I chose this clip due to the great responses to the To the Wolves or Whatever post of last week. That and I've discovered there's a disturbing lack of muskox on my hunting blog. Two birds, one stone.
Watching these arctic wolves bring down the muskox calf is startling. We've all seen plenty of crocodile attack videos where the victim simply disappears in the water amid bubbles and rolling mud.
Or the big cats of Africa - their assaults on a young impala or Tommy are downright civil compared with the wolves. The big dogs torment and harass and slowly gouge the muskox to death.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
TWL Classics - Tale of the Pygmy Osceola
Two years ago I started my volunteer outdoor writing service through a local newspaper's public blogging site. Unfortunately, through powers beyond my control, my archives from that source are gone and lost forever. Luckily, I saved rough drafts of my work on my computer, and once or twice a week I'll re-introduce a past column back into the wild of the World Wide Web. Enjoy!
Originally Published April 2008
My 2008 Florida spring gobbler season ended around 10:30 Friday morning with a 20lb tom sporting a 10 inch beard and needle sharp spurs. The morning before my buddy, Nick, coaxed in the first gobbler through the wind and rain and into my shotgun spread. It sounds selfish after putting two birds in the cooler, but I’m wishing Florida would up the bag limit for the season. Two doesn’t seem like enough.
Not that I am bloodthirsty for turkey, but now my season is over, way too soon for all the planning, preparation, and anticipation.
Turkey hunting is always anti-climatic for me. The fun is truly in the chase. I’m almost disappointed it ends in a shotgun blast – almost because I do love that breast meat. On this hunt I got the best of both worlds. One gobbler was called in, and the other one died by spot-and-stalk, a terribly difficult feat with these sharp-sensed birds.
I had been invited to hunt a friend’s ranch out around Polk City. Four days of probably the best turkey hunting I’ve been a part of – and I’ve been fortunate to experience some excellent land over the years. Each green field surrounded by pines and cypress heads looked perfect for busting a gobbler. And most of them were.
Still, we worked for our birds as is usually the case with FL turkey hunting. If you remember from my last blog, Luck wanted nothing to do with me Opening Weekend, as weird weather and circumstance crippled our chances. Pre-dawn Thursday, in the wind and rain of an advancing cold front, the weather looked to sucker punch me again.
Nick and I sat in his truck listening to Bubba the Love Sponge and catching up since our last hunting or fishing excursion, waiting for something to give. The rain to stop, maybe. Perhaps daylight and a realization our morning had ended before it began. At one point, we’d geared up to enter the woods when another blast of wind, rain and lightning sent us back in the truck.
Our plans evolved by the minute as light approached, and we settled on one idea. Instead of trying to lay a decoy spread and calling, we’d sneak into an orange grove to sit and listen for any birds gobbling off the roost. The problem was, with the inclement weather, neither of us placed much confidence on the birds actually calling. Or pitching out of the trees any time before noon.
Nonetheless, the next break in the rain we climbed out of the truck, hiked a few hundred yards, and settled under an orange tree. By now it was light-thirty, and the rain kept spitting from the sky. People say nothing ventured, nothing gained, but certainly I didn’t believe it at the time.
How wrong I can be. Around 7:45 we got a gift gobble. One tom off the roost, perched by a food plot, Nick said. That one gobble made the difference between turkey hunting and sitting in the rain like fools, to say nothing of shaking off my pessimism for the day.
Afraid of boogering the bird off the roost, we gave him another 30 minutes before making our move. Nick knew of a berm that ran to the food plot. We snuck to the edge of the field, spying the tom on the far fence line, walking back and forth. Nick scratched on his slate call, and the tom responded.
I wish he’d come running right in at that point, but without decoys, that wasn’t happening. Instead the bird circled the far edge of the field, popping in and out of sight as he moved behind obscuring palmettos. We took these opportunities to get comfortable and clicking on the Therma-Cell to beat back the swarm of mosquitoes. Finally, as the gobbler reached the far right side of the plot, he started our way, not on a fast trot, but a very deliberate pace that assured us the hunt would be ending soon.
As the tom approached, Nick whispered what my range was with my Mossberg 835 3 ½ Mag.
“40-45 yards?”
“80" I replied, which is true, since I killed a bird once at that distance, but we had plenty of time to avoid that level of irresponsibility. Long shots, especially at that distance, are iffy prospects, at best. You are more likely to wound the animal than anything. Plus, the thrill of turkey hunting is getting them close and personal; I’d preferred if all the gobblers I’ve killed over the years were within 20 yards or so.
But sometimes it won’t happen this way, and you need to take the opportunity presented. The gobbler eclipsed the 50 yard line, and we’d planned on letting him come closer, but I nearly botched the deal. Holding that shotgun up for so long as he approached had fatigued my arms to the point where my barrel did figure eights in the air. I shifted to steady my aim, and the bird saw me move, popped his head up and looked directly at us.
Now, I’ll admit, I don’t get Buck Fever with deer or other big game, but an incoming gobbler unnerves me to no end. This whole time I had an acute case of the shakes; however, when that bird’s head snapped up, instinct kicked in. I quickly re-shouldered my gun, placed the fiber optic front post under his chin and fired, toppling the gobbler around 45 yards away – farther than I’d liked, but in the bad weather and having potentially ruined our morning with careless movement, any shot worked.
With some high fives, we collected the gobbler and set back towards camp for photos and bragging. Unfortunately, the boasting side of this didn’t go to plan. The gobbler’s beard reached 10 inches, but the body size was puny as was quickly pointed out to me. By itself in the food plot, he couldn’t be compared to bigger or smaller turkey, he just had a big beard and a love for Nick’s calling.
We caught a ration of grief from the other guys. Some called it the smallest gobbler they’d seen. Other, crueler comments compared it to a chicken. A few insults flew that the tom was a turkey social reject, desperate for a hen’s attention and Nick’s calling.
Friends can be cruel, but they were right. The gobbler barely tipped the scales at 15pounds. Wet, dirty, and with a tail feather missing, he did look pretty ratty. I defended his honor and declared a new subspecies of Osceola turkey – the Pygmy Osceola. Hey, if there can be Key Deer, there can be miniature turkeys. And I shot the first one ever. A legitimate trophy pygmy at that.
Ceremony and trophy-naming aside, the hunt is what mattered. We’d played around the weather, persevered and got lucky, or at least put ourselves in position for luck. As a reward, Nick called in a fine tom, and we’d witnessed him gobble and strut about the food plot, memories that’ll last far beyond caring about how big or small the bird happened to be.
So far though, I’m the only one with a trophy Pygmy Osceola. The next morning I’d take a common Osceola gobbler in an entirely different circumstance which made each bird unique and memorable.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Snipe!
I’m not sure if it was the sixth, seventh, or eighth bird that we’d missed that had given my hunting partner, Dirty J, the Sean Penn-crazy face, but certainly it was one of the three. And while I have long maintained that snipe hunting is tons of fun, there is something to be said for giving up and preserving one’s mental health.
See, for those who have never hunted snipe, it’s difficult to fully describe how maddening this can be. First, they are impossible to see on the ground, and they induce a massive coronary by flushing underfoot. Next, they wobble back and forth in an erratic flight pattern while the shooter vainly empties the shotgun without cutting a feather. All of this culminates with the little bird flying high into the sky, easing off the throttle when out of range, circling the area from where it flushed and dropping back down on the far side of it, daring you to come again.
Honestly, I believe snipe find it more entertaining tormenting hunters than most hunters do in trying to shoot them. After reading this, experienced snipe hunters have either smiled thinking of past trips a-field or have collapsed in a corner, clutching a pillow while rocking silently back and forth.
Of course, I’m fooling around, and in all honesty snipe hunting is one of the few simple pleasures offered in the wingshooting world. Dove hunting is fun, but finding a productive field locally has been difficult the past several years. Bobwhite numbers are on the decline, and the best shooting is usually on pricey game preserves. And ducks, well, duck hunting is a separate disease all its own. Snipe hunting involves rolling out of bed any time between sunup and sundown, doing a little walking and pulling the trigger on some little bird that is inexplicably difficult to hit.
And fortunately for us, we live in Florida with ample places to find these birds that torture our dreams. Snipe inhabit any place with some water – wet-weather ponds, ditch banks and flooded cow pastures. Find some soggy ground where it’s legal to tote a shotgun, and it’s a ready-made snipe hunt. No dogs or decoys required.
Right now is the time to hunt snipe. They migrate down on cold fronts throughout the winter and with the recent series of fronts and rain, Florida hunters should have no difficulty finding the birds in the next couple of weeks.
For a game this easy, it’s difficult to come up with much advice, but a couple strategies can help the day’s event. One, if alone, move slowly in a zigzag pattern across the marsh or pond edge. This covers a bit more ground than walking in a straight line. Plus, it unnerves the bird somewhat. Snipe will hold tight like a bedded whitetail buck, and it’s not uncommon for them to wait out fast-moving hunters and flush after they’ve passed. So move slow and make them nervous.
If hunting in a group, spread everyone about thirty to forty yards apart and walk together in that same slow pace. When hunting smaller areas where this is not possible, have a hunter or two lag behind fifty or so yards. As mentioned above, if a bird flushes it will usually circle around and drop down opposite of your position. The trailing hunter can squat down and possibly get a “re-entry” shot or watch where the bird lands and re-flush him. And there’s no need to go sloshing around in standing water; they aren’t seagulls. Ground that squishes like wet carpeting is just about perfect.
One other thing that is pretty important that the beginning snipe hunter must realize – killdeer are not snipe. Sandpipers are not snipe. And no, plovers are not snipe either. Plenty of species of birds that are small and probably hard to hit with a shotgun live around the marshes, but find a bird book and do a little research. Snipe are really not that well known, even amongst avid hunters, but I promise most game officers know the difference and won’t be happy inspecting a pile of killdeer, and by extension, the indiscriminate or ignorant hunter won’t be happy either.
As for shotguns, well, I miss birds with my 12 gauge pump and autoloader with such equal reliability that I am not sure how to dispense advice on what to carry. I guess just put as much lead in the air as possible. Use number 7 ½’s or 8’s with an open or modified choke. Other gear includes a pair of waterproof boots and a vest that holds plenty of shells. Some say doves require 4 to 6 shots per bird killed. Snipe will command 8 to 10 shots on most days.
If I am lucky enough to put a couple birds in the vest, people always ask me, “You really eat those things?” Snipe breasts resemble dove breasts in size, color and taste. I marinate them in an oily Caesar dressing and wrap them in bacon before grilling. I usually never have many to cook, but they make an interesting appetizer for friends and family.
A couple years ago on a deer hunt in Georgia, I sat around shucking oysters with a Florida Cracker from Ft. Pierce chatting up hunting creatures big and small. We talked deer and elk and pigs and quail until I finally asked him if he’d ever shot snipe. His eyes brightened as he told stories of his father and grandfather chasing the birds out on the ranch back in the day. He said he learned one trick from his grandfather – when the bird flushes, it’ll go Number Two, and that’s the time to shoot because they are about impossible to hit afterwards.
Well, I don’t know about all that. I am usually in a panicked rush to get my shotgun up to observe any falling snipe guano, but I do know now is the perfect time to go hunt snipe. What else is going on after the Super Bowl? Honey-do’s? Please, that’s worse for the frame of mind than snipe hunting, I promise.
Florida's 2009-10 Season ends February 15th
See, for those who have never hunted snipe, it’s difficult to fully describe how maddening this can be. First, they are impossible to see on the ground, and they induce a massive coronary by flushing underfoot. Next, they wobble back and forth in an erratic flight pattern while the shooter vainly empties the shotgun without cutting a feather. All of this culminates with the little bird flying high into the sky, easing off the throttle when out of range, circling the area from where it flushed and dropping back down on the far side of it, daring you to come again.
Honestly, I believe snipe find it more entertaining tormenting hunters than most hunters do in trying to shoot them. After reading this, experienced snipe hunters have either smiled thinking of past trips a-field or have collapsed in a corner, clutching a pillow while rocking silently back and forth.
Of course, I’m fooling around, and in all honesty snipe hunting is one of the few simple pleasures offered in the wingshooting world. Dove hunting is fun, but finding a productive field locally has been difficult the past several years. Bobwhite numbers are on the decline, and the best shooting is usually on pricey game preserves. And ducks, well, duck hunting is a separate disease all its own. Snipe hunting involves rolling out of bed any time between sunup and sundown, doing a little walking and pulling the trigger on some little bird that is inexplicably difficult to hit.
And fortunately for us, we live in Florida with ample places to find these birds that torture our dreams. Snipe inhabit any place with some water – wet-weather ponds, ditch banks and flooded cow pastures. Find some soggy ground where it’s legal to tote a shotgun, and it’s a ready-made snipe hunt. No dogs or decoys required.
Right now is the time to hunt snipe. They migrate down on cold fronts throughout the winter and with the recent series of fronts and rain, Florida hunters should have no difficulty finding the birds in the next couple of weeks.
For a game this easy, it’s difficult to come up with much advice, but a couple strategies can help the day’s event. One, if alone, move slowly in a zigzag pattern across the marsh or pond edge. This covers a bit more ground than walking in a straight line. Plus, it unnerves the bird somewhat. Snipe will hold tight like a bedded whitetail buck, and it’s not uncommon for them to wait out fast-moving hunters and flush after they’ve passed. So move slow and make them nervous.
If hunting in a group, spread everyone about thirty to forty yards apart and walk together in that same slow pace. When hunting smaller areas where this is not possible, have a hunter or two lag behind fifty or so yards. As mentioned above, if a bird flushes it will usually circle around and drop down opposite of your position. The trailing hunter can squat down and possibly get a “re-entry” shot or watch where the bird lands and re-flush him. And there’s no need to go sloshing around in standing water; they aren’t seagulls. Ground that squishes like wet carpeting is just about perfect.
One other thing that is pretty important that the beginning snipe hunter must realize – killdeer are not snipe. Sandpipers are not snipe. And no, plovers are not snipe either. Plenty of species of birds that are small and probably hard to hit with a shotgun live around the marshes, but find a bird book and do a little research. Snipe are really not that well known, even amongst avid hunters, but I promise most game officers know the difference and won’t be happy inspecting a pile of killdeer, and by extension, the indiscriminate or ignorant hunter won’t be happy either.
As for shotguns, well, I miss birds with my 12 gauge pump and autoloader with such equal reliability that I am not sure how to dispense advice on what to carry. I guess just put as much lead in the air as possible. Use number 7 ½’s or 8’s with an open or modified choke. Other gear includes a pair of waterproof boots and a vest that holds plenty of shells. Some say doves require 4 to 6 shots per bird killed. Snipe will command 8 to 10 shots on most days.
If I am lucky enough to put a couple birds in the vest, people always ask me, “You really eat those things?” Snipe breasts resemble dove breasts in size, color and taste. I marinate them in an oily Caesar dressing and wrap them in bacon before grilling. I usually never have many to cook, but they make an interesting appetizer for friends and family.
A couple years ago on a deer hunt in Georgia, I sat around shucking oysters with a Florida Cracker from Ft. Pierce chatting up hunting creatures big and small. We talked deer and elk and pigs and quail until I finally asked him if he’d ever shot snipe. His eyes brightened as he told stories of his father and grandfather chasing the birds out on the ranch back in the day. He said he learned one trick from his grandfather – when the bird flushes, it’ll go Number Two, and that’s the time to shoot because they are about impossible to hit afterwards.
Well, I don’t know about all that. I am usually in a panicked rush to get my shotgun up to observe any falling snipe guano, but I do know now is the perfect time to go hunt snipe. What else is going on after the Super Bowl? Honey-do’s? Please, that’s worse for the frame of mind than snipe hunting, I promise.
Florida's 2009-10 Season ends February 15th
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
TWL Classics - To the Hunt
Two years ago I started my volunteer outdoor writing service through a local newspaper's public blogging site. Unfortunately, through powers beyond my control, my archives from that source are gone and lost forever. Luckily, I saved rough drafts of my work on my computer, and once or twice a week I'll re-introduce a past column back into the wild of the World Wide Web. Enjoy!
Originally Published January 2008
My truck is four thousand miles past its last oil change. My knees and back are shot from miles of traipsing through palmetto flats and swamp bottoms. Worse still, my dog barely recognizes me, and I am all but broke from traveling so often.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
For me, hunting season is not just an opportunity to escape the house or work for a weekend - it is a passion, a way of life born from being raised in the outdoors of Polk County and Central Florida. I am one of the lucky ones. From September to April, I actively hunt throughout the Southeast for just about anything that has a sanctioned season. When not actually hunting, I’m actively researching new ways to spend more time in the woods.
Already this year I’ve hunted deer in three different states, and ducks in two. Chased hogs in South Florida with rifles and dogs. I’m catching gobbler fever and close to donning the vest, laying out the decoys in the front yard, and calling to the neighbor’s cat. I dream of Africa and constantly check prices for hunts on the Dark Continent as if I could afford it right now. If an outfitter offered hunts for a giant slug on some tropical Pacific island that runs hunters a merry chase and tastes good wrapped in bacon and grilled, I’d be scheming on how to get there and what rifle I should bring.
As I said, I am one of the lucky ones; however, writing about hunting – or fishing for that matter – is a unique task. One can write about football or baseball without ever taking a snap or swinging a bat in a meaningful way. Come to think about it, there are numerous major television networks, publications, and radio stations geared around this very model. To write about the outdoor life, an author must actively engage in these activities or the reader will color them a fraud.
This, of course, leads to some challenges when dispensing advice. Let’s suppose I write an article about how to harvest a deer in a particular place during a specific time of the year with a certain firearm I feel is the most adequate for the situation. Some will take it as the suggestion it was made to be, and others will read it as gospel and go out of their way to tell me I’m wrong. If you need proof of this, read the “Letters” section of any outdoor magazine. Or check online blogs and forums.
Another trouble with writing about hunting or fishing is within the game itself. Hunters and anglers go to great pains to try and predict what their quarry will do under certain conditions. Much ink has been spilled trying to explain the many wrinkles in deciphering game activity. I use this example all the time – I once read that a gobbler will never cross water to come to your calls, and that was true until one old boss tom did.
My point, if I am forced to make one, is that the best way to become a better hunter is to be in the woods and learn for your self. The ultimate goal of this blog is to help discover ways you can enjoy your pastime – to be active and enjoy the tradition and adventure of sport hunting. At the very least, hopefully I can help you slack off a few minutes of work discussing what you love to do.
Living in Polk County, this should not be too difficult of a task. We are fortunate to be surrounded by plentiful public land, and opportunities for private land access for a wide spectrum of game animals. The central Florida hunter is also blessed to be within a tank of gas or so away from some excellent hunting prospects to the north in states such as Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolina's.
Of course, there will be some advice-related topics as this is the nature of the outdoor writing business. Certainly, some people enjoy discussing different hunting strategies and equipment, and I hope to keep readers updated on dates of applications, special hunting opportunities, and any legislation involving our sport. But most of all, I want to use this forum to broaden the scope and bring into focus the multitude of hunting possibilities available to the Polk County outdoors person at a time when the sport seems to be at its least accessible point.
As we prepare to put another fall hunting season - hopefully a successful one - in the books and ready ourselves for the doldrums of February and the blissful return of spring gobbler, I’d like to propose a toast to our fortune in the woods and on the water. This naturally would be better around an oak campfire and with an actual drink in hand, but still - to the hunt, the memories of years past and the promise of the future!
Originally Published January 2008
My truck is four thousand miles past its last oil change. My knees and back are shot from miles of traipsing through palmetto flats and swamp bottoms. Worse still, my dog barely recognizes me, and I am all but broke from traveling so often.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
For me, hunting season is not just an opportunity to escape the house or work for a weekend - it is a passion, a way of life born from being raised in the outdoors of Polk County and Central Florida. I am one of the lucky ones. From September to April, I actively hunt throughout the Southeast for just about anything that has a sanctioned season. When not actually hunting, I’m actively researching new ways to spend more time in the woods.
Already this year I’ve hunted deer in three different states, and ducks in two. Chased hogs in South Florida with rifles and dogs. I’m catching gobbler fever and close to donning the vest, laying out the decoys in the front yard, and calling to the neighbor’s cat. I dream of Africa and constantly check prices for hunts on the Dark Continent as if I could afford it right now. If an outfitter offered hunts for a giant slug on some tropical Pacific island that runs hunters a merry chase and tastes good wrapped in bacon and grilled, I’d be scheming on how to get there and what rifle I should bring.
As I said, I am one of the lucky ones; however, writing about hunting – or fishing for that matter – is a unique task. One can write about football or baseball without ever taking a snap or swinging a bat in a meaningful way. Come to think about it, there are numerous major television networks, publications, and radio stations geared around this very model. To write about the outdoor life, an author must actively engage in these activities or the reader will color them a fraud.
This, of course, leads to some challenges when dispensing advice. Let’s suppose I write an article about how to harvest a deer in a particular place during a specific time of the year with a certain firearm I feel is the most adequate for the situation. Some will take it as the suggestion it was made to be, and others will read it as gospel and go out of their way to tell me I’m wrong. If you need proof of this, read the “Letters” section of any outdoor magazine. Or check online blogs and forums.
Another trouble with writing about hunting or fishing is within the game itself. Hunters and anglers go to great pains to try and predict what their quarry will do under certain conditions. Much ink has been spilled trying to explain the many wrinkles in deciphering game activity. I use this example all the time – I once read that a gobbler will never cross water to come to your calls, and that was true until one old boss tom did.
My point, if I am forced to make one, is that the best way to become a better hunter is to be in the woods and learn for your self. The ultimate goal of this blog is to help discover ways you can enjoy your pastime – to be active and enjoy the tradition and adventure of sport hunting. At the very least, hopefully I can help you slack off a few minutes of work discussing what you love to do.
Living in Polk County, this should not be too difficult of a task. We are fortunate to be surrounded by plentiful public land, and opportunities for private land access for a wide spectrum of game animals. The central Florida hunter is also blessed to be within a tank of gas or so away from some excellent hunting prospects to the north in states such as Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolina's.
Of course, there will be some advice-related topics as this is the nature of the outdoor writing business. Certainly, some people enjoy discussing different hunting strategies and equipment, and I hope to keep readers updated on dates of applications, special hunting opportunities, and any legislation involving our sport. But most of all, I want to use this forum to broaden the scope and bring into focus the multitude of hunting possibilities available to the Polk County outdoors person at a time when the sport seems to be at its least accessible point.
As we prepare to put another fall hunting season - hopefully a successful one - in the books and ready ourselves for the doldrums of February and the blissful return of spring gobbler, I’d like to propose a toast to our fortune in the woods and on the water. This naturally would be better around an oak campfire and with an actual drink in hand, but still - to the hunt, the memories of years past and the promise of the future!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
To the Wolves or Whatever
From Chapter 4 - "What Were They Thinking" in The Annals of Bad Ideas comes a report on AOL News that scientists are contemplating releasing wolves in National Parks and other lands to fight the expanding ungulate herds.
Quoth Forrest Gump, "Stupid is as Stupid does."
Look, I know a few things. One, allowing hunters in National Parks to control the deer and elks herds, while a fine idea that could make the park system some money, would rile up a series of lawsuits from the anti-hunters that would last at least until the next asteroid hits us.
Two, yes, something probably has to be done in parks around the country to thin out deer and elk populations. Widespread starvation or disease is the absolute least tolerable option yet is a grave threat. Some form of control is needed - ahem, hunters.
Three, for the most part, wolves are done in the Lower 48. Morally right or wrong, I accept it as functionally accurate that these animals do not have a place in Modern America. The room is not available. Run-in's with people - ranchers, hikers, bikers, Boy Scouts, whoever - is inevitible. Hell, just watch the news tonight; there's probably a coyote-ate-my-pet story. I'll share my sorrow about this fact and wish it had never come to that, but as they say in the locker room after someone pulls a gun on a teammate, "it is what it is."
Perhaps the most ludicrous part of this is the thought of erecting fences, to speak nothing of tracking collars and contraception. What, are they going to fence off a population of deer, add wolves, wait 2 years until cooked through? Is this their recipe? Then tear down the fences, round up the wolves and move along?
Maybe I am being cynical - no, I am - but someone much smarter than I should explain this to me so it makes sense.
Quoth Forrest Gump, "Stupid is as Stupid does."
Look, I know a few things. One, allowing hunters in National Parks to control the deer and elks herds, while a fine idea that could make the park system some money, would rile up a series of lawsuits from the anti-hunters that would last at least until the next asteroid hits us.
Two, yes, something probably has to be done in parks around the country to thin out deer and elk populations. Widespread starvation or disease is the absolute least tolerable option yet is a grave threat. Some form of control is needed - ahem, hunters.
Three, for the most part, wolves are done in the Lower 48. Morally right or wrong, I accept it as functionally accurate that these animals do not have a place in Modern America. The room is not available. Run-in's with people - ranchers, hikers, bikers, Boy Scouts, whoever - is inevitible. Hell, just watch the news tonight; there's probably a coyote-ate-my-pet story. I'll share my sorrow about this fact and wish it had never come to that, but as they say in the locker room after someone pulls a gun on a teammate, "it is what it is."
Perhaps the most ludicrous part of this is the thought of erecting fences, to speak nothing of tracking collars and contraception. What, are they going to fence off a population of deer, add wolves, wait 2 years until cooked through? Is this their recipe? Then tear down the fences, round up the wolves and move along?
Maybe I am being cynical - no, I am - but someone much smarter than I should explain this to me so it makes sense.
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