I spotted a dark figure moving in the dense north Canada forest to my left, and my mind somehow convinced me it was a black bear headed my way—no need to move or be ready. I was hunting wolves.
Moments earlier I ceased calling when four wolves suddenly appeared down the cut trail about 350 yards ahead of me. Those wolves were across a wide river from me and not in a location where I could take a shot. I only observed—and wished—as those wolves sprinted down the riverbank opposite from me and disappeared behind dense brush. Like the other wolves I had called in the days before, I wrote them off as not coming my way because they would have to swim across the river. Wolves seemed to be avoiding water—or so I thought. I had begun the sit-and-observe mode and had not paid much attention to what I thought was the bear back in the dark spruce beside me.
Then, suddenly, a black wolf stepped out of the forest. I was in disbelief. It was staring directly at me and the ground blind I was hidden in. Unfortunately, my rifle was up and ready but pointed down the cut trail. The black wolf was only 30 yards away over to my left and any movement would surely send it back into the dark forest. I froze.
Seeing a wolf so close and at eye level caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. The wolf was huge, and the stare it gave was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
Then he lowered his head and came directly for me.
The Wolf Hunt Begins
My long flight and the routine struggles clearing Canadian customs with a rifle landed me in Grand Prairie, Alberta, then I had a long drive through Grand Cache and on to the east and the base camp for Red Willow Outfitters. There I met outfitter Todd Loewen who showed me a couple of wolf hides he was processing in preparation for the taxidermist. Previous hunters had been seeing—and killing—wolves in the prior weeks.
Later that afternoon, Todd and I made a long trip into the backcountry and then hiked about two miles to the ground blind I would occupy for the next couple of days. A dilapidated wooden bridge that had once been used by logging crews was too unsafe to drive over—and motor vehicles would alert wolves that were roaming the area—so walking to the blind was the plan.
Before dark that arrival day I checked my rifle for zero, re-organized some hunting gear and then relaxed in camp. Other hunters were coming in and many were hunting for bears. One hunter commented wolves were nearly impossible to kill—they were elusive and ghost-like.
At 4:00 the next morning, Todd and I made the long trip back to the rickety bridge and hiked up to the blind. Inside, I waited for daylight and to be able to see a couple of hundred yards down the cutline and the river area. Across the river, the cutline continued up the next mountainside and across the top. I could probably see half a mile or more.
A good 30 minutes to an hour after daylight swept the forest, I began calling with a coyote pup distress call. Every 30 to 45 minutes I would whimper and yelp with the call.
It was midmorning when a lone glowing white wolf appeared across the river, walked down the cut line toward me, sat and stared, then walked along the river and disappeared into the brush. I observed this wolf closely with binoculars and realized wolves are huge and they can move through brush with ease. I had seen wolf tracks in many locations in North America before while hunting, but to finally see a wolf in the wild—and not in a zoo or nature center—made me realize wolves are as big as whitetail deer—or bigger.
Nothing happened with that lone white wolf, and during the day I called and observed. I also noted several rabbits, some grouse and a huge lynx as I peered out open windows from inside the blind. The next day was a return to the blind, more calling and then in the afternoon a group of four wolves appeared across the river—three grey ones and a black one. They were spread out and appeared to be hunting. I called and they looked, but continued across the opening and disappeared.
It was the following morning after I had been aggressively calling with the mournful coyote pup distress call when four wolves appeared across the river again. My understanding was wolves hate coyotes and would hunt them and kill them, so coyotes calling on their turf should garner the wolves’ attention.
This morning there was a white wolf, a black wolf and two gray wolves in the mix. This time they all came down the cut line across the river, stopped and stared up the line at me, and then loped down the river’s bank and disappeared into the brush and out of sight. I just marked it off as another wolf encounter where they came, saw, and left.
Then I noted the movement to my left in the dark forest that I unfortunately thought was a black bear. The dense spruce forest was too dark to peer into. I was ready for wolves down the cut line.
Eye to Eye
When the black wolf with a white “V” on his chest came out of the forest, I felt a lot smaller so close in the blind. As the wolf stared, my mind raced with thoughts of what to do next, or how I could make a shot. As I was weighing my options, the wolf lowered its head and came directly for the blind—and me.
About 10 yards closer to me, the wolf had to walk down a bank along the cut line and dropped into a deep ditch with some brush. That gave me the chance to quickly move the rifle to the left and get ready. As the wolf rose from the ditch and brush, I found its head in the riflescope. I aimed behind the neck between the shoulder blades and squeezed the trigger. At the shot the wolf collapsed and I finally began to breathe again.
I sat there inside the ground blind for a good 30 to 45 minutes making a plan to pick up the wolf, pull it over my shoulder and hike down to the truck. I realized that it was a failed plan when I got to the wolf and tried to move it. It was a good 150 pounds and presented the same challenge as moving a deer. There would be no simply picking it up and the more I pulled and tugged, the larger the dead wolf seemed to be. There was no ground shrinking.
To keep from damaging the wolf’s hair and hide with dragging, I get the truck and risk the bridge. I walked with white knuckle clutch on my rifle all the way to the bridge because those other wolves could be around. My knuckles were whiter, however, as I clutched the steering wheel and drove the truck over the swaying wooden bridge.
It was a struggle of lifting, heaving, pulling and pushing—and finally the wolf was in the truck. Now I faced the challenge of getting back across the bridge.
The Eerie Ending
The next day I drove to the bridge, hiked back to the ground blind and climbed in under the cover of darkness. Most everyone in camp told me that the other wolves were going to be miles away—and wouldn’t return to that area any time soon. It had rained overnight around the ground blind and, when daylight arrived, I was looking out a window when I saw wolf tracks in the mud mere feet from the blind. A wolf had been at the blind that morning—and could have been there when I walked up. It had possibly come hunting for me.
I slowly unzipped all the windows and looked around. I wanted to be prepared.
It was near noon when I noticed movement across the river far up the cut line. This time a pack of about a dozen wolves crossed the cut line. They never slowed down and seemed to be hunting. Unfortunately, none of them came to the river—or to the blind.
Yes, this region had wolves, and yes wolves are huge. Hunting them can sometimes seem that they are hunting you, especially when you call—and they come calling.