Wolverines

On being a Wolverine

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Well, hello there. I’m Slash, the wolverine (He / Him). Many people only know of us because one of your people likes to play dress-up superhero or some such nonsense. But let’s be clear: we do not fight crime. We’re the reason other animals look over their shoulders. No cape. No mask. Just teeth. Mwahahhaaha!  

Okay, so in real life the rumors of our ferocity may be a bit exaggerated. We do not typically confront bears and wolves just to steal their dinner. Most encounters are about defending or scavenging a carcass when the odds are in our favor. But when the opportunity presents itself, we are not known for backing down. And unless several of them decide to gang up on one of us – which is rude – we handle ourselves just fine, thank you very much.  

We wolverines seriously need our alone time and plenty to eat, both of which require a good deal of space. Males like me carve out territories that typically range from 60 to 600 square miles (100 to 1,550 square kilometers). Some of us guys go to an extreme with territories that are close to 900 square miles (2,330 square kilometers) — that’s almost the size of Yosemite National Park. If another male wolverine dares to enter my turf, I may not play nice, especially when food is harder to come by.

While I don’t generally allow other males in my territory, I’m just fine overlapping with several females. Their ranges are smaller and cover 45 to 210 square miles (70 to 335 square kilometers). And you should know that the lady wolverines are absolutely unwilling to share space with others of their gender. As a result, there are very few of us in any given area. This, combined with the fact that we prefer remote locations, limits your ability to see us roaming freely in the wild. But if you’d like to know how I spend my time, read on.

In the Beginning

My life as a wolverine started one February inside a complex snow den that Mom dug out before giving birth. It was a network of hardened snow tunnels that extended more than 30 yards (27 meters) and lie several yards (several meters) beneath the surface — a palatial home for our family which featured spaces for food storage, a bathroom, and a den for us kits. There was me (of course), my brother Gnash, and our sister Bash. We moved locations a few times because, well, Mom wanted to and she knew best. 

Before becoming fearsome predators, we three started our lives helplessly, both blind and deaf. We weighed less than one pound (.4 kilograms) and were covered in white fur. But Mom stayed with us and kept us safe and warm. Within a few weeks, our eyes and ears opened, and we were moving around within our lair. Dad came by on occasion to check on us and sometimes brought us food.

By April, our fur had darkened and by late spring we were strong enough to leave our den.  Mom found safe places along her routes for us kits to hang out while she hunted. As we adjusted to life in the outside world, she began bringing us meat from her hunts. By then, the whole family took time to play together. We wrestled. We climbed. We pounced. And we kits stalked sticks and ambushed rocks as if they were prey. Practice makes predator. We still nursed until May, when we shifted to a fully adult diet. 

Independence

By August, the family unit was starting to loosen. We’d set up rendezvous sites then Mom would depart. Gnash, Bash, and I often stuck together and sometimes we hunted on our own while we waited for Mom to return. By September, we struck out more on our own – sometimes spending time following Mom but also splitting up and then spending time together again. We also each spent a little one-on-one time with Dad. During this time, both of our parents taught us how to be adult wolverines and occasionally let us share a meal. 

Shortly after our first birthday, we reached full independence.  At that point, Bash figured Mom might be nearing the end of her life – we tend to live 7-12 years in the wild – and she herself was set to inherit Mom’s territory. As males, Gnash and I left the area. I traveled for two years – crossing mountains, valleys, and highways – before I found land no other male claimed. Then I claimed it. 

As an adult wolverine, I’m big and tough at 30 inches (76 centimeters) from nose to rump, with a nine-inch (22-centimeter) tail. I weigh-in at 32 pounds (15 kilograms). (By comparison, Bash topped out at 20 pounds or nine kilograms.)  My fur is coated with an oil that repels water and resists frost, so I am good to go year-round! It also helps that my fur gets much denser in the winter, so I have a built-in parka.

Creature of the Night . . . Sometimes

People do not often see me and therefore believe I am a creature of the night, moving about under the cover of darkness. I let them believe that because it adds to my tough guy persona. But actually, I am up and about any time of the day, though evenings and mornings are my favorite times. While searching for my next meal, I patrol and mark my boundaries using scent from my urine.  It leaves a clear message to all other males:  this area is taken!  Even my paws carry my scent as I roam. I do not need to be seen to be known.  

Some days I travel up to 25 miles (40 kilometers). In my go-go-go world, I am built for endurance and sometimes I pick up my pace to a gallop, moving nine miles (fifteen kilometers) without rest. As I move, my paws spread out to nearly twice their size. It’s sort of like having built-in snowshoes which allows me to easily amble through even deep, soft snow. My athleticism extends to climbing trees and swimming, both of which I excel at. There are few places I cannot reach.

I’m also a bit of a lady’s wolverine. I began to take notice of the opposite gender during my third summer. There is one particularly fine female that shares part of my territory – Lunatic, or Luna for short. We meet up for a few days in May before I move on to spend time with the other ladies in my territory. While we’re together, we slide down snowbanks, nuzzle, and softly communicate with each other. 

And don’t you dare tell anyone this, but I will sometimes bring meals to Luna while she is denned with our kits and may even spend time with the family when I do. And, as my own father did for me, as the kits get a little older, it is not uncommon for me to spend time with each of them while they are still juveniles. It would ruin my tough guy reputation if this got out!

Waste Not, Want Not

Despite my parental doting, I’m still almost always on the move. As I rove about, I use my keen sense of smell to sniff out carcasses – mostly moose or caribou — killed by other predators or that died of natural causes. I’m especially keen to find animals that have been wiped out by an avalanche.  The snow preserves these mealtickets, which can keep me fed from spring through early summer — even if just the bones remain. And by then, the meadows are filled with tasty wolverine summer snacks like ground squirrels and voles. Regardless of the season, I can smell my prey even when they are buried several feet (one meter) under the snow, and I will dig down into their burrow and take them while they hibernate. Sometimes when you snooze, you really do lose.

I am an efficient eater and waste nothing. A single meal can last me for weeks because I hide the leftovers in small caches beneath the snow or tucked into the earth for later. To make sure no one tries to raid my cached meat locker while I’m not looking, I spray my leftovers with a special scent gland secretion. Haha! Don’t want it now, do you, Mr. Bear? This helps me survive during the winter when food is harder to find. Summer is easier because I can supplement my diet with berries, eggs, and plant matter.

As my daily outing draws to a close, it’s time for me to sleep. In the winter, I will burrow into the snow. In the summer, I retreat to a cave or rock crevice. Wherever I am, I hunker down and rest up for tomorrow’s adventure.