This story, “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” appeared in the July 1982 issue of Outdoor Life. The incident took place in January 1982. Today, the Great Lakes population of wolves is listed under the Endangered Species Act, with gray wolves in Minnesota listed as “threatened.”
On a cold winter morning only two days into the new year, 19-year-old Ron Poyirier shivered awake in a hunting cabin on Sullivan Lake. Moving quietly so as not to disturb his snoring companions, he quickly slipped on old hunting clothes and headed out into the bitter January cold. His fingers stiffened as he stuffed shells into his Glenfield automatic .22. Light, puffy snowflakes slanted across his vision as he took a parting glance at the cabin. Nearby, the frozen lake groaned and popped in the sub-zero air. A typical day of northern Minnesota winter.
Poyirier struck north into familiar cover, thinking how pleased everyone would be when he returned with a few snowshoe rabbits for supper. He would hunt near the south boundary of the Superior National Forest. Half a mile from the cabin, he paused briefly where, six weeks earlier, he had bagged his first deer, a nice forkhorn. Pleasant memories. He enjoyed being alone in the woods.
A foot of new snow muffled his footsteps. He was proud of his ability to move stealthily through the heavy cover of pines and fir. But rabbit populations were down. There were few tracks and all were several days old. He pushed on into unfamiliar country. Deer sign was everywhere. Occasionally, he noticed larger tracks of moose and what looked like timber wolf tracks, but in the deep snow it was hard to tell. He had never hunted this far from the cabin, but reasoned he could easily backtrack when it came time to head home.
Gradually, he began to notice a change in the timber. Towering white and red pines sighed softly overhead. Underneath, young balsam fir laden with fresh snow reduced visibility to only a few feet in some places. Snow-covered trees muffled his movements. The heavy cover cut a quartering wind. Deer sign increased. He passed a large balsam, noticing four fresh beds in the snow. Strangely, some tracks were those of running deer, almost a panicky run, he thought, as he noticed tracks plunging through clumps of small balsam. Snow had been knocked from their branches, turning them green again. Following a straight line was impossible now and he zigzagged to the top of a small rise, paused to get his bearings, and figured he was about a mile north of the cabin and that his wandering route covered about double that.
Moving on, he noticed a thick clump of balsam that might harbor a rabbit. He approached it soundlessly, hunting instincts ready for a burst of white flashing through the small trees. About halfway through, his stealth was rewarded. Fifty feet ahead, across a small depression, something darted through the cover. Unsure of his target, he moved forward a foot at a time. Instinctively, to break his outline, he paused momentarily behind a small balsam to watch and listen.
The terror of the next few moments would be part of him for the rest of his life. Without warning, a heavy object struck his shoulders from behind, hurtling his 130- pound frame to the ground and sending his rifle spinning from stunned fingers. It was, he said later, “as if a football player gave me a double-stiff arm on my shoulder blades.” He first thought one of his buddies had followed him from camp to play a joke. They were always doing things like that to each other. Not feeling the freezing snow that nearly engulfed him, he rolled on his back as he hit the ground. Automatically, one arm went up in defense, which may have saved his life.
Fully expecting to see one of his pals bent double with laughter, he was totally unprepared for the menacing canine teeth inches from his face and throat. Instinctively and luckily, he clutched the animal’s throat with his right hand and groped wildly for the rifle with his left. Terrified, he started screaming, “Get off me! Get off me!”
Ron Poyirier is nearly full-blooded Chippewa. Proud of his heritage, he good-naturedly accepts the respectful “Indian” nickname he earned from his hunting companions last deer season. At 19, he is a natural woodsman. His lithe body slides through the woods, hardly disturbing branches and twigs as he effortlessly sidesteps obstacles. Once out of sight, Ron also is out of earshot. Had he been noisy in the woods, things might have turned out differently.
Whether it’s his Indian heritage, growing up in the woods of northern Minnesota, or both, he is most comfortable in the thickly wooded country around the cabin near Sullivan Lake. Jet-black hair, piercing, twinkling black eyes, a shy but ready smile and a pleasant personality all make for a well-adjusted young man, comfortable in any environment.
His love for animals is obvious. Whether it’s the family dog, Scamp; his old pal Sam, an arthritic and nearly blind Chinese pug; or his parents’ pet ferret, if Ron’s around, the animal is held, petted and looked after.
His affection for and interest in canines does not end with domestics. On the dresser in his bedroom is a sketchbook. In it are his own detailed drawings of Eastern timber wolves and notes about them. He has studied the wolf in detail, including the breeding season and the variation in litter size at different latitudes. His drawings show the tail positions and facial expressions wolves use to communicate with other pack members.
Ron’s interest in wolves is understandable. Except for a few wolves in nearby Isle Royale National Park, Minnesota has the only self-sustaining timber wolf population in the Lower 48 states. Wolves were once found throughout all of North America, but the advance of civilization reduced the predator’s numbers in the contiguous United States to a remnant population in sparsely settled northeastern Minnesota.
In the mid-1960s, pressure built to protect the wolf. At the time, wolves were still considered predatory varmints to be shot from airplanes, trapped and snared for $100 bounty and whatever hides would bring. Some believed the wolf population in Minnesota, then estimated at 400 to 500, was endangered.
In 1967, the secretary of the interior classified the Eastern timber wolf in the Lower 48 as endangered, and in 1973, it was afforded full protection under the Endangered Species Act. A $20,000 fine and a year in prison was set as the maximum penalty for killing a wolf.
Later a wolf recovery study team of federal and state biologists devised strategies to increase wolf populations to a level at which they could be removed from the endangered list. The team based many of its recommendations on the classic study of wolves by Dr. David Mech. a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologist who traveled and studied wolves by using small radio transmitters attached to collars around the wolves’ necks.
During the 1970s, Minnesota’s wolf population increased and in 1978, the wolf was removed from the list of endangered species in that state only and placed in the less critical “threatened” category. Still, only government trappers were authorized to live-trap wolves, and only if they were problem animals. Disposing of live-trapped wolves became a problem. Frequently, they were released in areas already occupied by a wolf pack. Territorial in nature, the pack would not tolerate the intruder and promptly killed it. Often when investigating a stationary radio signal, biologists would find only blood, hair, bones, wolf tracks and a radio collar still sending a telltale signal.
Under pressure from enraged farmers, equally disturbed environmentalists and a new Superior National Forest supervisor who would no longer allow releasing livetrapped wolves into wolf-occupied territories, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service began killing trapped adult wolves in 1978.
Livestock owners are compensated for losses, but they fear the compensation fund will soon dry up. State legislators dislike using already strained state funds to correct what they see as a problem caused by the federal government.
Many residents believe wolf protection during the past decade has caused the wolf to lose its fear of man. This belief is not unfounded. In broad daylight last year, wolves killed and ate a valuable sled dog chained to its kennel just outside Ely, Minnesota. Earlier in the year, State Game Warden Kenneth Schlueter killed two wolves in the town of Babbitt, Minnesota, again in broad daylight. One had earlier chased a small boy riding a bicycle. Also, wolf scat has been found containing plastic and other material that could only have come from garbage cans and city dumps. Warden Robert Jacobsen of Ely, Minnesota, says, “There’s no doubt about it, wolves are getting more brazen.”
Current efforts by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources to wrest management of the wolf from the federal government may succeed. Their plans, however, to harvest 160 wolves each year by allowing limited trapping are being met with threats of lawsuits from environmentalists.
In a classic Catch-22 situation, wolves have left their million-acre sanctuary in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness because their primary prey, the whitetail deer, lost its foothold in a wilderness devoid of browse. In 1978, federal legislation halted all timber harvesting, which had previously provided browse for the deer.
This emigration of wolves from the wilderness to more rewarding hunting grounds in nearby areas puts pressure on livestock and the remaining area deer herd. Increased wolf sightings are alarming residents. Deer hunters and farmers are demanding a solution. The timber wolf population in Minnesota is now estimated to be at 1,200 to 1,500 animals
It was one of these wolves that straddled Ron Poyirier. He remembers it vividly; distinctly recalling big teeth near his face and neck, and the terrible yellow eyes. He can still hear growling and remembers yelling, “Get off me! Get off me!” while frantically keeping the wolf at bay with his right hand and groping in the snow for his rifle with the other hand. He remembers wondering how long it would take a search party to find him, thinking, “What’s happening to me? This can’t be happening to me!” The animal was too strong for him. He doesn’t recall how he found the rifle and released the safety. Perhaps it was knocked off when it fell in the small balsam. He fired one unaimed shot that he is sure did not hit the wolf, and the wolf vanished. His ordeal was over, but he didn’t know it — not yet.
He remembers it vividly; distinctly recalling big teeth near his face and neck, and the terrible yellow eyes.
The trip back to the cabin was agonizingly slow. At first, he was angry; then he was scared. He started after the wolf, but after a few steps. fear overcame anger. Every step back to safety was measured carefully. The slightest movement or sound started new panic. He doesn’t remember how many times he clicked the safety off on his homeward journey, but he recalls having no doubts about shooting if the wolf reappeared. He constantly watched his backtrack.
Ron Poyirier’s friends were up and about when; still shaken and white, he entered the cabin. His companions were concerned when he said nothing. Ron recalls not wanting to speak to anyone. Finally, Walt Fish spoke to him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Only then did Ron say, “I was attacked by a wolf.” There was disbelief, of course. As a former wolf trapper, Walt had been followed by wolves several times, but had never been attacked. He knew there was no documented case in Minnesota of a wolf attacking a human. Even so, Walt knew Ron well. He was not acting normally. He was frightened. There were scratches on his face, blood on his thigh below a two-inch tear in his blue jeans, and fresh tears in his brown hunting jacket. Then Ron lost his composure.
His crying and sobbing bordered on hysteria at times. He allowed Walt’s wife, Marge, to embrace him. He even put his head on her shoulder. “That,” said Marge later, “was completely out of character for him. He’s an affectionate person, but he usually shows affection by doing things for other people. And he hasn’t cried since he was 6 years old — he just doesn’t cry.” After three or four hours, they finally calmed him down. During this time, his nervous pacing was broken by fits of crying and sobbing. “It was,” Marge recalled, “two or three a.m. before we finally got him to bed.”
The next day, a friend asked Ron, “Do you realize where you slept last night?” Puzzled, Ron was led into one of the bedrooms. His friend pointed to the wall over a bed and Ron’s knees sagged. Of the six beds in the cabin, Ron had unknowingly selected one over which a popular painting had recently been hung. The picture was of a black wolf, water vapor streaming from each nostril, standing on a snow-covered hill overlooking a small farmstead. Nothing more was done until they returned to Duluth. Marge was concerned about Ron’s leg wound and the possibility of rabies. “Perhaps,” she theorized, “the attack happened because the wolf was rabid.”
A quick call to the hospital emergency room verified the fact that wolves do contract rabies, and rabies shots were prescribed. So began a series of 16 excruciating rabies injections for Ron. One look at the heavy needle and the syringe filled with red, mucuslike liquid was almost too much for him.
What really happened? Investigators from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Minnesota DNR visited the site two days after the attack. Unfortunately, it had snowed enough in the interim to erase whatever story tracks could have revealed. Here’s what they believe happened.
First and foremost, they believe an attack really happened. After detailed questioning of Ron, his parents and friends, they believe the events described here occurred just as Ron related them. Apparently, Ron had unknowingly stumbled into a deer chase by one or more wolves. Further, the investigators learned that during the deer season six weeks earlier, Ron had dumped “nearly a whole bottle” of deer-hunting sex scent on his clothing. Except for a reddish-brown outer coat, he was wearing the same clothing when attacked.
A quartering wind, a reddish-brown jacket similar in color to that of a deer, the deer scent on his clothing, plus his stealthy movements in very heavy cover probably fooled the wolf. Perhaps it was already in hot pursuit of a deer. The investigators speculate that the movement Ron saw just before the attack was a deer the wolf was chasing or perhaps it was another wolf.
They believe the attack itself supports their reasoning. When the wolf sprang, Ron was standing in a depression so that only his upper body was visible to the wolf. Another factor was the heavy stand of small balsam that softened Ron’s silhouette. Visibility in the area of the attack was only 10 to 15 feet.
Read Next: Will Wolves Attack a Man? A Frank Glaser Story, from the Archives
Although it seemed much longer to Ron, the investigators believe the attack lasted only two to five seconds. Then the wolf must have smelled strong human scent. Coupled with Ron’s yelling and the rifle firing, it was just too much for old lobo, and he broke off the attack. Both Ron and the game officials believe that had the wolf really wanted to kill him, it could have done so quite easily. Was this really an authentic attack on a human being, was the wolf rabid, or was it simply a case of mistaken identity? Only the wolf knows, and he’s not talking.
