In the footsteps of wolves
A UVic grad student explores the unique ecology of B.C.’s central coast

by Valerie Shore

Chris Darimont had no warning that the mother wolf was going to charge.

From a distance behind a log, he’d been quietly videotaping some frolicking pups when she noticed him. Ears forward, mane erect and tail pointed aggressively skyward, she raced toward the intruder — and then stopped about three metres away. As she urinated and scraped the ground in indecision, Darimont pondered the advancing nightfall and how to extract himself from this awkward situation.

“My heart was racing, and I’m trying not to make eye contact. I had to do something, so I softly said ‘Hey, wolf,’” he recalls. “Her behaviour totally changed, her ears went back, and she tried her best to make a dignified retreat back to the pups. Because my voice had scared her.”

That was three years ago, but it was a significant moment for Darimont, a UVic graduate student who is studying the wolves of B.C.’s central coast for his master’s degree in biology. “That encounter taught me first-hand that dominance and intimidation is an important part of a wolf’s sociability, and that they’re not scary, wanton killers,” he says. “They kill for a living because they have to, but they don’t pose any threat to me in this natural environment.”

That’s just as well. Darimont’s study area is a 60,000 sq km swath of wilderness known to many as the Great Bear Rainforest. To say the landscape is complex and varied is a gross understatement. It ranges from wind and surf-swept, foggy and boggy outer islands, to dank rainforests with towering trees and lush river systems, to deep fjords walled by 500-metre granite cliffs.

Either by foot or by boat, Darimont and his colleagues have covered it all. “There are incredible challenges physically and emotionally out there,” says the softspoken native of Richmond, B.C., “but it’s worth it because of the stuff we get to see.”

Darimont’s overall goal is to find out what role the ocean plays in predator-prey dynamics on land. By ocean, he means salmon. And by predator-prey he means wolves and deer. The tight ecological association between wolves and hoofed animals such as deer is well-documented in other parts of North America, but what happens in coastal areas when salmon are thrown into the mix?

“There’s a big gap in ecological knowledge on the coast because very few people work there,” says Darimont. “It’s so remote and expensive and the climate turns off a lot of people.”

So Darimont and his team are pioneers of sorts. Financed primarily by the Raincoast Conservation Society, they set off three times a year — in spring, mid-summer, and fall — into the wilds of the Great Bear in search of answers. But they aren’t armed with traps or tranquilizer darts or radio collars. That’s too invasive. They scour beaches, creeks and estuaries, wildlife and power line trails, and logging roads for a much smaller and smellier prize — wolf poop.

“We basically walk in the footsteps of wolves, looking for what they’ve left behind,” says Darimont. “We don’t see it as waste, far from it. To us, they’re little bundles of information.”

A collecting session can result in several hundred scat samples. Each is divided into two: one for genetic analysis by a U.S. research team; and the other comes back to UVic for content analysis. “Our lives are very fecal-centric,” grins Darimont, “but it’s really cool to be able to find answers without necessarily seeing the animal.”

Back in the lab, scats hold no secrets. Every hair and fish bone yields dietary clues. And through an analytical technique known as stable isotope analysis, Darimont can detect the source of dietary nutrients. “The signature of food from the sea looks very different isotopically than food from land, as do the signatures of plant species at different elevations or drainage patterns, for example.”

In this way, Darimont can determine not only what the wolves are eating, but on what and where the deer are feeding. And from that, he can draw conclusions about the ecological niche of deer, the extent of wolf predation, and how salmon fit into the equation.

Darimont works closely with the local Heiltsuk community. “They’re under tremendous pressure from industry and government to get in line and develop their territory, ” he says. “But a lack of information about the wildlife and forestry pervades any attempt at a sustainable plan. So they’re very open to the role of science in finding some answers.

Darimont still has one more field season left, and for every hour out there, add another 20 hours in the lab prepping and analysing samples, and crunching data. But he’s already learned so much. That coastal wolves do eat mainly deer, but have a varied diet over seasons and areas. That they indeed eat salmon and actively fish for them (see related story). And that the Great Bear Rainforest is an ecological treasure.

“This project has highlighted how ecologically important and special this region is,” says Darimont, noting that coastal wolves appear to be genetically distinct from any other wolf on Earth. They’re certainly the least persecuted. And he’d like them to stay that way.

“So far, this is a largely undisturbed area with very little persecution of wildlife by humans. This is a chance for us to learn from past mistakes. If we can protect the wolves, the rest of the ecosystem has a chance.”