Conventional wisdom is clear on why, since time immemorial, wolverine fur has been the preferred material for hood trim in the High North. In essence, the thick, dark, oily fur is hydrophobic, which means it repels water, and thus prevents the build-up of frost caused by condensation of the wearer's breath. The only problem is, none of this is true.

While everyone agrees that wolverine fur makes the finest lining for parka hoods in sub-zero conditions, experts still don't have a clear understanding why. But they do know that it's not hydrophobic, it doesn't repel water, and, given the chance, it allows frost to build up just like any other fur.

Before we dispel the myths surrounding wolverine fur, here's some background. Wolverine fur is generally considered too long and the leather too heavy for use as whole coats. Instead, it is revered as trim for hoods by the Indigenous people of the Arctic and sub-Arctic, in preference to the more readily available (and therefore cheaper) wolf and coyote. But it's not entirely about functionality. Sometimes a strip of wolverine fur is placed next to the wearer's face, then surrounded with the long, silvery mane of a wolf, creating the famed "sunburst" ruff. The effectiveness of these ruffs in keeping the wearer warm has been scientifically proven, but they can also be spectacularly beautiful, so they're also worn for show!

SEE ALSO: Why fur trim keeps us warm. Truth About Fur.

What Is Hydrophobicity?

So where do the myths about wolverine fur originate? Let's start with that confusing word "hydrophobic". It probably doesn't mean quite what you think it does, or even what your dictionary says.

When we talk of phobias (from the Greek phóbos, meaning "aversion", "fear" or "morbid fear"), we think of being repulsed by something. Hence the word "hydrophobia" was historically used as a synonym for rabies because sufferers often fear water (and liquids in general). From this, scientists came to use the word "hydrophobicity" to describe the behaviour of certain surfaces in the presence of liquids. Then, for whatever reason (laziness, misunderstanding, or lack of a better word?), dictionaries decided to use "repel" in their definitions. The Free Dictionary, for example, defines hydrophobicity as "the property of repelling water rather than absorbing it or dissolving in it."

Strictly speaking though, hydrophobic surfaces don't repel water at all. Two magnets of the same polarity, for example, repel each other, but hydrophobic surfaces don't repel water; they simply don't attract it. So even if wolverine fur were hydrophobic (which, as we'll see, it isn't), it would be wrong to say it repels water.

Many examples of hydrophobic surfaces exist in nature, all highly unattractive to water but not repelling it per se. Perhaps the best-known is the leaf of the lotus flower, after which the "lotus effect" is named. These leaves, and those of other plants like nasturtiums and prickly pears, use hydrophobicity to keep clean. Rain drops gather dirt while the surface architecture minimizes their adhesion to the surface itself. The same phenomenon is seen in the wings of insects like butterflies and dragonflies. Meanwhile, insects that live on water, like water striders, or spend most of their lives under it, achieve hydrophobicity through tiny hairs that make them virtually unwettable. Then there are penguins. One reason penguins excel at swimming is a layer of trapped air that coats them. Aside from providing insulation, this air reduces drag when swimming, and they can release it to accelerate when jumping out of water to land.

"Frost-Shedding"

So how about the claim that wolverine fur prevents the formation of frost or ice from the wearer's breath? Again, it's a convenient explanation, but not actually true.

Research on the efficacy of fur trim was ramped up during World War II, when thousands of military garments made use of it, notably wolf and coyote. Writing in 1952 for the Journal of Mammalogy, Rollin H. Baker found wolverine out-performed both these furs, but not because frost didn't form on it. On the contrary, it did. It was what the wearer did next that mattered.

On the performance of wolf and coyote, he wrote: "As long as the fur trim can be kept dry, it functions quite well. However, once rime or frost has accumulated on wolf and coyote fur trim it cannot be brushed or shaken off. Therefore, in order to remove the rime, the garment must be warmed to the point where the rime either sublimates or passes through a liquid stage before it is evaporated. When air temperatures are low enough to cause direct freezing of the breath on the fur trim of garments, thawing caused by warm air currents from the body wets the fur. It thus becomes very uncomfortable to the wearer and also loses its ventilating quality."

All of which sounds thoroughly miserable, particularly if that thawed frost turns into the last thing you want on your hood trim: clumps of ice - icicles even - drawing heat away, disrupting air flow, and dragging your hood down with the sheer weight. (For an idea of how bad things can get, just Google "ice beard".)

So how did wolverine fur compare?

"Here is the point of difference between wolverine fur and most other furs," wrote Baker. "Frost or rime actually will form on wolverine fur at sub-zero temperatures, but it can be readily brushed off with a simple flick of the mitten and thus the fur can be kept dry. If the rime is not brushed off, the fur will become wet and uncomfortable, just as other furs do."

In other words, the myth that wolverine fur prevents the build-up of frost is wrong. Frost forms on wolverine fur just like on any other fur. What sets it apart is what Baker called its "frost-shedding quality" - the ease with which it can be brushed off.

So Is It Hydrophobic?

In case you think all this talk of repulsion versus non-attraction, and frost-prevention versus frost-shedding, is splitting hairs, let's now address the elephant in the room. Is wolverine fur hydrophobic or not?

Scientists are extremely interested in hydrophobicity for a whole range of possible applications in things like aircraft, road and power-line maintenance, building construction, energy efficiency in cooling devices, car windshields, and protection of crops. So in 2012 Boris Pavlin, then at Carinthia University of Applied Sciences in Austria, subjected wolverine fur to a whole gamut of tests to see why it's so effective at "frost formation suppression".

Pavlin's test for hydrophobicity was simply to photograph the contact angle between droplets of water at various locations on a wolverine hair (see photos above). Clearly, there is no comparison between these images and the lotus leaf we saw earlier, and Pavlin's conclusion was unequivocal: "the surface was NOT hydrophobic" (emphasis not added).

Then How Does Wolverine Fur Work?

Sadly, there is still no clear understanding of why wolverine fur is so effective - or, to be precise, why it's so easy to brush frost off before it becomes a problem. But it seems certain that when an answer is found, it won't point to one factor alone.

One proposal is that wolverine guard hairs are uncommonly smooth, with no tiny barbs to stop frost from falling off. Using a scanning electron microscope, Pavlin confirmed that the middle parts of wolverine guard hairs are indeed smooth. The tips, however, showed a "very interesting pattern" of barbs.

He also tried freezing hair tips and testing for any abnormal surface electrical charge that might influence frost or ice formation, but found none (though he thought this should be revisited with optimal testing equipment). There were also no chemical substances on the hairs' surface. And in one test which seems unrelated to the purpose of his research but may prove useful to someone, he found the tensile strength of wolverine hairs to be remarkable as he could stretch them by more than 20%! But no silver bullet to explain everything.

"Many different strategies contribute to easy frost removal," he concluded, adding that "some questions remain unresolved and should be subject of further research." But he did at least come up with one definitive finding, which he states cryptically as: "A non-hydrophobic surface is superior to other existing approaches - a proof that the most obvious solution doesn't need to be the right one." In short, while it might seem obvious that wolverine fur is hydrophobic, it's not.

***

To learn more about donating to Truth About Fur, click here.

It's just a theory, but one explanation why Britain is the spiritual home of animal rights activism – and of opposition to fur – is that it exterminated all its large, dangerous animals long ago. North America, in contrast, still presents many opportunities to get mauled or even eaten, with one animal in particular, the coyote, now making its presence felt even in inner cities. Will this increasing exposure to a large scavenger-cum-predator shape the animal rights debate – and attitudes towards fur – in the years ahead?

Bears have been extinct in Britain for about 1,000 years, while wolves probably vanished by the late 18th century. The worst that might happen to you on a stroll in the countryside is to get bitten by an adder, the country's only poisonous snake, but bites are very rarely fatal. And the country is rabies-free. In the cities, if you're unlucky, a pigeon or seagull might poop on you.

So it's easy for the British to be somewhat glib about the dangers of wildlife. Yes, it's sad that tigers eat Indians, but they (the tigers) must be saved for future generations to admire!

In North America, of course, the story is different. Life in rural areas often means sharing space with wolves, bears, cougars, rattlesnakes and rabid raccoons. And life anywhere now can involve facing down a pack of pet-eating, human-biting coyotes. When it's your own kids' lives on the line – as any Indian living next to a tiger reserve will tell you – your view of wildlife may be very un-British!

Coyote Attacks

On April 29, 2018, on a suburban New York playground, a coyote launched an unprovoked attack against 5-year-old Natalia King-Petrellese and her 3-year-old brother. Luckily, police officers were able to kill the coyote, but what would have happened if they hadn't been around?

Coyote attacks on humans are still rare compared with attacks by domestic dogs, reported The Economist in 2013, and only two fatal attacks have ever been confirmed: 3-year-old Kelly Keen in 1981, in Glendale, California, and 19-year-old Taylor Mitchell in 2009, in Nova Scotia.

But aggressive altercations are increasing as so-called "urban coyotes" move in to city centres and lose their fear of humans. "Around 2,000 coyotes are reckoned to live in Chicago and its suburbs," said The Economist, "and it seems likely that the animal is thriving in many other built-up parts of the country. Once restricted to the south-western United States, it spread across the continent during the 20th century and more recently made its way into large metropolitan areas such as Los Angeles, Boston and even New York."

Canada's not exempt either: In Montreal, half a dozen coyote bites on humans were reported last year.

Across North America, coyotes are now prime suspects when pet cats and dogs go missing, while in rural areas they are the number-one predator of calves and lambs.

So it's only a matter of time before the next fatal attack on a human. If it hadn't been for the presence of adults, it likely would have been Natalia King-Petrellese.

Urban Coyotes and Animal Rights

It seems inevitable that the steady spread of urban coyotes will influence views on animal rights in North America, especially among people living in cities.

SEE ALSO: Abundant furbearers: An environmental success story.

It's a sweeping generalisation, but let's say that our views on wildlife reflect where we live. People born and raised in Montana don't love nature in the same way people from Manhattan do. Rural folk tend to have a more utilitarian view of wildlife; they can wonder at its beauty at the same time as seeing it as a source of food and clothing, or simply as a pest. City-dwellers are more prone to Bambi syndrome, seeing wildlife as innocent, wide-eyed creatures, peacefully going about their daily existence. When you have little real contact with nature, you can imagine it's Disneyland.

So it's hardly surprising that there are differing views about coyotes. For rural folk, coyotes have little going for them. They lack all the glamour of wolves, eat livestock and pets, stink, taste foul, and carry rabies. About the only good thing going for coyotes is that – when their fur is prime – they make a great coat. For many rural folk, the only good coyote is a dead coyote.

Many city dwellers, though, tend to equate coyotes with domestic dogs, even to the point of putting food out for them (despite repeated warnings that this is an extremely bad idea).

These opposing points of view are both valid, but one thing we can all hopefully agree on is that, even if coyotes are not our favourite animal, they're still God's creatures and should be respected accordingly. That can mean many things, from trapping them humanely to trying to coexist with them.

But here's the thing: even the most ardent fan of coyotes will likely become a coyote-hater the minute one tears Fido to pieces or, heaven forbid, drags off their child.

Curiously (to this author at least), this change in attitude is not automatic for everyone. When Taylor Mitchell was mauled to death by coyotes while jogging through a riverside park, her mother issued a statement asking that the animals be spared. "We take a calculated risk when spending time in nature’s fold — it’s the wildlife's terrain," she wrote. "When the decision had been made to kill the pack of coyotes, I clearly heard Taylor’s voice say, 'Please don’t, this is their space.' She wouldn’t have wanted their demise, especially as a result of her own."

Still, I'm going to stick my neck out and say Taylor's mum's reaction was highly unusual. Most parents in her situation would have said, "To hell with coyote rights. Nuke 'em!"

Coyotes and Fur

Last November, Toronto-based Canada Goose, purveyor of coyote-trimmed parkas, took a bold step and opened a flagship store on Regent Street in central London. Presumably the decision to set up shop in the heartland of animal rights was based on the fact that many shoppers here are foreign tourists, because it can't have come as a surprise when local activists started protesting.

Time will tell how this venture works out, but Canada Goose won't be getting any PR help from indigenous wildlife. If some large predators show up in nearby Hyde Park to attack pet dogs, the conversation might change, but that won't happen because Britain has no large predators.

But in North America, of course, that's exactly what is happening. Urban coyote conflicts are now regular events, and that can be expected to change attitudes towards wildlife, but will it also change attitudes in other ways? Just as a new tuberculosis or whooping cough epidemic does wonders for vaccination campaigns, will the surge in coyote attacks on pets and people increase public appreciation for the benefits of regulated trapping – and the sustainable use of fur?

The danger, of course, is that if children are killed, there will be calls for coyotes to be exterminated. Public hysteria could even result in their total removal from the landscape, like British bears and wolves.

The optimal outcome is that urban coyotes open the eyes of city-dwellers to a side of wildlife that has nothing to do with Bambi. A new and more realistic understanding of wildlife will include the realisation that wild animals must sometimes be culled, and if that happens, it's only ethical to use them for food or fur.

City-dwellers will finally get why rural folk don't feed the bears but instead turn them into fine eating and a bearskin rug. Perhaps they'll also get that wearing a coyote-trimmed parka is not "like wearing your pet dog", as animal activists like to claim, but about protecting your pets – and your kids.