Idaho Fish and Game Commission Sets Wolf Hunt

Photo Credit: Alan Wilson; Naturespicsonline.com

The Idaho Fish and Game Commission (IDFG) recently announced the quota's for the fall wolf hunt in Idaho, and there will be a statewide harvest of 220 animals, out of a total estimated population of 740 wolves. Separate quotas have been established by hunting zone and once the quota is met then hunting will be suspended in that unit. Tags will go on sale on Monday and the hunt will commence on Tuesday. If the harvest levels are met it reduce the Idaho wolf population by about 25%. This announcement has already been challenged by the Defenders of Wildlife, which will seek and injunction. In comparison the State of Montana annouced a wolf harvest limit that would take at the most, 15% of the total wolf population.

IDFG and other State of Idaho officials have been inconsistent in previous announcements concerning the wolf harvest, with some officials supporting a kill of over 400 animals.

Establishing a hunt for wolves is a good idea, if the take of wolves is regulated to keep harvest levels in line with what the total wolf population can support. Killing 25% of the wolves in Idaho is not sustainable and will result in a decrease of wolf populations across the State of Idaho.

Hunters have a great deal of stake in this issue and having their support to keep a viable wolf population is critical. The numbers of elk and deer populations have been fairly stable for the last 10 years, in the face of increasing wolf packs. This is because the wolves kill animals that would normally die anyway of starvation, disease or winter kill. Where wolf packs exist in Idaho the herds of elk and deer are much stronger because the weaker animals have been culled, and the big game animals are better able to survive predator attacks, disease and long winters.

There is great irony in the number set for harvest of 220 wolves in Idaho. In comparison the entire wolf population of Yellowstone Park was estimated at 128 animals, in 2008. Do the citizens of Idaho support the kill of 220 wolves, which is nearly twice the total population of the wolves in Yellowstone Park? I think not.

A wolf kill of 220 for Idaho is not sustainable nor reasonable, and the IDFG would be be wise to follow the lead of the State of Montana. It is not likely that hunters will harvest the maximum number of wolves allowed, but setting those numbers so high, is not wise. The howls will follow.

Flying Pine Cones of the North Woods

Only a forester or camper would marvel at a ponderosa pine cone. Maybe a firefighter. Or kids rollicking and frolicking in the woods. A pine cone lying on the ground is a natural attraction for children (and probably adults) and they fit nicely in your hand and have a heft and feel that makes them easy to throw.

A ponderosa cone at maturity is about 5 inches long, and 3 inches across at its base, and somewhat pear shaped. The cones, are the fruiting body of the pine, and they are born high in the tree tops in the spring, and produce seeds that fall to the ground and produce new trees. The cones grow quickly and initially are a purple greenish color and mature in two years, turning brown and eventually fall from the tree. Cones have a central axis which is surrounded by overlapping scales and they are armed with a fine point on the end. Small spears that offer protection for the seeds of the pine, from marauding birds and mammals. The seeds are fairly large for a conifer and have a wing that is about one inch long. When the cones open up at maturity the seeds are free to fly and drop to the ground and the wing gives them a boost in seeking new territory.

As kids growing up in the Flathead Valley of Montana we had many a pine cone fight as the ponderosa pine (or pondos as I call them) provided an abundant source of weaponry. We would gather a bunch of missiles and the fight was on, until you ran out of projectiles, but they were abundantly available under most of the pondos. The trees offered cones and also shelter from the barrages of the opponent that was stalking you. We did not intend to harm each other except for an occasionally neighbor kid that would decide to inflict pain by throwing the hardest cone they could find. The deadly green cone that was about as hard as a chunk of granite, complete with sharp spines. The brigands were soon banished from our group.

The cones are also handy also for starting a camp fire as they ignite and burn quit readily. However this feature is not appreciated by firefighters that construct fireline in the woods on steep mountain sides and have to deal with rolling burning cones that can roll across firelines causing the fire to escape.

The American Indians of course were quite familiar with pondo cones, and surely they had many uses for those brownish orbs, and there is at least one game that was played that involved throwing pine cones through hoops. One of the first written descriptions of ponderosa pine was by David Douglas in 1826 in northeastern Washington State. He was however not the first. William Clark of the Lewis and Clark Expedition noted the presence of ponderosa pine cones on the White River of what is now South Dakota, on Sept. 16^th, 1804. Washed there from its upper tributaries. The first written observations of the ponderosa pine were made by the Spanish explorer Coronado in the southwest united States in the mid 1500's when his soldiers started to use the name Ponderosa, because the trees were so large large and “ponderous”.

What are the origins of the first pine cone fight? It must have occurred very early in mans existence, deep in the mountains of Africa or Europe. What about in North America? Perhaps the first skirmish occurred in 1805, in the Rocky Mountains, when William Clark, annoyed with Meriwether Lewis, hefted a pondo cone and heaved it at his friend. I have no proof.......but just maybe.

Bison Crossing the Cutthroat Trail

It's a sunny day in Yellowstone Park and I stand on a bluff, looking down at the Lamar River, which appears like a wide silver ribbon, speckled with giant boulders, and framed on both sides by rolling hills colored with silver sagebrush. The Lamar River meanders to the west, on a snaking course to the Yellowstone River, through rugged timbered mountains, and dark canyons.

Herds of buffalo, or bison, dot the Lamar valley, the Serengeti of the mountain West. Buffalo ground. On the drive up the Lamar we passed a couple of herds that were lingering near the road, the adults a dark brown color, with short curved horns, high shoulders, and odd shaggy patches of hair on a few of the animals. The bison calves, reddish-brown in color, are born in late April or May, and they shadow the sides of their moms, always on the lookout for sneaky Grizzly bears or packs of wolves.

Large bulls roam around giving out an occasional bellow, seemingly inspecting all they animals around them. They are close to entering breeding season, and the bulls will soon become very possessive of their herds and brawl and clash with other males in dusty head butting duels.

My wife Louise and I decided to hike into a quiet spot on the Lamar River in Yellowstone Park, in search of the elusive cutthroat trout. We parked the truck on the road and hiked up a bunch grass and sage covered knoll, following a sandy, well trodden buffalo trail, treading through a few recently tended wallows. The wallows were several feet across and formed a circular depression a couple of feet deep. The bison, or buff, had been busy at wallows, trundling, stirring and stomping the soil to a fine dust, then rolling in the powder, to tend their hides and scrape off pesky bugs and unkempt hairs.

Looking to the north I can see several patches of snags or dead trees, and probably half of them have fallen to the ground, spore of the fires of 1988. The woody boles of the downed trees, line up in a northeasterly direction, and apparently strong sou' wester winds have mowed them down, with unknown purpose. I wonder if it's natures design to have all snags fall to the east, as if the mountain gods must be appeased.

The standing snags are a silvery, gray color and many of the dead branches have fallen off, and they look like porcupine quills. Humongous quills, 60 feet tall. As if some giant porcupine swatted the hills with its tail, leaving swaths of quills stuck in the rock and sand, in hundred acre chunks.

We continued on the buffalo trail, following a low ridge to the north until we discovered a side path to the Lamar river, that wound its way through a wet meadow or cienaga, with tall, dense grass and hidden seeps of water. At the river the trace followed along the cut bank, the trail stomped in the tall grass, with a few deep footprints in the mud.

We came to a breach in the cut bank where there was a sandy beach with an easy access to the the waters edge, which was obviously a ford for the buff to cross the Lamar River, and on the opposite bank I could see a wide trail coursing up the steep bank. The river was very clear with a slight greenish tinge, lined with rocks and gravel and a sprinkle of large granite boulders with quiet deep eddies of water in their shadows. The hideout of lunker trout and the lair of the fly fisherman and an occasional grizzly bear, also known as a “silvertip”. This trace has probably been used for hundreds or thousands of years by herds of buffalo and elk, with its strategic geographic location.

There were a couple of large whitish colored bones laying in the sand, probably from a buffalo and nearby more bones buried a two feet deep in the rich dark loam soil, deposited by water over the eons. Historic bones of drowned or winter killed buff or elk, or the ancient kill of prairie warriors. Newly printed deer, buffalo, and sandpiper tracks marked the beach, a watering hole for thirsty animals, or birds in search of sneaky but tasty bugs.

I unlimbered my fishing rod, rigged up a bug, and soon had my fly line weaving with the blue sky in arching patterns, and delicately landed a dry fly on the rippled surface of the river. A series of large boulders, in the water, made for great trout habitat, with deep waters and eddies on their downstream side. The water was crystal clear and the winds were light which made it easy to watch the dry fly float down the stream, in a seemingly perfect ruse or deception, for a hungry fish looking for a meal of an insect. It doesn't get any better for fisherman.

I fished for a couple of hours, keeping an eye out for wandering buff and silvertips, to make sure there wouldn't be any accidental encounters, with stomping hooves and sharp teeth. My catch of cutthroat at the end of the day is slim, but the fishing was fine, and I snared a heap of memories, of silvery waters, mountains, herds of buffalo and a grand picnic on the banks of the Lamar.

Walking back to the truck at the end of the day, I stop at a buffalo wallow and mull over the existence of buffalo, and a couple of hikers, and wonder if perhaps there is something to a good roll in the dust. After all, look at the bison and how large and healthy they look and maybe all that powder does a body good. Pondering my gray beard, perhaps I qualify to get down on all fours, roll in the dust, and pulverize and pound some perfectly good soil into powder, and kick up a few dusty geysers. Maybe another day.