Subhashini Krishnan expected the Himalayan wolf to preside at the apex of the food chain in Changthang, Ladakh. But she was wrong. The flat open terrain of the desert, 4,300 metres in elevation, is the realm of the only wolf to live at high altitudes. A crucial genetic mutation allows it to survive in low oxygen conditions. A pack, up to seven strong, can pick off Tibetan gazelles, marmots, and hares. The breeding pair gets first dibs and the choicest meat. After the rest of the pack has eaten, scavengers such as vultures and foxes clean up the remains.
Krishnan kept watch on the outskirts of Hanle, where its residents dumped carcasses of livestock. Although they knitted sweaters to help their Jersey cows withstand the winters, many animals dropped dead. The disposal site became a feeding station for the area’s carnivores, including a pack of wolves, and to the researcher’s chagrin, lots of free-ranging dogs.
Forming packs
Dogs may resemble their ancestor, the wolf, but they rarely behave like it. Where they free-range, they live independent lives, gathering only around food, to mate, or chase intruders away. But in Hanle, they revert to their ancestral ways since surviving without the support of others is tough in the harsh winters. They form packs with a clear hierarchy to coordinate hunts and raise pups. Once their quarry is down, the breeding pair dines first.
When the two similar-sized canids face off, the wolves would prevail, thought Krishnan. In Europe and the U.S., gray wolves even kill dogs. To her surprise, the Himalayan wolves were wary of their feral relatives. They waited for the dogs to eat their fill and leave before they ventured near the carcasses. Superior numbers gave dogs an advantage.
Then Krishnan saw a lone wolf feeding on a horse carcass. If numerical strength was needed to survive and compete in the bleak terrain, how had the lone she-wolf dodged the packs of wolves and dogs? The researcher crept towards her until she was within 35 metres. The healthy animal ripped and bolted chunks of meat while paying no attention to the curious human. When a raven got too close, she charged with her mouth full. After she had eaten her fill, she trotted away, her distended stomach jiggling with every bounce.
“Watching her eat for nearly three hours was a dream come true,” says the researcher.
Since that first encounter, Krishnan spotted the she-wolf, whom she called ‘Her Lone Self’, a few more times. Each time, the animal made sure there were no dogs or other wolves around when she emerged to scavenge.
Caught in the act
When Krishnan saw Her Lone Self poop, she exclaimed “Yay!” under her breath. For a long time, she had been trying to collect wolf faecal matter for analysis. Hair and bones sieved from the scat would tell her about the animal’s diet. But in an area overrun by dogs, differentiating between the poop of the two species was difficult. Here, since she saw the wolf in the act, its origin wasn’t in doubt.
The resident wolf pack, however, misjudged its timing on more than one occasion and came face to face with dogs. The domesticated canids barked and advanced a few steps, and the wolves backed off, maintaining the distance. This test of nerves ended only after the dogs had pushed their wild cousins to the other bank of the frozen River Hanle.
Across the Transhimalaya, wherever villagers discard carcasses and military camps dispose of their excess food, dog numbers are on the increase. The animals harass other species, from snow leopards to foxes. Ironically, they inherited their ability to survive in these oxygen-poor elevations from their wild cousins with whom their ancient ancestors interbred.
The beleaguered Himalayan wolves need more than a mutation to compete with dogs.
Janaki Lenin is not a conservationista but many creatures share her home for reasons she is yet to discover.
