I arrived at the trailhead just after first light, planning to glass the area from the ridge. While walking, I noticed a number of ravens or magpies circling an area. I spotted a recently killed carcass in the snow and scanned across the drainage and through the ridgetops. Continuing, I picked my way quietly through the small patches of timber. I didn’t stop until I reached the ridge about 350 yards away. Six inches of fresh snow made spotting tracks motivating! Seeing no fresh sign in the snow, I decided to glass, first in one direction and then the other. While glassing, I heard a single-toned howl from the head of the drainage where the carcass was. This was not the normal two-toned authentic wolf howl, but rather a low, even tone. I was uncertain if it was manmade or wolfmade. Eager to investigate, I packed up my spotter and was on the move. I traveled a mile to get a better view of the drainage. It was only when I cut across the biggest dog tracks I’d ever seen that I became fully convinced the sounds and activities were indeed wolf. During my ascent, I heard that same eerie howl. Though tired, I continued to gain elevation and kept just below the top of the ridge to stay out of sight, taking cover behind the occasional tree. I took a few more steps. Busted! A unique, smoky charcoal wolf caught sight of me from 400 yards away.
Out of breath, sweaty, and excited, I laid my pack down and put my mat onto the snow. The smoky wolf disappeared into a saddle, moving away. When I spotted it again, 620 yards separated us and the wolf was walking slowly away. I dialed my scope for 645 yards. I watched and worked to control my breathing. I howled, but because I was out of breath, the sound resembled a Muppet drowning. The smoky stopped, turning broadside. I settled in and squeezed slowly. The wolf jumped and ran downhill. The shot felt like a miss, but I knew my gun was on.
Thirty minutes later, intersecting the tracks, I could see a bullet hole in the snow but no blood. Based on the trajectory and angle of fire, it appeared I’d shot under the body cavity. Decision time! Do I hunt or call it a day? I strapped on my snowshoes and decided to hunt. The scene revealed three bedding spots and two sets of tracks. With fresh wolf tracks in front of me, I began sidehilling through nasty brush. I eventually removed my snowshoes and exchanged the icy slide for post-holing, a safer alternative.
I followed the tracks and climbed 700 feet to the top of the drainage. Here, I sat and looked into the expanse where the tracks crested over and paralleled each other. Five minutes into glassing, I picked out two bedded wolves, the smoky and a larger, lighter grey. Both wolves were 1,100 yards from me, not a shot I was going to take. I needed to close the distance but found myself exposed against the bare slope. A descent of 500 feet placed me 975 yards away from the wolves. Just a bit further and across more open space was a rock that provided a 700-yard shot. That became my destination. I closed the distance to 950 yards, but my minimal movement was more than the ever-attentive grey, the obvious leader, was willing to tolerate. He got nervous and started moving east. The smoky seemed oblivious but followed suit. With their disappearance over the hill, I moved as quickly and quietly as possible. Once I made it to the rock, I hid behind a scrawny sapling. To my surprise, the pair had only moved 500 yards to the east and rebedded, giving me a 773-yard shot from my location. I had them!
This point marked another decision, do I shoot the bigger grey or the smoky? I chose the smoky. It took seven minutes to calm my breathing so that my beating heart didn’t bounce my crosshairs around. When I shot, both wolves jumped and ran. The grey ran west, and the smoky ran downhill. I quickly reloaded and watched the grey stop, look back, and then disappear over the hill. It looked like I had hit the smoky. A blood trail led to a dead wolf in the snow-covered road below. I also spotted the grey’s tracks that climbed to a ridge, providing access to freedom.
I strapped my snowshoes on and headed down the steep, slick hillside. It was a difficult trek to the bottom. The wolf, a female, with a sleek, beautiful coat, was sunk deep in a fresh layer of snow. I quickly skinned her and then hiked straight up to the grey’s tracks. From that location, there was no direct exit and the drainage was brushy and brutal. Still, I decided to follow the tracks. I looked up and spotted a tiny speck at 1,500 yards that turned out to be the grey wolf bedded down. Although it was late, I decided to continue the hunt.
I hiked to a site on an adjacent logging road where I could see the grey. I knew this was my one opportunity to take a shot as I only had a few minutes of shooting light remaining. I set up and ranged 904 yards. Never before had I shot an animal at that distance. I double checked the wind. Everything was perfect. With my rifle firmly rested on my pack and lying flat on my pad, I settled into my shooting position. I calmed my heart, exhaled halfway, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The grey jumped, biting and spinning. The shot was not perfect, and the wolf slowly traveled downhill. I quickly spotted him in my scope, squared up, and sent another round. This time, the wolf folded up and dropped behind the snowbank. I confirmed a dead wolf in my binoculars, packed up my gear, and began the hike in my snowshoes. I was happy when I found the grey. He was huge and heavy, the biggest wolf I’d shot to date.
This hunt’s success meant two less wolves at an average of 15 elk per year per wolf. My success in wolf hunting is a small contribution to helping the elk population within Idaho. Today was a good day.
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