The topic of wolverines was brought to my attention today and that reminded me of my only encounter with this elusive creature. According to Defenders of Wildlife there are only about 300 in the U.S., so it’s rare to catch a glimpse of one. That blog posed the question, "if you did see a wolverine or its tracks, would you know it?" When faced with the tracks I'd discovered one day it was the fact that I did not recognize the maker of the marks that caused me to suspect a wolverine. My sketchbooks and journals have been lost over the years, so I thought this a good opportunity to relive the experience; We certainly can't live in the past, but holding the good times keeps us connected to the memories that define our inner selves.
Many years ago while I lived in coastal Washington State we experienced a bout of weather that was very hot and dry up in the higher elevations, so more wildlife than usual began to appear around the outer edges of town. A small herd of elk had set claim to the scrubby logging field where I usually enjoyed walking with my dogs, so I moved us to a field on the other side of the road to avoid the inevitable chase scenes. The elk field side was wet with marsh-like conditions, but the other field seemed high and dry. Though the soil was perfect for leaving tracks I saw no signs of elk or deer. We'd not walked there before, and it looked as if no one had stepped foot beyond the rusted barricade in years, but it was a wide clearing that seemed safe. I later learned this type of area is indeed often left for years without a human visitor because it's part of the timber industry. A clearing was made in the alder grove where leaves and small branches -- debris of trimming -- had been dumped into shallow pits, covered lightly, and left to compost naturally. Bulldozers had scrapped away the top layers creating a couple of mounded berms at the far side of the clearing which attracted my attention right away, being the only real feature of the lightly grassed clearing.
My dogs happily ran off leash while I wandered over to the smaller dirt pile out of two; It seemed flattened on the top so my curiosity was roused. My young bullmastiff suddenly dashed past me in a daring maneuver than nearly took me off of my feet. I laughed, and as I stood up I marvelled at how big his footprint was in the soft soil... feeling proud of my growing boy, but my eye was caught by another footprint the same size that clearly wasn't made by a dog; The claws seemed sharp and the center pad was too curved (see the print in mud at the tracks link above). The hair on the back of my neck raised as my body comprehended a predator before my mind fully processed the information. I yelled across the field to the oldest dog of my three saying, "hey Gypsy, come here and take a look at this will you!" My brave black and tan boucheron came happily dashing over to me, but slid to a stop before the mystery print. She hadn't even slid fully into place before the hair down her spine began to raise. She sniffed the track while growling softly. She followed the tracks to the top of the smaller berm. The soil was free of greenery, and since it hadn't rained in days the dry top was like powder. I could see an impression where something about the size of a medium dog had laid its body sideways and also an area of swirled dirt. The same strange footprints were everywhere. I thought to myself that it looked like a dirt wallow. Something had been comfortable enough to roll around while perched on a look-out tower, and that immediately implied to me that there could be a den or a feed carcass nearby... something worth protecting from invaders like us! As if Gypsy read my mind she jumped down to head back towards home. She looked over her shoulder at me as if to hurry me along. Neither I nor the other dogs disagreed with her opinion. When I got home I quickly grabbed at my Pacific Northwest wildlife books to identify the footprints. Without a doubt in my mind the loping dog-like tracks were made by a wolverine -- right off of the bay near town!
The location seemed improbable to me based upon what I'd read about wolverine, but I'd had other unlikely in-town wildlife encounters, so being a hobby biologist I had to go back for personal confirmation. I chose the hottest part of a sunny day to venture back to the field alone in the hopes that anything large enough to eat me would be napping. This was just prior to the digital camera age so I only carried a notebook... the paper kind. I'd already been observing that elk group I mentioned, and had stood right amongst them without incident, so I was feeling confident in my wildlife safety skills. The visual evidence seemed to show that a wolverine was using the smaller mound of dirt, which was positioned further into the field than the larger one, as a watchtower of sorts. Two areas were greatly worn where the dirt was packed down firmly, indicating frequent body positions, that faced different directions. One area seemed to be made by the body having lain down, facing the driveway like entrance and the main portion of the field. The other impression in the dirt seemed to indicate a sitting posture facing towards the surrounding tree line. This line was less scrubby, with older alder trees, and stretched for quite a distance up the edge of the bay uninterrupted by human structures. The soil at this impression didn't seem as hard packed as where the animal had been laying down, so I wondered if this direction was a newer area of concern for the wolverine. I jumped down and followed the trajectory of what might be the wolverine's gaze.
I reached the tree line just beyond the second berm and braved a few steps into the dim light. The smell quickly gave me the impression that I'd walked into a wolverine toilet! There were large piles of feces scattered about totally uncovered. Areas of foliate growth had withered to yellow patches from repetitive urination, a heady scent close to that of a skunk pierced my sinuses, and tree trunks were covered in gashing claw marks about four feet above the ground. Small bundles of skunk cabbage had been ripped up from the soil. All of this was located very near to where the animal seemed to be spending most of its time, whereas most animals relieve themselves away from sleeping and eating spots. I felt that even though this was already an unusual situation for a wolverine there was something even more out of sorts with this behavior. I stood there for a moment looking at the scene; It seemed frantically yet intentionally made. The gashes in the trees reflected light so that they seemed like beacons through the dark trunks. I wondered why a wolverine would show signs of territorial intimidation, if that's what this was -- what scares a tough-guy? Another tough-guy, that's what!
In the wetter soil of the underbrush I found signs that the wolverine had kicked at a set of larger prints, but I couldn't see them clearly. I followed those muddy tracks deeper into the trees until I found some that had not been marred. Then I swiftly turned back as I recognized the shape of a bear print! It wasn't a tiny print either, which told me that this was possibly the small grizzly bear that I'd begun to call Nosey because we'd encountered each other before. He wasn't terribly afraid of humans so would dash out onto the paths used by locals to walk to the grocery store. They'd drop the bags and run in fear. Then Nosey would stick his face into the bags in search of booty! I have no clue how often this happened, but thankfully no one was ever injured! I DID notify the police, as I'm sure others did too, but no one at the time believed that such wildlife was creeping right into town without making for an animal attack program. Anyway, based upon past experience I guessed that Nosey was elsewhere right now, searching for salmon poaching scraps or more scented candles from someones drugstore journey gone wild.
I crept out of the trees and inspected the larger dirt pile in the field. For a moment I wished for one of Nosey's nibbled scented candles; the smell was making my head ache! There were many, many wolverine tracks around this berm -- both old and very recently made. The portion that faced away from the human entrance point of the field contained a large dug-out hole! I decided to make my observations fast lest a sleeping occupant jump out at my face. It was like no other borrow opening I'd seen before, and may have initially been created by some other animal, but a wolverine had certainly taken up residence. It was flat on the bottom and arched at the top like a human doorway might be shaped, or perhaps one of Tolkien's Hobbit holes -- indeed it was nearly large enough for a Frodo to comfortably pass through. A shadowed tunnel sloped into the center of the berm. It takes a creature more confident than a Hobbit to make a home with such a vulnerable opening, and being that I myself am closer to a Hobbit than a wolverine I decided not to explore any deeper but to observe from afar.
For months I returned to the field at various times of day in the hope of catching visual confirmation of the existence of my new curiosity. When I chanced a close peek I found drops of blood trailing into the den and scraps of rabbit or possum fur on occasion; it was definitely being used by a carnivore! One time I found a rat skull that had been perched atop a huge cone shaped pile of feces under the trees like a jungle headhunters warning or prize (again facing the direction of those bear tracks) -- it was very creepy! The wolverine used the same paths over and over, and I noted one coming from the trees had footprints only facing towards the den berm... never facing away. One path led to the toilet dump, and another to the small berm for watching. I tried not to give human traits to this critter but it wasn't easy as it seemed so ritualistic and aware! Though we hadn't seen each other yet, I started to see signs that the wolverine was aware of my visits.
After another rare set of hot days on the rainy side of Washington I went out to look for tracks, this time hoping to get a good plaster cast. The field was dry all of the way across it. I'd been stopping near the center to watch the den berm with binoculars. I'd felt this was a good spot because few mammals under the size of a large German shepherd ventured into any open clearing for long without being hunted or hassled by a bold pair of bald eagles that nested nearby or the large ravens that prowled the sky looking for trouble. This day though, when I reached my spot there were footprints there already! It seemed that the wolverine had made numerous trips to and from its den to my observation spot -- who was watching who here? There were no poo or claw marking signs so I wasn't deemed as a big threat I supposed. Alright big fellow, I thought to myself, why don't you show me that you know I'm here.
There was no activity that day, but three days later I noticed a difference in the slightly grassy spot where I'd sit with the binoculars; I'd begun to leave a visibly worn patch where I'd sit, write in my journal, and sketch notes. Around this patch had now been worn a circle of paw prints. It was harder to be sure in this portion of the field because tracks didn't impress so well, but it certainly looked as if the wolverine had been walking around and around where I'd been sitting. Again a little creepy, but perhaps it was wondering about MY creeping habits -- afterall I wasn't stopping here to eat, or sleep, nor had I "marked" it as my territory (uh-hem, not that I literally do that). I'd only been watching, and watching makes smart creatures worry what the watcher wants!
I plopped down into the grass and settled in for the sunburn I was sure to get without sunscreen; I would always rinse off in the morning before going out to follow wildlife and avoided smelly human hygiene products like perfume and sunscreen. I wasn't there for long before I thought I heard a slight sound of pebbles rolling... mounded dirt shifting! The binoculars were still in my bag, but I could see what looked like a fair sized dog with shaggy dark fur step up onto the look-out berm. A cream colored head turned to look at me, and I could see rounded over ears held high in attention! For a few moments we were both frozen stiff in staring. I came out of my shock to realize that direct stares are generally taken as aggression by any mammal, so I turned my head like a cat licking its shoulder. I pretended to groom myself for several minutes while being sure to keep a sideways eye on the wolverine. It cocked its head to the left in a curious manner and sat down as a well behaved dog might sit. The lightly painted sides of the animal gleamed in the sunlight, and all the tips of its fur sparkled like jewels! Its dark face seemed to disappear under the reflection of the creamy brow making the entire head look twice the size it should be. My bag was sitting off to my side so I slowly stretched out my arm as if I were licking it clean while I reached for the binoculars.
Everything was going all Jane Goodall until the lenses reached my eyes, then action changed swiftly. I don't know if there was a reflection caught by the wolverine -- perhaps the silver metal binoculars reminded it of a previous experience with a gun, it may have been startled by something it had never seen before, or perhaps it simply had enough of this creepy human watching it -- but I got definite confirmation of the species as it leaped off of the berm right towards me! My mind rushed to figure the length of the wolverine in comparison to the diameter of the field that had seemed so big just a moment ago. There was no time for calculations of running to safety or even standing upright as the animal rushed straight at me! One single word -- of a befouled nature -- screamed in my mind, and I may have even cussed it out-loud as well!
Though they may plop a bit in their running style wolverines seem to be surprisingly fast! It stopped more than three-fourths of the way to my face across that field and skidded to a stop with a huffy stomp. Arching its back slightly sideways it raised its tail high and lowered its head while showing me teeth. It made a sound like an overweight person carrying something heavy up steps, and as it grunted saliva dripped from the ends of its mouth spritzing with every other huff of breath. It was so close that I could smell the stank muskiness of its moistening fur! Thankfully wild animals often recognize the stupidity of innocence, and the wolverine soon determined that I was nothing more than a pest. I had pulled my knees up to my chest with my arms locked under my legs in preparation for a be-clawed blow that never came. It sniffed towards the bundle of me, then turned its body away. I braced myself convinced that I was about to be urinated upon at the very least, because my precocious habits had in the past gotten me soaked by everything from cute little dogs to Sumatran rhino (burns the eyes). The wolverine only watched me suspiciously over its shoulder while lurching back to the berm. This all happened in what was certainly only a few seconds, but it felt much longer as I sat there trying to breath and mentally replaying every wildlife show that ever featured a wolverine kicking the butt of a cougar or bear -- the toughest woodland tough-guys!
When the wolverine next laid down atop the berm my insides were torn -- I still wanted to jump up and run for my life, but it seemed as if my presence was going to be tolerated. Do I stay or should I go? I had a few moments to weigh out the factors before deciding. No one knew where I was, cell phones weren't common yet, and I had no weapon; because I wasn't going to be gathering herbs that day I didn't even have my dagger at my side -- not that I'd want to use it on an animal anyway. My husband loved me, my dogs needed me, and a curious adventure wasn't worth continuing to be so openly risky... I decided to leave. As I slowly stood up the wolverine did too. It watched me as I picked up my things and took a few steps backwards. Nothing happened so I turned to go as adrenaline began to pump through my small body -- that thing was nearly as big as I was! I smiled and thought a great big WOW!
Rule number one is don't turn your back on an animal. I spun round in time to see the wolverine dashing back towards me! I planted my feet firmly and shouted, "NO!" while pointing an index finger at it. It slid to a stop without arching its back; It seemed dumbfounded by my action. I spoke to it saying, "we've already done this part. Now I'm leaving!" In a less firm tone I thanked it verbally and spiritually for allowing me to see it. I told it how magnificent, powerful, and lovely it was as I BACKED away towards the entrance gate; I was projecting as much non-threatening confident energy as I could muster! The wolverine stayed put until I reached the paved road beyond the entrance, all the while seeming perplexed. It stared for a while longer before turning its back to me to return to its outpost. I walked home beaming -- thrilled with having survived my adventure!
Since the wolverine had decided to let me live I decided to do the same. I only entered the field once more, though I frequently walked past the entrance with my dogs. I was left with the impression that the weather, or other conditions, that Summer had forced a lot of different species into unusual situations of survival that required small territories and a greater tolerance of each other. I had many wildlife encounters over nearly two years of hotter-than-usual weather. I never spotted my shaggy pal again though. The following year weather conditions returned to the normal daily drip, and the wildlife signs near town lessened as the critters returned to the mountains. One day near Winter I noticed that the wolverine's den berm had debris scattered over it. I ventured a close enough look to see that the tidy arched doorway was beginning to cave-in and forest litter was filling it, indicating that it had been quite some time since anything had passed through. The air smelled sweetly clean. The wolverine was gone. I marvelled again at my once-in-a-lifetime experience that -- for a moment -- I thought was going to end my life and at the amazing creature that had shared small parts of its own life with me for a time.
-- Tree Pruitt
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