Valley of the Wolf

Valley of the Wolf

I had decided to travel once again to Northern British Columbia, returning to the place of my birth, to the origin of many of my childhood memories, wanting to re-kindle the fond memories I carried of the adventures I shared with my younger brother and my father while growing up on the edge of the North Country's vast and unforgiving wilderness. The mountains of the North were far gentler than the rugged Rocky Mountains I had spent the last twenty seven years guiding hunters in and the change added to my silent excitement. Strangely I felt like I had returned home and an inner peace seemed to warm the depths of my soul. The rolling hills were covered with aspen trees in the height of their fall colors and the cascading views that fell before me added to my deep appreciation of once again being fortunate enough to stand in such an incredible place. I chose to make my small camp on the banks of the Pine River and once settled in I began to drive through the country, allowing my mind to take me back over the decades to a time when grouse hunting and snaring rabbits was my life’s passion. I found myself in a remote valley, the home of several small cattle ranches and my memory told me that I had spent time on one of the ranches as a small boy. I arrived at the door of the ranch house, seeking to gain permission to cross fenced land and to my surprise the vaguely familiar face of an elderly woman appeared in the doorway. I told her who I was and she immediately invited me in as she had been a good friend of my parents so many years before and remembered me as the small adventurous boy that I was now trying to come in contact with. After several hours of good fellowship and a couple pieces of thick apple pie I had learned that the Timber Wolves had taken over the country and were playing havoc on the tiny ranching community and their livestock. The winter passed, the small group of ranchers had banded together and hired a so called wolf expert from Poland to come hunt the wolves in hopes of decreasing the predator's population. His efforts had been fruitless and not a single wolf was harvested over the numerous baits he had laid. As I left the small ranch with a promise to return before my journey home, I couldn’t help feeling the woman’s sense of concern for her small herd of cattle and what the long winter months would bring. I returned to my small camp on the Pine River and settled in for a quiet evening around a small fire. Before I headed to bed I decided to return to the hills that surrounded the small ranching community as the fields held great feed for the deer and the chance of finding a good buck was as good as anywhere I had seen in my travels thus far. I started my morning with a pot of boiled coffee and left my camp well before daylight, headed back to the hills behind the ranch I had visited the day before. I drove in the darkness on an old logging road the kind woman had made known, driving slowly until I could see the lights of the ranch houses below me and then parked my truck at the edge of a small clearing in the aspen and spruce forest. The sky was beginning to turn gray with the approach of dawn as I quietly left my vehicle and headed South along the timbers’ edge. Daylight was now upon me and I had walked near a mile from my truck as I traveled the timbered ridge far above the small ranches that lay in the valley below. I stopped in mid stride as the mournful sound of a Timber Wolf’s howl broke the silence of the crisp morning’s air. The animal was not far off and my senses sharpened with the thought of the large predator’s presence. It had snowed the evening before and just like I , the wolf was hunting the dark timbers’ edge looking for something to give chase. I slipped behind a small spruce tree and quietly knelt down, taking my rifle from my shoulder as I did so. Never taking my eyes from the spot on the timbers’ edge where I’d heard the wolf’s howl I slowly chambered a round into my 7mm and waited. Several minutes had passed since the wolf’s howl had broken the early morning silence yet I saw no movement as I scanned the timber with my binoculars. I let my field glasses fall into place against my chest and slowly rested my rifle against the tree which behind I was hidden. Cupping my hands around my mouth I raised my head and returned the wolf’s lonesome cry. I’d barely taken my hands from my mouth when my call was answered by not one but two wolves still hidden in the dark stand of timber. I slowly shifted my body so that I could lay flat on the ground against the bottom of the small tree that concealed me and placed my rifle before me in the snow, making sure to make no sudden movements as I did so. Again the silence was shattered by the howl of one of the wolves as if it was searching to know where the stranger had gone. I waited in the silence, not answering the call, just lying there in the snow scanning the timbers’ edge with my binoculars. Suddenly the gray silloet of a large wolf appeared in the timber not 200 yards from me. The animal had materialized from the shadows and stood motionless staring directly at the tree under which I lay. I made no move for my rifle, lying still, watching , waiting. It was then the second wolf emerged from the shadows much like it’s partner had done, seeming to appear from nowhere. Both wolves were of equal size, standing well over 3 ft. at the shoulder and they appeared to be almost identical in color, twins it would seem. The first wolf that appeared took one step forward, lifted his head and howled. I could see the frosted breath rise from it’s mouth as it’s lonesome call echoed through the timber. I drew myself up on my elbows, staying hidden in the lower branches of the small tree and returned the wolf’s searching call. Without hesitation both animals slipped back into the timber and started towards me. I could see the outline of their bodies as they drifted towards me like two ghosts, stopping every so often as if to reassure themselves that their approach was the right thing to do. As I watched them approach I gently raised my rifle and began to follow them in my scope, never taking my eyes off their shifting shapes. When they re-emerged from the safety of the timber they were less than 100 yards from where I lay. Both animals walked completely out of the trees and stood side by each staring in my direction, looking for the invading wolf they had heard. It was then I ended it. My crosshairs rested on the chest of the first wolf and I touched off my first shot with gentle ease. The second animal jumped at the rifle's report and the sudden fall of his companion, standing in confusion only a few yards off, presenting me with a broadside shot. As I approached the fallen wolves I felt no joy or great satisfaction but a sense of solemn respect, for they were the ultimate predator here in the High-country. It was unfortunate that these creatures of the wild had resorted to killing livestock, adding strength to the hate that the Northern Ranches shared for these incredible creatures. Both wolves were adult males and I estimated their weight to be in excess of 140 lb.  Although they were adults they were not as large as these Northern Timber Wolves were reported to grow. I’d heard of large males weighing as much as 175 lb., standing over 40 inches at the shoulder. It was little wonder that these creatures could kill an adult moose weighing over 1800 lb.. Their teeth were razor sharp and were considerably longer than a domestic canines’ which gave me a deeper respect for their ability to kill. Although there are dozens of urban legends with regards to the wolf, there has not been one recorded attack by a wolf on a human being in the wild. They are a hunter of incredible skill, not deserving of their horrible reputation that man’s ignorance has tarnished them with. I returned to my truck and finding an old road bed , drove much closer to the where the wolves lay. After considerable effort I was able to drag the pair to the truck and load them into the box whole. I headed down the mountain to the small ranch I had visited the day before to show elderly woman my mornings work. As the old woman peered into the truck box she displayed a huge smile and shouted “Oh what a victory! “. My efforts were rewarded with a huge breakfast which she prepared on her wood cook stove and while I ate the terrific meal she called each of her neighbours’ with the news. I had now become the talk of the valley. One of the nearby ranchers reported that he had spotted several wolves in his pasture that morning and asked if I would come and try my luck again that evening. I agreed to do so and spent the rest of the morning splitting and stacking wood for the old woman as she was alone and had no one to help her prepare for the long winter that was fast approaching. My evening was spent hunting the ranch where the wolves had been spotted that morning and although I saw none of the illusive creatures, I found several sets of tracks in the early morning’s snow. The one set of tracks was so large that it seemed not possible to be real as the stride was longer than 36 inches and the foot print was so big it made me think of a creature from the movies. I agreed to return to the ranch the following morning in search of the wolves and headed back to my tiny camp in the darkness. I arrived at the ranch house well before daylight and could not refuse the warm invitation to another farm style breakfast and some good company. Over our hot meal the rancher told me that he had seen the wolves the previous morning while he was feeding his cows so I volunteered to help him with his morning’s chores with hopes of that we would see the wolves again. As we neared the north end of the ranch I spotted one lone black wolf loping along the fence line heading for a timbered hillside. We stopped the old farm truck as we watched the animal disappear into the trees and it was decided that I would continue on foot enabling me to make a silent approach. I could hear the old farm truck clamber off into the distance as I slowly walked down the fence line on the opposite side of the field from where we had seen the black wolf disappear. There were several large brush piles in the center of the field that the rancher had made with his dozer in an attempted to clear more pasture so I chose to use one of them as a cover. I climbed into the brush pile and situated myself so that I could see the timber line where the wolf had disappeared and found a protruding log that would serve as a shooting rest. When I had settled into my position I cupped my hands around my mouth and sent a long lonesome howl into the morning air. To my amazement the entire hillside erupted into a carouse of howls sending a shiver up my spine. There had to be better than a dozen wolves scattered across the hillside before me! The thought actually went through my mind that I didn’t have enough bullets with me. I sat and listened to the wolves as they continued to howl, it was a sound that I’ll never forget. When I finally returned with another Howl the carouse abruptly stopped and I knew they were coming. Within seconds the timberline was scattered with the shifting shapes of wolves in a variety of colors and sizes. I immediately sighted on a huge black that seemed to dwarf the two males I had killed the day before and watched as the entire pack trotted towards me with little concern. The big black had taken the lead and was approaching me at a quick and steady pace with the others not far behind. It was an amazing sight to see. I kept my scope on the black and when he finally stopped the advance he was just a little over 100 yards out. He had no sooner stopped when I planted him with a perfect shot square in the chest and then swung my sights to another black that was off to his left. Some of the wolves were now running back to the safety of the timber while others were still standing unsure of what had just happened. The second black I had sighted on turned half ways broadside and was looking back at its fallen comrade when I fired my second fatal shot, killing the second wolf with a slightly misplaced shot to the face. It dropped where it had stood without a kick. The rancher had heard my shots and returned in the old farm truck displaying his pleasure with my mornings hunt by nearly knocking me off my feet with a slap on the back. “Good work son!” he said with a broad grin, “How the Hell did you kill two of them?”. I explained my method of howling the wolves as we drove back to his ranch house and he returned my words with a queer grin and said, “You’re half wild yer' self aint ya.” We hung the largest black on the ranches old style butcher scale and I was amazed to see that it weighed an incredible 168 lbs and measured 7 ft 4 inches long. Truly an amazing animal. I returned home two days later with no deer in the truck but the hides of four trophy wolves certainly made the trip well worthwhile. Without a doubt I will one day again return to the” Valley Of The Wolf" Written By; Ron Arnett "A Man From The Wilderness