On a sulky spring morning in British Columbia, just before low tide, we find ourselves on a boat near an island in Tlatlasikwala First Nations territory. The air carries a slight drizzle as we take in our surroundings. To our left, in Queen Charlotte Strait, we spot two sea otters lounging among the bull kelp, seemingly in a post-coital slumber. Up above, a bald eagle bleats with a hint of sadness, warning us to stay away from her nest.
However, our attention is not focused on these creatures at the moment. Behind me, our guide Mike begins softly calling, “It’s OK, wolf, it’s OK.” A wolf the color of ginger tea pads through the dried bladder wrack, about 10 meters away. It seems to respond to Mike’s call and pauses to gaze at us before calmly making its way towards the tree line. As we observe her departure – her smaller size indicating she is likely female – I can’t help but redefine my perception of wolves yet again during these two short days. This was no big bad wolf from children’s stories, nor a wolf in sheep’s clothing with a cunning and cruel demeanor. This was a wolf that enjoyed swimming in cold water, initially arriving on the island for venison but staying for the seafood. An unexpected choice for a wolf’s lifestyle.
Instead of being typical land-based predators that work together as a pack to hunt deer and elk, these adaptable creatures have carved out a unique existence. They browse the tides, grazing on barnacles, clams, and crabs. Occasionally, they swim to offshore rocks to stealthily approach seals and sea otters. Mike shifts the boat into gear and we move away from the shore. He reassures us that we won’t disturb her, and besides, there is so much more to see out in the strait. The two photographers on board and I nod in agreement, fully aware of how fortunate we are to have come so close. A sea wolf is a highly sought-after subject for wildlife photographers.
Mike, visibly pleased, shares that the wolf holds great significance for his tribe, the Kwikwasut’inuxw Haxwa’mis. The wolf is considered their ancestor animal and creator, possessing supernatural powers. Courage, strength, loyalty, and teaching are among its defining characteristics. This sighting is particularly gratifying as it is part of a trial run for a new wolf-focused itinerary developed for UK tour operator Audley Travel. It’s a relief to witness these magnificent creatures making an appearance.
The seafood-eating wolves we’re in search of are not easy to find. They are localized to the remote shorelines of the Great Bear Rainforest. Together with Mike and his colleague Andrew from Coastal Rainforest Safaris, we embarked a couple of days ago from Vancouver Island’s north end, on a boat loaded with camping equipment and supplies.
From Port Hardy, we navigated our way north through a network of islands densely covered in hemlock and cedar. Tidal currents created agitation, causing waves to break through the checkered sea. These cold, oxygen-rich waters infuse incredible fertility in the region, attracting humpback whales, sea lions, and sea otters, which entertained us with their snoozing and mating rituals. As we ventured deeper into this captivating environment, nature came alive and played all around us.
Our first stop was a former Tlatlasikwala village site nestled in a natural harbor. Only remnants of a once-thriving community remained, with the shell midden serving as a reminder of their history. However, this thriving community faced a grim fate with the arrival of white settlers and traders in the 1860s, driven by a relentless hunger for logs and land. Within a few decades, diseases such as smallpox wiped out 90% of the First Nations population, which had no immunity to these new infections. The survivors were forcibly relocated to allocated reserves on the mainland, tearing families apart as their children were taken to residential homes.
As a chief himself, Mike shares stories of how some tribes are reclaiming their rights and land, successfully challenging the intrusion of salmon farms that have disrupted the natural flow of wild sockeye and chinook salmon in their rivers. “When I was growing up in Kingcome,” Mike recalls, “there were fish up in the trees.” Grizzlies would feast on the roe and scatter the rest, which raccoons then carried to the branches. So much nutritional value was derived from this waterborne harvest that even the trees grew taller. Although salmon populations have dwindled, wolves still thrive in the region.
To find this specific variety of coastal seafood-eating wolves, Mike and Andrew have selected a particular island known for its compact size, a small fraction of a typical wolfpack’s range. However, both guides emphasize that nothing is guaranteed. But almost immediately after we arrive, we spot a wolf wading through knee-deep water during low tide. It becomes evident that the wolf is favoring one of its hind legs. In a traditional pack-hunting environment, such an injury could prove fatal. However, here, where 90% of their diet comes from the shore, the wolf only needs to outrun the tides.
We anchor the boat in a sheltered bay, unload onto the beach, and set up camp amidst staggering centuries-old timbers stripped bare by relentless storms. We then embark on foot to search for further signs of these predators who share this land with us.
We don’t have to wander far. A small sub-island, separated during high tide, is crisscrossed with trails and scattered with wolf droppings. This must be their resting place between tides. Breaking apart the droppings reveals shell fragments, evidence of their predominantly seafood diet.
Exploring the rainforest on foot reveals the challenges of spotting creatures without the aid of a boat. The moss-drenched landscape is dense with creepers, interrupted by towering giant red cedars resembling organ pipes. Progress becomes arduous and noisy as we clamber over fallen trees, convinced that we are being watched.
That evening, Mike regales us with an ancestral tale. It revolves around a seal hunter named Yakudtasame who, unknowingly, trespassed into the wolves’ hunting territory. In response, the wolves took his son captive and vanished into the forest. A week later, they returned the unharmed boy, accompanied by the alpha male. The wolves had conveyed their displeasure at the hunter’s encroachment on their food supply to the son. In gratitude for his son’s safe return, Yakudtasame trapped a couple of seals and left them as an offering. The son, having learned to communicate with ravens during his time with the wolves, became a village elder. As Yakudtasame grew too old to hunt, the wolves reciprocated for his son’s kindness by bringing him food. It’s an entirely different concept of wolves.
Over a campsite dinner of butter chicken and cheesecake, we engage in a discussion about whether these sea wolves could be considered a new subspecies. They are smaller than mainland grey wolves, capable of swimming great distances, possessing a hint of red in their tails, and have undergone a complete dietary transformation. The only scientific study conducted by the University of Victoria in 2014 noted the potential impact of ecological heterogeneity on genetic structure, but did not explicitly acknowledge any genetic changes. The study labeled this area as an exciting avenue for future research. The wolves themselves, however, chose to express their presence through howls at dawn, drawing all of us out of our tents, tingling with excitement. The closest howler lay just beyond our reach.
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