The Lord of the Snow Pit
The Arctic fox looks out from its hiding place
One day we were driving through the snow-covered soldered ice of Litke Bay. The sky was cloudless, and under the rays of the bright sun, the snow sparkled to the horizon with incredible whiteness. Suddenly, some brown and yellow spots flashed under a low hummock, contrasting sharply with the surrounding background.
When we got closer and turned off the snowmobiles, we found that all the hummocks and ridges in the vicinity were decorated with the urinary marks of arctic foxes. There were fresh footprints everywhere, as well as the already overlooked tracks of larger predators: a wolf, a wolverine, and a polar bear. Someone was obviously being eaten here.
However, they didn’t eat anyone, but a musk ox. This became clear almost immediately, as one looked at the fragments of hide and matted dark brown fur scattered in abundance on the snowy surface.
In the center of this picturesque landscape was a deep pit about one and a half meters across. As I got closer, a cheeky white face with a dirty nose popped out of the hole like a jack-in-the-box. The muzzle appraisingly measured me from head to toe and, probably realizing that I was unlikely to compete for the pieces of a dead musk ox, disappeared back into the depths of the pit.
The pit was more than a meter deep, and at the very bottom there were two more narrow holes, one of which led between the gnawed ribs directly into the center of the musk ox carcass. The second move went somewhere to the side, probably to another part of the carcass, which was not visible under the snow.
It may seem strange that a dead musk ox suddenly found itself on sea ice. But in fact, it was no more than 50 meters to the shore at this point. Most likely, the musk ox found its end either from old age, or due to some kind of injury or illness, or maybe it fell victim to a bear or wolves, and it happened on the seashore.
A polar bear dragged the carcass into shallow water or onto young ice in autumn, for example, with walruses that died in a rookery. In winter, the remains of the musk ox were frozen into the ice, they were covered with snow. And now some starving bear has dug them up, chewed a little and left in search of more tangible food. And then the bones with scraps of meat, skins and cartilage went to the Arctic foxes.
For the next two weeks, this pit became my favorite observation post. The arctic fox who lived here clearly felt like the boss. He considered me unworthy of attention, but he fiercely defended his food pit from other arctic foxes. For this, he became the owner of the title of Lord of the Pit in my field diary.
The War for property
Arctic foxes fight over a pit with a carcass
Once I was sitting with a camera next to a Snow Pit. The Lord was gnawing at the ribs of a musk ox somewhere deep in her bowels. Suddenly, I noticed another arctic fox galloping. The alien ran from hummock to hummock, carefully sniffing the yellow markings and footprints. He circled a few times, gradually approaching the place of the feast, and then confidently plunged into the pit.
A couple of seconds later, a pair of grappling fighters shot out of the pit and rolled through the snow. The lord successfully grabbed the opponent by the fur on his neck and threw him over himself with a practiced technique. The alien sprawled in the snow, baring its mouth, and then abruptly jumped up and raced away. The Lord rushed after him, fluffing his tail, but after fifty meters he stopped chasing and returned to the pit at a proud gait. Here he paused, casting a triumphant glance after his fleeing opponent, and disappeared back into the pit, returning to the interrupted meal.
The ruler held his own for several days, resisting all the Arctic foxes who coveted his wealth – the skeleton of a musk ox buried under a layer of snow. Since the delicious smell attracted many relatives, the Lord had to defend his Snow Pit over and over again, engaging in fierce gladiatorial fights. Indeed, he was the first to find this wealth, and therefore the truth was on his side. Maybe, feeling this truth behind him, he emerged victorious from every fight.
Flirt
For the love of Arctic foxes, a quarrel is needed first
Watching the Snow Pit, I noticed that another arctic fox appeared in its vicinity, which did not panic when the Lord appeared. He hovered at the edge of the pit, peering into it every now and then, but not risking climbing inside, while the local boss munched on the remains of a musk ox.
However, when the Lord shot out of the pit to chase away another alien who had encroached on the sacred, this cunning arctic fox first jumped aside, and then dived into the vacated pit, tore off a piece of meat and jumped out with it, snacking a little away from the epicenter of the grub. The Sovereign, who returned victorious, paid almost no attention to this arctic fox and climbed back into his hole to continue the interrupted lunch.
Several times, when the sly man looked into the pit, the Lord jumped out to meet him and began to drive him away, but it was not there! The behavior of this arctic fox was strikingly different from other applicants. He did not engage in a fight, did not run away in terror over the distant hummocks, but jumped back a few meters, turned his stern to the enraged Ruler, bent in his back and lifted his tail high. All the fury of the ploughman immediately evaporated, he buried his nose under the upturned tail and pressed himself against the snow-white fur. With sudden movements, the Arctic foxes sometimes grinned at each other, exchanged yapping remarks, but did not start fighting.
It was enough to observe this behavior a little to understand that the Lord had plunged into a snowdrift of tender and pure love. The cunning arctic fox turned out to be a female, and, judging by her behavior, she was quite ready to start a family. It’s not surprising, because it happened in early April – the height of the Arctic foxes’ courtship.
The female, whom I named Twitchtail, lived next to the pit during the entire observation period. The very next day after the first appearance, she began to climb into the pit, even at a time when the Lord was feeding inside, who was quite resigned to this state of affairs. When other males showed attention to the Twitchtail, she gave them a decisive rebuff.
You bet! How could any wandering hungry scoundrel compare with the wealthy owner of a sheep skeleton with leftover meat. Twitchtail clearly viewed the Lord as a worthy match and a wonderful father to her future puppies. When the available parts of the skeleton were completely gnawed, the Lord left the Snow Pit. And with him, the Twirly Tail.
Well, to marital happiness!
Anatoly Kochnev
