bc7mm
09-23-2017, 03:40 PM
We glassed a group of stone sheep just long enough to determine the lead ram deserved a closer look. It's mid afternoon with another 15 km day behind us, I opted to head back down and set up camp while my son shouldered a pack we hastily put together to scramble the 1200 verticle feet to the ridge for a closer look.
We'd literally dumped my pack out on the ground to build a light pack with only a minimal amount of gear and a single rifle. Only 8 weeks after knee surgery and pushing 60 I was beginning to feel the wear and tear of several days of heavy packs and multiple peaks and valleys.
The bowl where we dropped our gear was a perfect circle of long grass 200 yards across. The valley dead ended here, steep ridges rose right behind the fringe of trees ringing this little circle.
I flattened the tent out and had just popped in the ridge pole when I heard a yip in the trees to my right, I knew the sound, a wolf hiding in the dark timber. Another yip, straight out in front, then one howled in the creek bottom to my left at about 150 yards. The count is three and covering a third of the circle.
We'd seen grizzlies and with this in mind my 300 Tikka lay in the grass with a round in the pipe. With the wolf count rising I turned to pick up my rifle. When I looked out over the creek straight behind me two more were trotting out from the trees. They stopped, looked at me then continued in my direction. I dropped down into the grass, rolled over, picked up the 300 and sat up. They had stopped at about 80 yards and were looking my way. As soon as I sat up the bigger of the two was on the move again. The second waited a second to long, and dropped where it stood. The gun shot stopped the other at 70 yards.
We'd gutted my pack earlier as we were both planning on climbing up to look at the band of rams. Every bullet in my pack as well as my clip were in my sons pack. As the first wolf fell I instinctively chambered another round, I could feel and hear the sound of the bolt closing on an empty chamber. The second wolf looked at me from 80 yards and milled around its dead pack mate. Again I dropped to the ground and tore open the pockets on my sons pack until two rounds spilled out into the grass. Lying on my back in the grass I chambered a round, pocketed the second and sat up. The other wolf had retreated to just inside the tree edge at 125. I quickly scanned the circle, to my right a large grey trotted out of the creek bottom headed straight at me, I put the cross hairs on it, waiting, it turned into the trees at 100 yards out. I looked to my left, the other was gone.
15 yards from where my tent sat was the only climbable tree available to me. I grabbed a flash light and a bottle of water and moved over to the tree. 180 degrees from where the dead wolf lay another trotted along just inside the tree edge. I waited, inside 75 yards I'd chance a shot, with only two rounds they'd need to be closer.
45 minutes later my son walked into camp, as soon as we spoke I saw them leave, soundlessly sneaking off through the trees. I saw the big grey one stop in a clearing and look my way, almost long enough for a parting shot, then it was gone.
I've been hiking and hunting for over 45 years now, been frighteningly close to grizzlies, charged twice by black bears, and this is the first time I've had to shoot an animal because I felt that I had no other option. I expected when the day arrived, it would be a bear that forced my hand, I never expected this.
Were they hunting? Or was it curiosity that killed the wolf?
We'd literally dumped my pack out on the ground to build a light pack with only a minimal amount of gear and a single rifle. Only 8 weeks after knee surgery and pushing 60 I was beginning to feel the wear and tear of several days of heavy packs and multiple peaks and valleys.
The bowl where we dropped our gear was a perfect circle of long grass 200 yards across. The valley dead ended here, steep ridges rose right behind the fringe of trees ringing this little circle.
I flattened the tent out and had just popped in the ridge pole when I heard a yip in the trees to my right, I knew the sound, a wolf hiding in the dark timber. Another yip, straight out in front, then one howled in the creek bottom to my left at about 150 yards. The count is three and covering a third of the circle.
We'd seen grizzlies and with this in mind my 300 Tikka lay in the grass with a round in the pipe. With the wolf count rising I turned to pick up my rifle. When I looked out over the creek straight behind me two more were trotting out from the trees. They stopped, looked at me then continued in my direction. I dropped down into the grass, rolled over, picked up the 300 and sat up. They had stopped at about 80 yards and were looking my way. As soon as I sat up the bigger of the two was on the move again. The second waited a second to long, and dropped where it stood. The gun shot stopped the other at 70 yards.
We'd gutted my pack earlier as we were both planning on climbing up to look at the band of rams. Every bullet in my pack as well as my clip were in my sons pack. As the first wolf fell I instinctively chambered another round, I could feel and hear the sound of the bolt closing on an empty chamber. The second wolf looked at me from 80 yards and milled around its dead pack mate. Again I dropped to the ground and tore open the pockets on my sons pack until two rounds spilled out into the grass. Lying on my back in the grass I chambered a round, pocketed the second and sat up. The other wolf had retreated to just inside the tree edge at 125. I quickly scanned the circle, to my right a large grey trotted out of the creek bottom headed straight at me, I put the cross hairs on it, waiting, it turned into the trees at 100 yards out. I looked to my left, the other was gone.
15 yards from where my tent sat was the only climbable tree available to me. I grabbed a flash light and a bottle of water and moved over to the tree. 180 degrees from where the dead wolf lay another trotted along just inside the tree edge. I waited, inside 75 yards I'd chance a shot, with only two rounds they'd need to be closer.
45 minutes later my son walked into camp, as soon as we spoke I saw them leave, soundlessly sneaking off through the trees. I saw the big grey one stop in a clearing and look my way, almost long enough for a parting shot, then it was gone.
I've been hiking and hunting for over 45 years now, been frighteningly close to grizzlies, charged twice by black bears, and this is the first time I've had to shoot an animal because I felt that I had no other option. I expected when the day arrived, it would be a bear that forced my hand, I never expected this.
Were they hunting? Or was it curiosity that killed the wolf?