Given the green light now by the feds to lock and load, Minnesota seems generally in a mood to thin the ranks of eastern gray wolves, or canis lupus. Instinctively, these big dogs will respond by retreating into the shadows to conduct their killing less brazenly -- a PR stunt intended if nothing else to assuage the state's collective itchy trigger finger. Regardless, the wolf's survival is ensured: Shoot 'em up or not, the number of these animals roaming the state today likely won't change in 10 years or even 20.
It's the nature of the beast.
This will come as bad news to hunters who think the wolf can somehow be beaten back in favor of boosting whitetail populations. It ain't going to happen, at least not in the entirety of the northern forested region. Instead, more often than not, one dead wolf will be replaced by a live one, and, if necessary, another and another still. El lobo, as it turns out, really abhors a vacuum. And fills it, pronto.
Make no mistake. I hunt deer in northern Minnesota, near Cook, and our bunch routinely comes across wolf scat and tracks, whereas 10 or 20 years ago, we didn't. Similarly, where I chase whitetails in Wisconsin, at a latitude much farther south than Cook, wolves and/or wolf tracks are now ever-present.
Wolves in both of these hunting areas kill deer -- any numbskull knows that. And we don't like it. Worse, we believe, they periodically move deer out of our hunting grounds, which likely has a greater adverse effect on our overall whitetail harvest than the number of animals they actually surround and chew to death.
That said, we realize that factors other than wolves largely determine deer populations in the two areas. We realize as well that wolves in any event will not be easily dissuaded from their bloodthirstiness.
It is true that the folks near Ely and elsewhere across the north who are long tired of their dogs and other pets being attacked and killed perhaps can put the kibosh on these easy pickings with a few cracks from a .243.
Ditto the stockman who during spring calving reaches for his grandfather's .220 Swift and sends a 40-grain hunk of lead toward an unsuspecting moonlight marauder.