Better Lucky Than Good

Idaho Wolf | Better Lucky Than Good

Story By: Justin Webb

Having grown up off the grid in the mountains of North Idaho, I become a passionate backcountry elk and mule deer hunter. By my late twenties, I was blessed with success in most outdoor pursuits I set my mind on accomplishing. When the influx of wolves began negatively impacting moose, elk, and other game species within my stomping grounds, my focus shifted drastically, and pursuit of wolves has consumed the majority of my efforts for several years now. Having trapped more than 40 wolves and intently studying several packs from year to year, I had never successfully hunted a wolf until this past October.

With family coming into town from out of state for a week of elk hunting, I had altered my typical elk hunting season by buying an earlier season tag. That way, I could focus my late season efforts on quality time afield with my uncle and cousin who had never hunted elk in Idaho prior. Luckily, I was able to take a beautiful bull on the opening day of my hunt, allowing me to get some cameras out and start scouting and prepping for my incoming family’s hunt.

I strategically placed a handful of trail cameras in the same area I had taken my bull to get a better idea of what bull elk were still using that ground. However, having grizzly activity in the area in years past, I placed one camera overlooking the ribcage and gut pile from the elk I shot. I was disappointed to see a wolf show up around 4 p.m. one afternoon to investigate the gut pile. Unfortunately, the carcass camera stopped working shortly after the wolf showed up. From my other camera, it appeared that a little after midnight, the same wolf visited the elk wallow to get a drink. At 11 a.m. the following morning, a lighter colored wolf walked into view there as well.

In the early morning of October 19th, I threw on some camo, hastily grabbed a rifle out of my gun safe, kissed my wife, and ran for my truck. Hiking up the mountain, the swirling winds made every bead of sweat feel like 100 lbs. I’d have to hike right through the location of my elk gut pile to get to the wallow where most of the wolf pictures were taken, and I knew I could bump into wolves at any time. My rifle half shouldered, I tried desperately not to make a sound while moving my feet.

As I made my way toward the wallow, I felt the wind come up on the back of my neck and panic set in. I quickly changed direction and ran downhill as fast as I could, hoping to send my scent below the area. When I reached the big timber canopy downhill of the wallow, I stopped to catch my breath and check the wind once again. It was marginal at best, and I knew the wolves would soon smell me if they were near the wallow. I hurried as quietly as I could the next 200 yards, scanning constantly as I moved. Through tiny openings in the branches, I could see the dirt mound above the wallow where the wolves had been spending their time, but I could not see movement.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my left eye, I caught movement. When I turned my head, I could see wolf hair through a tiny window in the branches between me and a small clearing in the tag alders. They were still there! I could see at least three less than 50 yards away, and one had just tackled another. They had no idea I was there. As I brought my rifle to my shoulder, my hands were trembling so badly I was having a hard time getting my scope to settle solidly on the wolves. I squatted to rest my rifle against a blow down, but it was too low and tag alder branches and grass between us obstructed my shot. I only had a small shooting window to start with, and now I was struggling to keep my composure. I quickly sidestepped and leaned against a tree trunk to steady my rifle. As soon as my crosshairs settled on the now broadside wolf’s vitals, I fired. It seemed like slow motion as I levered another shell into the chamber, and I could hear wolves running in all directions except mine.

All went silent, and an eerie calm fell over the forest. Through my small shooting window, I could see wolf hair protruding above the grasses and weeds in the small meadowy patch before me. I slowly leaned side to side, scanning for movement. I told myself I needed to sit still for at least 30 minutes, but 15 was all I could take. I let out my best imitation of a whimpering pup. I thought maybe a wolf would return looking for the one I shot, but nothing came. I howled. Still no response.

Before skinning, I found a nice fir bow to use as a dog brush and cleaned up the carcass for a few tasteful photos that I could remember my first hunted wolf by. As I tubed him out, I kept looking for the bullet hole in the vitals area. I realized the wolf had been struck in the head just in front of the ear. I know I was shaken, but I had a decent rest, a clear shot of the vitals, and had placed that shot just behind the front shoulder. It didn’t make sense. I hadn’t dropped that rifle or done anything that could have knocked the scope off target. I wondered if by a miracle’s chance it might have been possible that the bullet could have passed through the wolf I shot at and struck a second wolf behind it.

I packed the hide and skull in a plastic bag and strapped it to my frame pack before returning to the shot location. I walked all through the clearing looking for a potential blood trail of any kind. I went over 100 yards in all directions, just hoping to stumble onto a blood trail. I didn’t want to leave until I was positive I had not hit a second wolf.

I had made every effort and had satisfied my own curiosity. I must have been so excited that I didn’t notice a branch between myself and the wolf, so when I shot the branch, it must have deflected the bullet far enough forward that it hit that wolf in the head. I packed up the last of my items, threw that pack on my back, and a sense of pride came over me as I headed out the creek draw.

I didn’t make it 100 yards beyond where I had already hiked looking for blood when I noticed a red spot on a bright yellow leaf. Just a few yards later, that single drop turned into a heavy blood trail. I was in shock! I intently took up the blood trail. It straight lined another 100 yards downhill in the creek until it was approaching a blowdown that lay across its path. The blood veered off to the left for about 40 yards where it came to a very thick patch of brush. That’s where the blood stopped altogether. I walked the path of least resistance out to the left for a couple hundred yards but found nothing.

I called my wife to let her know it might be a much later night on the mountain than I had anticipated and not to worry. Darkness was closing in, and I felt panicked about losing the blood trail. I hurried down the creek, hoping the wolf had pushed through the thicket and dropped back down into the creek bottom. Nothing. As I began planning how to clear my work schedule and be back up the mountain first thing the following morning, I went to the last blood and stood there staring at that thicket. I slowly pushed my way through the easiest route that led through the thick reprod, blow downs, and brush. As the brush thinned, I looked up to see a wolf piled up at the bottom of a larch tree about 10 yards away. Two wolves with one shot? I couldn’t believe it! With the light fading, I tossed the wolf over a blow down and snapped a couple of fast pics before donning my headlamp to hang and skin it as quickly as possible.

I have never liked hearing people call someone who finds success “lucky,” especially someone who is successful on a regular basis. “Luck” happens, but many who “earn” their accomplishments through hard work, dedication, and persistence are labeled as “lucky” by those who refuse to put in the work. This day, I was “lucky!” I am very grateful for the “luck” God graced me with that day.