''Never
Give Up! - The Black Wolf''
Once
again the sun was setting and the chilling air
made us zipper up tighter. Another log was thrown
on the heap in the center of the flames. Soon
the chill was pulled from our bodies and one by
one my hunters slid their lawn chairs further
from the flames. In the calmness of the late evening
the smoke coiled upwards from the crackling red
embers then slowly drifted toward the cookhouse
with the slight breeze.
The conversation had centered on wolves. "Ya'll
ever get lucky enough to git any back wolves?"
one of the new clients asked.
"What about that wolf I got last year", my friend
from Oregon mentioned with a smile. "Tell these
guys about him." As an eight-year return client
I knew he wasn't the bragging type and I looked
at him in surprise. "You remember? The one I got
while you were having a crap in the bush". A chuckle
rose from the cranberry farmer's throat then he
continued, "Well, these new guys want to know
if you ever get lucky enough to get any black
wolves. I would say this one was lucky. "Well,
wasn't it"? He added with a laugh. "It was black
and as big as any." Seemingly satisfied that he
had accomplished his task of embarrassing me he
leaned back in his chair waiting his story.
It was cold and miserable and the rain had continued
for three days turning roads and cut lines into
muck. This was not at all the normal hunting condition
we wanted but hunting is hunting and we pushed
on taking the bad with the good. "We got enough
meat," Robert added, as he thought of trudging
through the gumbo that is so prevalent on rainy
days. "We have four deer and three moose and those
other two guys have their moose, that's enough".
Robert paused a moment then added, "Hell, we don't
want to shoot'em all, we'll need some for next
year."
"This is your last day of hunting so if you
don't want another moose then let's try for a
wolf," I suggested to my two hunting companions.
"We don't stand much of a chance to get a
wolf your last day but let's give it a try anyway.
Floyd, you have a wolf tag, let's take a spin
up the Running Lake road for a wolf. No mud on
that road and we just might get lucky." A
one-day wolf hunt gives extremely poor chances
of tagging but this at least gave us something
to do rather than sit in camp, which seemed the
only other option.
"Might as
well," Floyd answered. "The moose aren't
moving in this weather anyway."
Only a few miles
up the Running Lake road Mother Nature began calling,
making me stop the truck near a thick patch of
bush. A forestry helicopter site seemed a good
location so I backed the pickup onto the approach
opposite the clearing. Under these weather conditions
this location seemed a perfect area for my hunters
to watch for game. However feeble I thought our
chances were of actually seeing an animal I knew
it was the perfect spot for me to grab the white
roll of paper from the glove box and make a quick
exit into the deep woods behind the truck.
The paper work
had just finished when the boom of a rifle startled
me. In a rush I scrambled from my hiding spot
to see what the brothers were shooting at. "Floyd
shot a wolf!" Robert shouted as soon as I
approached the vehicle. With his sleeve he wiped
the snuff from his chin then added, "Hell,
I thought it was a bear". Reliving the moment,
Robert quoted his own words. "I whispered
to Floyd - there's a bear! Shoot it!"
"I just told him, that ain't no bear!"
Floyd cut in. "That's a wolf, so I shot it."
In Floyd's casual way he set his rifle back in
the truck then got in as if to say, "Well,
what's next?"
"It was as black as a bear," Robert
burst out with an excited giggle. "I thought
it was a bear but Floyd said, what's a bear doing
with a tail that long?" Through his toothless
grin Robert continued, "He sure is a big
one?"
Not seeing the wolf lying on the open slope I
curiously asked where it was, hoping to get a
few specifics that would assist me in finding
such a rare trophy. "He just walked out of
the trees over there then came down the hill toward
us. It ran across the bottom of the hill then
went up into the will'rs over there". Robert
gestured in the general direction with his hand
as he gave me the finer details as to where to
start tracking. In their excitement information
was sketchy at best and "Over there"
with a finger pointing was at best a general direction
and all I could hope for, anything more specific
was out of the question. Tracking seemed inevitable.
Through the bush to the west about two hundred
yards above this clearing a wide pipeline paralleled
the Running Lake road that we were parked on.
Another couple of hundred yards further north
an oil well road left the Running Lake road and
crossed this pipeline forming a perfect U with
the helicopter clearing in the center. Floyd's
trophy was somewhere across this clearing and
into the heavy timber. This arrangement for tracking
was next to perfect. We seldom had advantages
of roads and pipelines for tracking so I wanted
to make full use of this set up. I would put my
two hunters on the pipeline to stand guard watching
for the wounded wolf while I tracked the huge
black wolf into the forest. If the animal tried
to make an escape then the brothers might have
another chance at getting him.
I dropped my hunters off where the oil well road
crossed the pipeline leaving them with instructions
to walk to the top of the hill and wait. If I
honked the horn that would mean that I found the
wolf or that I had given up. Either way, the sound
of the horn meant that they should start walking
back down the pipeline toward this road. The plans
seemed satisfactory with all so I returned to
the clearing and began my search.
Since the brothers had told me where the wolf
left the clearing I did not waste any time checking
the area where it had been when Floyd made the
shot. Anxious to find this rare trophy I headed
straight to where they said the animal had ran
into the woods. My search came up with nothing,
I couldn't find a trail, and not even a shred
of evidence to indicate a wolf had ever been in
the area.
Confused at the situation and frustrated that
I hadn't followed the blood trail from the beginning
I prepared myself for a hard job of tracking.
Slowly I worked my way back along the slope to
the original site where the wolf had been when
the shot was fired and again I began my search
for hidden details. Bent clover, a broken lady
slipper or even a scratch mark in the clay from
the toenail of the escaping wolf would get me
started in the right direction.
In the distance somewhere to my right the call
of a Bull Moose echoed to me. The bull was close,
somewhere near the bottom of the hill. "Perhaps
he is even on the same line that Robert and Floyd
were standing on. A chance for the last moose
of this hunt, what luck," I whispered under
my breath. Excitement of tagging our last moose
made the search for the wolf secondary, I would
find him later. I ran back to the truck and beeped
its horn indicating to my hunters that they should
start walking out, then slowly I drove the pickup
down the cross road that led to the pipeline and
where my hunters should be waiting.
A cow and a calf moose stood in the center of
the pipeline not more than one hundred feet from
the road. Thirty feet beyond the cow and calf
the head and shoulders of the bull showed on the
pipeline. Partially hidden the bull was caught
in a dilemma of romance or safety. Instantly I
slammed on the brakes and turned the engine off.
Robert and Floyd were already half way to my truck.
A few moments later we had filled the last of
our six moose tags with a 54-inch moose rack.
In the midst of our one-day wolf hunt our priorities
had changed. A Bull Moose was taken and the hard
work of dressing the animal began. This was the
last day of the hunt and by the time the bull
was properly dressed, skinned and hung to cool
night had closed in. The next morning the hunters
left for home and the wolf still lay somewhere
on the hill.
Upset over the wounded animal and not tracking
the wolf to my best abilities I returned to the
helicopter site as soon as my hunters had gone.
As with these two brothers, I was not giving up
until I had to. I planned to start tracking from
the sign I had found the day before but the extra
elevation of the hills had gotten a half-inch
of wet snow during the night. All sign was covered.
The best I could do was to circle the area hoping
to luck onto the rare trophy. Within fifty feet,
buried amid the thickest of willows lay Floyd's
black wolf.
He was a large male of record book class. The
fully mature body was thick in width and his chest
was deeper than any other wolf I have ever seen.
His wiry hair was as black as coal and glistened
from the wetness of the snow. Huge muscles bulged
under an age-old coat and I knew he had been the
leader of a pack in his earlier years. To my surprise
I discovered that the wolf wore a radio, address
showing that it came from the next province. From
the border the wolf had traveled more than sixty
miles, the way the crow flies to where the he
lay now.
I just couldn't take this animal home without
a few photos so I tied a rope around his thick
neck and drug him uphill over the snow until I
found an uprooted tree that lay about eight feet
from the ground. I flung the other end of my rope
over the downed tree and winched him up. By the
time I had this monster suspended off the ground
I was wet from sweat, but I had the photos I wanted.
The sun had dropped well below the horizon and
it was getting hard to see the faces of the group
of hunters around the fire. My story was over
so I stepped to the lantern, struck a match and
lit the mantle. The sudden bright light illuminated
the campsite and I squinted while my eyes adjusted
to the yellow glow.
"Sounds like ya'll got lucky", the southern
client said as he stoked his pipe full with tobacco.
After he deposited his pouch back into his pocket
he concluded, "Don't suppose ya'll get many
back wolves".
Robert wiped his chin with his sleeve then kicked
another log onto the fire to build up its heat.
"As you can tell", I answered, "I
can't claim any bragging rights for finding Floyd
a wolf but you never give up until the end of
your last day. I sipped my warm coffee for
a moment and thought of the circumstances that
led us to our successful wolf and moose hunt.
"Just lucky to be in the right place at the
right time".
Read 'Just the Way
I Always Imagined'- Trophy Bear Hunting Story
Read 'Ricochet' Trophy
moose hunting story
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