'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 pocked 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 and 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".
To book your hunt or if you have any questions regarding
our services please contact owner, outfitter-guide Louis Shilka
by telephoning 1-780-685-3815 or faxing 1-780-685-3300 or
by e-mail at outfitting@telusplanet.net
Please keep in mind that we have a limited number of permits
available. Feel free to phone for our reference list, and
remember - bookings are on a first come, first served basis.
Back
to Campfire | Previous
Story | Top of Page
BLACK
BEAR HUNTS | MOOSE
HUNTS | MULE
DEER HUNTS | PHOTO
GALLERY
TESTIMONIALS | INFORMATION | CONTACT
US | CAMPFIRE | HOME
Alberta Wilderness Adventures
Louis Shilka
Box 261, Worsley, Alberta, Canada TOH 3WO
Telephone: 780.685.3815
E-mail: outfitting@telusplanet.net
Site
last updated November 23, 2007
©Copyright 2007, All Rights Reserved Alberta Wilderness
Adventures
Website Updates & SEO By JLS
Web Designs & Alberta
Outdoors
|
