Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/641958
A hunter's dream and a bad one at that, it has come back again and again since early recollection. I happen upon a wolf and miss, then know with absolute certainty there will never be another chance. Rooted somewhere, no doubt, in my devoted boyhood reading of everything put to paper by the great pair of Jacks, London and O'Connor, plus of course Russell Annabel, I grew up wanting a wolf more than any other northern trophy save a grizzly. Once the opportunity presented, I always hunted Alaska and Canada with a wolf tag in my pocket. The dream went along, nagging like pleasure-born guilt. When my home state of Montana declared its inaugural wolf season in 2009, I posted up near the front of what became a very long line to purchase a tag on the first day they were sold. No one seemed bothered by the strict quotas limiting the number of wolves that could be taken in each game management unit. A wolf trophy, it seems, has a near-universal appeal among hunters. Not everyone agreed. A vocal minority postulated that, since the federal government had spent prodigally on the big predator's reintroduction, we should all be patient and allow Ma Nature to balance things herself. There was even a protestor carrying a "Save Brother Wolf" sign pacing nervously outside the sporting goods store. Since she looked like the kind of person who planted carrots in the communal garden hoping to earn enough money for another piercing, I doubt any minds were changed. The first wolf I ever saw stepped into a clearing on the western edge of Alaska's Tanana Flats. Much too far away for a shot, the huge, straw-colored male was likely stalking the same moose that had drawn my guide and I from distant vantage. The guide S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 3 9 Of all the big game animals that he imagined in his sights, none left him more anxious than a wolf. dventures l L Dwight Van Brunt