Taking my fifteen-year-old son, Tristan, on a seven-day wolf hunting trip southwest of Sundre, Alberta, was an adventure we would never forget. As I drove, my truck twisted and turned along the winding road, mirroring the curves of the river to our left. Ahead of us, the majestic Rocky Mountains rose proudly, each peak wrapped in a blanket of snow, glistening under the winter sun. The further we drove, the landscape became a stunning tapestry of rugged beauty and untouched wilderness. Every mile brought us closer to our destination and the promise of a week filled with challenges, bonding, and the rawness of nature. It was January, and the brutal winter was in full swing, with temperatures plunging to minus 30 degrees Celsius. We arrived at our log cabin rental and unpacked the truck. We were excited for our first morning in the ground blind and knew we needed a good night’s rest to tackle our first wolf hunting adventure in the morning.
My good friend Andre had prepared three locations, each equipped with rustic, wood-constructed ground blinds and strategically placed protein baits set up at distances ranging from 200 to 250 yards. These blinds, equipped with small wood burning stoves to help with the harsh winter elements, provided us with a concealed vantage point to monitor the bait areas. Wolves had become a significant problem in the region, and wolf hunting is the only means to control the population. They have started to threaten local livestock and disrupt the balance of the ecosystem. Andre, well-versed in the area’s terrain and wildlife, asked for our help with predator control to mitigate the rising wolf population.
For the first two days, we spent twelve hours each day at various ground blinds, braving the harsh elements. The icy wind coming off the mountains and Burnt Timber Creek only amplified the cold, making every moment outside a test of endurance and resilience.
Day three found us in a compact eight-foot by five-foot ground blind huddled against the bitter cold. The blind featured a six-foot by two-foot window opening, providing just enough space to scan the surroundings. Within minutes, the freezing air stung my extremities, making me long for the sun’s warmth. The anticipation of dawn became my focus, a glimmer of hope against the biting chill. After some effort, I finally managed to get a small fire going in the tiny wood stove. The moment I put my boots against the belly of the stove, I felt the warmth seep through, offering a brief respite from the relentless cold.
Tristan, the tough and determined young man he is, assured me he was warm enough. His determination amazed me, a testament to his growing strength and maturity. We spent our time in the blind observing the wildlife around us. The pecking order of ravens, crows, giant bald and golden eagles was a spectacle to behold. Watching and listening to these birds as they pushed each other off the bait so they could eat was a fascinating diversion, a reminder of nature’s intricate hierarchy.
The following day, we were greeted by a breathtaking display of colors. The sky was a canvas of vibrant hues, with streaks of pink, yellow, and blue blending seamlessly. As the sun rose, its golden rays peeked between the rugged mountains, casting a warm glow across the snow-covered landscape. The light danced on the frost, making it sparkle like a field of diamonds. We watched in awe from our ground blind, the serene beauty of the scene captivating us completely. Moments like these made the long days of not seeing a wolf worthwhile, a tender reminder of the beauty and wonder of the natural world. The harsh cold and endless waiting faded away, replaced by a deep appreciation for the majestic scenery that unfolded before our eyes.
As day five dawned, we hiked the 15 minutes to our ground blind, the cold air biting at our faces. Tristan, with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, whispered, “I think today is the day, Mom.” His optimism was contagious, and as we settled into our chairs in the blind, we quietly waited for the sun to begin its rise.
The anticipation was intense. Tristan leaned over and said, “Mom, if only one wolf comes into the bait, I will count to three, and we will both squeeze our triggers.” He was equipped with his 6.5 Creedmore, fitted with the Vortex Strike Eagle scope, while I had my Browning Hell’s Canyon 308 with a Vortex Razor scope. We were ready, our hopes rising with the sun.
As the first rays of light peeked over Burnt Timber Creek, Tristan raised the window on the ground blind. There, standing in the soft morning light, were two wolves. Tristan whispered urgently, “Don’t shoot.” Instantly, the black-colored wolf ran off the bait, leaving the other wolf behind. We quickly settled into our shooting positions, the excitement and adrenaline coursing through our veins. Tristan began to count, “One, two,” and I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride. Sharing this moment with him was a culmination of our journey, a bonding experience like no other. “Three,” he whispered, and we squeezed our triggers simultaneously.
The sound of our shots echoed through the crisp morning air, and the wolf went down. We hugged and high-fived, exhilarated by our success. Our first wolf hunt together had ended in triumph. Crawling out of the small wood door of the ground blind, Tristan and I walked the 250 yards to where the wolf lay. It was a stunning multi-colored creature, with fur in shades of white, cream, caramel, and dark highlights. The beauty of this wolf was breathtaking, a stark contrast to the harsh environment we had endured.
As we took a knee beside our wolf, we offered our thanks to the fallen animal for this moment. Tristan leaned over and handed me my empty shell casing. He had thoughtfully picked it up before leaving the ground blind, a gesture that touched me deeply. We had set a goal to be successful and harvest a wolf, and we achieved it together on his count of three.
We spent time honoring this beautiful animal, capturing photos to commemorate our success. Our excitement and adrenaline were heightened as we laughed and recounted every moment of the hunt. But our work was not over; we still had to carry the wolf back to the truck. Tristan and I decided to move the wolf to the edge of the riverbank so I could squat down and hoist it around my neck and over my shoulders. I sensed Tristan’s pride in our accomplishment and his admiration and support gave me the strength to carry the wolf all the way back to the truck.
This wolf was not light, and I could feel every muscle in my body straining during the 20-minute hike back to the truck. When we finally arrived I collapsed, my legs and lower back numb from the exertion. The wolf had drained all my strength, yet I couldn’t have been happier. We drove back to the cabin we were staying at and with Andre’s help we skinned out the wolf, preparing it for the taxidermist once we returned home.
The remaining two days of our hunt were filled with fun experiences. We continued to brave the cold, taking turns keeping the fire going in the wood stove and sharing stories to pass the time. Each day we hunted brought us closer together, creating new memories we would cherish for a lifetime.
On the final day of our hunt, as we packed up our gear and prepared to leave, I looked at Tristan and felt a deep sense of pride. He had shown remarkable strength and determination throughout the week, qualities that I knew would serve him well in the future. This experience had not only brought us closer together but had also taught us valuable lessons about perseverance and resilience.
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