46 SMITHSONIAN | March 2020
A grizzly bear
peers into a hole
dug by a wol-
verine, perhaps
searching for
something to
eat. Wolverines
stash meat in the
snow to hide it
from scavengers,
and they are ad-
mired by native
communities for
their cunning
and strength. An Arctic wolverine digs near its snow
den. Researchers were surprised
to fi nd that snowpack suitable for
den sites on the North Slope may be
melting earlier in the year than at
wolverine den sites in the Rockies. Inupiat hunter Qaiyaan Harcharek
wears a parka lined with wolverine
fur. Tattoos on his left hand honor his
role as the harpooner of his whaling
crew; on his right wrist, markings
(unseen) pay tribute to the wolverine.O CREATURE of the Far North is less beloved
than the wolverine. It has none of the polar
bear’s soulfulness, or the snowy owl’s spooky
majesty, or even the dewy white fairy-tale
mischievousness of the Arctic fox. The wolverine is best known for unpleas-
antness. This dog-size weasel, which grows to about 30 pounds, has dagger-
like claws and jaws strong enough to tear apart a frozen moose carcass. It will
eat anything, including teeth. (Its scientifi c name is Gulo gulo, from the Latin
for “glutton.”) In some cultures it’s known as a “skunk bear,” for the odious
anal secretion it uses to mark its territory. And yet, from certain angles, with
its snowshoe paws and a face like a bear cub’s, it can appear cuddly. It is not. A
wolverine will attack an animal ten times its size, chasing a moose or caribou