them to be snarling killers, remorseless and insatiable.”

Standing alone in the snow behind his scope, watching the wolves feed and care for the pups, Rick understood what Murie had meant. They were indeed friendly, but they could also be cruel, snapping at or even pinning one another to reinforce their relative places in the pack’s hierarchy. Inevitably one wolf always found himself at the bottom of the totem pole, living through an endless succession of difficult encounters with his packmates, fraught with fear and the prospect of rejection. And there were others for whom life just seemed easy, who were blessed with the charisma to make others love them and want to follow them.

“Standing alone in the snow behind his scope, watching the wolves feed and care for the pups, Rick understood what Murie had meant. They were indeed friendly, but they could also be cruel, snapping at or even pinning one another to reinforce their relative places in the pack’s hierarchy. Inevitably one wolf always found himself at the bottom of the totem pole, living through an endless succession of difficult encounters with his packmates, fraught with fear and the prospect of rejection. And there were others for whom life just seemed easy, who were blessed with the charisma to make others love them and want to follow them.”

When a pack lost its more experienced members, this process of cultural transmission could get derailed.

the early 1990s, the planned Yellowstone reintroduction was all anybody who cared about wolves was talking about, and Rick channeled his enthusiasm for the idea into what would become his first wolf book, which he called A Society of Wolves, a passionate argument for the wolf’s return.

When the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, there were perhaps as many as two million wolves on the continent. Most of the early colonial governments, eager to make their settlements safe for livestock, paid bounties for wolf hides; they forced some Native tribes to pay regular tribute in dead wolves.

Later, on the Great Plains, wolfers motivated by financial gain—wolf hides were highly valued back east—used poison to devastating effect. The most common practice was to ride for several days in an enormous circle, leaving poisoned buffalo meat all along the route. By the time the wolfer came back around to the beginning of his circuit, dead wolves—along with countless other predators and scavengers, including eagles and other raptors—littered the ground. The wolves were skinned on the spot; the rest of the carcasses were left to rot.

“Later, on the Great Plains, wolfers motivated by financial gain—wolf hides were highly valued back east—used poison to devastating effect. The most common practice was to ride for several days in an enormous circle, leaving poisoned buffalo meat all along the route. By the time the wolfer came back around to the beginning of his circuit, dead wolves—along with countless other predators and scavengers, including eagles and other raptors—littered the ground. The wolves were skinned on the spot; the rest of the carcasses were left to rot.”

The impetus for the killing was clear enough. But as Barry Lopez asked in Of Wolves and Men, his seminal meditation on the fraught relationship between the two species, why did the pogrom continue even after the threat to the westerner’s way of life was essentially gone? Why did our ancestors feel they had to root out every last wolf, and why were hunters still so eager to shoot them in the few places they remained?

“The impetus for the killing was clear enough. But as Barry Lopez asked in Of Wolves and Men, his seminal meditation on the fraught relationship between the two species, why did the pogrom continue even after the threat to the westerner’s way of life was essentially gone? Why did our ancestors feel they had to root out every last wolf, and why were hunters still so eager to shoot them in the few places they remained?”

There was hate, Lopez decided, but there was something else, too—something more akin to envy: “Here is an animal capable of killing a man, an animal of legendary endurance and spirit, an animal that embodies marvelous integration with its environment. This is exactly what the frustrated modern hunter would like: the noble qualities imagined; a sense of fitting into the world. The hunter wants to be the wolf.”

“The impetus for the killing was clear enough. But as Barry Lopez asked in Of Wolves and Men, his seminal meditation on the fraught relationship between the two species, why did the pogrom continue even after the threat to the westerner’s way of life was essentially gone? Why did our ancestors feel they had to root out every last wolf, and why were hunters still so eager to shoot them in the few places they remained?”

He played a song written by a Blackfoot Indian friend on a portable cassette player, and then offered a silent apology for Rags’s death and a prayer that his spirit would one day walk again in the body of another wolf, a belief found in some Native American traditions. Without the wolf, Rick wrote in the book’s epilogue, the landscape was incomplete. “The only way we can experience ‘an entire heaven and an entire earth,’ ” he wrote, quoting Thoreau, “is to bring the wolf back.”

“He played a song written by a Blackfoot Indian friend on a portable cassette player, and then offered a silent apology for Rags’s death and a prayer that his spirit would one day walk again in the body of another wolf, a belief found in some Native American traditions. Without the wolf, Rick wrote in the book’s epilogue, the landscape was incomplete. “The only way we can experience ‘an entire heaven and an entire earth,’ ” he wrote, quoting Thoreau, “is to bring the wolf back.””

He always included plenty of facts and figures about wolves in his talks, but he found that stories about individual wolves were what moved people.

Rick’s dream, though he seldom described it as such, was to someday tell a story so good that the people who heard it simply wouldn’t want to kill wolves anymore.

Rick often told visitors about Ernest Thompson Seton, the great nineteenth-century painter and naturalist whose short story about trapping one of the West’s last remaining wolves became a national sensation and changed the way many Americans thought about wolves and the natural world in general.

Originally published in Scribner’s Magazine in 1894 under the title “Lobo, the King of Currumpaw,” the story recounted how a friend in the New Mexico Territory hired Seton to kill a wolf that had plagued ranchers in the area for years. Seton, who had some experience as a trapper, tried a variety of poisoned baits and buried traps, but Lobo, as the ranchers called the enormous gray male, was simply too wily. Finally Seton found the wolf’s weak spot. He trapped Lobo’s naïve young mate, known to ranch hands as Blanca, and dragged her carcass through a field laden with traps, knowing that Lobo’s blind loyalty would drive him to follow her scent heedlessly. When Seton returned to check his handiwork, he found Lobo held fast by traps on three of his legs. Seton had outsmarted him at last. But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to shoot Lobo. Something about the nobility of the enormous beast, among the last of his kind, hopelessly ensnared and yet still lunging gamely at his captor—and perhaps the shame of having resorted to such underhanded tactics to catch him—kept Seton from finishing the job. Instead he brought Lobo back to his employer’s ranch, where he chained him up with plenty of food and water nearby. The next morning he was dead—the victim, Seton surmised, of a broken heart.

“Originally published in Scribner’s Magazine in 1894 under the title “Lobo, the King of Currumpaw,” the story recounted how a friend in the New Mexico Territory hired Seton to kill a wolf that had plagued ranchers in the area for years. Seton, who had some experience as a trapper, tried a variety of poisoned baits and buried traps, but Lobo, as the ranchers called the enormous gray male, was simply too wily. Finally Seton found the wolf’s weak spot. He trapped Lobo’s naïve young mate, known to ranch hands as Blanca, and dragged her carcass through a field laden with traps, knowing that Lobo’s blind loyalty would drive him to follow her scent heedlessly. When Seton returned to check his handiwork, he found Lobo held fast by traps on three of his legs. Seton had outsmarted him at last. But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to shoot Lobo. Something about the nobility of the enormous beast, among the last of his kind, hopelessly ensnared and yet still lunging gamely at his captor—and perhaps the shame of having resorted to such underhanded tactics to catch him—kept Seton from finishing the job. Instead he brought Lobo back to his employer’s ranch, where he chained him up with plenty of food and water nearby. The next morning he was dead—the victim, Seton surmised, of a broken heart.”

Maudlin and fantastic by modern standards, the ideas in Seton’s piece—about a West that was rapidly losing its wildness, about man’s duty to be a good steward of God’s creation—nevertheless captured the nation’s imagination and helped popularize the feeling that the country’s natural endowment, and the wonders of the West in particular, were treasures to be savored and protected.

“Maudlin and fantastic by modern standards, the ideas in Seton’s piece—about a West that was rapidly losing its wildness, about man’s duty to be a good steward of God’s creation—nevertheless captured the nation’s imagination and helped popularize the feeling that the country’s natural endowment, and the wonders of the West in particular, were treasures to be savored and protected.”

once hunting was legalized in Wyoming, Rick thought, the park would essentially be surrounded by hostile territory.

One of them was Limpy. Off researchers’ radar for years, he’d been shot the very first day federal protection was removed. He had been with a pair of wolves near an elk feeding ground about eighty miles southeast of Grand Teton National Park.

Maintaining or removing protection according to the wolves’ current state of residence was an obvious effort to shoehorn a political solution into a legal framework that wouldn’t allow it.

The real struggle was over public land—what it should be used for and who should have the right to decide.

“The real struggle was over public land—what it should be used for and who should have the right to decide.”

When the effort to wrest control of the West from the federal government failed, some of the frustrated anti-government fervor expressed itself in darker ways, like the white nationalist militia groups that cropped up, most notoriously in Montana. Overreaching federal judges, restrictions on gun ownership, job-killing bans on logging and mining—the list of grievances was long, and the return of the wolf was seen by many as just one more burden to bear.

“When the effort to wrest control of the West from the federal government failed, some of the frustrated anti-government fervor expressed itself in darker ways, like the white nationalist militia groups that cropped up, most notoriously in Montana. Overreaching federal judges, restrictions on gun ownership, job-killing bans on logging and mining—the list of grievances was long, and the return of the wolf was seen by many as just one more burden to bear.”

And now, to Honnold’s dismay, the federal government was turning management of wolves over to state officials who had promised to kill as many of them as possible.

If hunting wasn’t sufficient to significantly lower the wolf population in the Northern Rockies, then it followed that you couldn’t really reduce elk predation that way, either.

Yellowstone’s own wolf population, which declined by 43 percent over a six-year period with no human intervention whatsoever, certainly seemed to support the conclusion that wolf populations were essentially self-regulating.

It was not a practice that the federal government was keen to advertise, but taxpayers who knew about the program might have found the logic difficult to swallow: one federal agency was reintroducing predators on public land, a second was leasing adjacent land to ranchers, and a third was dispatching trappers or men in helicopters to kill those same predators when they inevitably crossed paths with livestock. But a deal was a deal, and Fish and Wildlife didn’t balk as the numbers killed in the name of livestock protection grew larger and larger. By 2010, more than twelve hundred wolves suspected of preying on livestock had been shot.

“It was not a practice that the federal government was keen to advertise, but taxpayers who knew about the program might have found the logic difficult to swallow: one federal agency was reintroducing predators on public land, a second was leasing adjacent land to ranchers, and a third was dispatching trappers or men in helicopters to kill those same predators when they inevitably crossed paths with livestock. But a deal was a deal, and Fish and Wildlife didn’t balk as the numbers killed in the name of livestock protection grew larger and larger. By 2010, more than twelve hundred wolves suspected of preying on livestock had been shot.”

Snow in summer was something that Laurie was still not quite used to, but the bite in the air had made the pups frisky, and she smiled as she watched one of the pups—at this stage it was hard to tell one from another—screwing up his courage to confront a raven that had landed provocatively nearby. The two-foot-long, jet-black bird was almost as big as the pup and completely unafraid.

“Snow in summer was something that Laurie was still not quite used to, but the bite in the air had made the pups frisky, and she smiled as she watched one of the pups—at this stage it was hard to tell one from another—screwing up his courage to confront a raven that had landed provocatively nearby. The two-foot-long, jet-black bird was almost as big as the pup and completely unafraid.”

There were always a few ravens near the den, hoping to steal a bit of regurgitated food when the pups were fed. They were ubiquitous in Yellowstone, where they filled the ecological niche occupied by vultures in most other parts of the country. The birds spent a lot of time on the ground, down at a pup’s-eye level, which meant they were among the first creatures in Yellowstone’s broad menagerie that young wolves encountered.

“There were always a few ravens near the den, hoping to steal a bit of regurgitated food when the pups were fed. They were ubiquitous in Yellowstone, where they filled the ecological niche occupied by vultures in most other parts of the country. The birds spent a lot of time on the ground, down at a pup’s-eye level, which meant they were among the first creatures in Yellowstone’s broad menagerie that young wolves encountered.”

Rick was grateful on behalf of the Druid female, but more than that, he was gratified to see the kind of leader O-Six had become. Good alphas, he felt, modeled wisdom and mercy, as 21 had done. Wolves who rose through the ranks merely because they were the largest or—like the cruel Druid alpha female known as 40—the most ruthless often failed to thrive once they got to the top, and their packs suffered commensurately. O-Six could be fierce, to be sure, but Rick was glad to see that she was no 40.

“Rick was grateful on behalf of the Druid female, but more than that, he was gratified to see the kind of leader O-Six had become. Good alphas, he felt, modeled wisdom and mercy, as 21 had done. Wolves who rose through the ranks merely because they were the largest or—like the cruel Druid alpha female known as 40—the most ruthless often failed to thrive once they got to the top, and their packs suffered commensurately. O-Six could be fierce, to be sure, but Rick was glad to see that she was no 40.”

imputing human characteristics to a creature that it doesn’t really have—anthropomorphizing, as the habit is known—is considered a cardinal sin and a hallmark of amateurism.

wolves, Rick felt, were more like humans than they were given credit for, in their tribal ways and territoriality; in their tendency to mate for life; and in the way male wolves provided food and care for their offspring, so unusual in the animal world. He loved to quote the early-twentieth-century English philosopher Carveth Read: “Man, in character, is more like a wolf…than he is any other animal.”

“wolves, Rick felt, were more like humans than they were given credit for, in their tribal ways and territoriality; in their tendency to mate for life; and in the way male wolves provided food and care for their offspring, so unusual in the animal world. He loved to quote the early-twentieth-century English philosopher Carveth Read: “Man, in character, is more like a wolf… than he is any other animal.””