03/13/2026
Predators Aren’t the Problem
I hunted a lot when I was young — about eighteen years of early mornings, cold fingers, and long sits in the woods. Those seasons were important to me. But life moved on, and I eventually set the rifle down. These days I’m still out there, just without the tag. I walk, I watch, and I pay attention. And when you’re not focused on filling a freezer, you start noticing the land in a different way.
I hear folks say the wolves have killed all the deer in the Northwoods, or that we’re overrun with predators — wolves, coyotes, bobcats, whatever animal they’re frustrated with that year. I understand the feeling. When you’re sitting in a stand and not seeing deer where you used to, it’s easy to blame the thing you notice most. Predators leave tracks. They show up on trail cams. They stick in your mind.
But here’s something the years have taught me: we’ve actually got more deer in this state than we did back when I was hunting. More predators too. More turkeys, more ducks, more bears, more of just about everything. The land as a whole is holding more wildlife than it did decades ago.
The catch is, they’re not spread out evenly. They never have been.
Some places blow up with deer until they’re eating every sapling in sight. Other places — especially the big woods up north — run lean. Same with predators. Same with grouse. Same with everything. Nature doesn’t deal the cards evenly across the map. So, when someone says, “There’s no deer left,” what they usually mean is, “There’s no deer here.” And that’s fair — local conditions matter. Habitat, winter, food, cover, pressure… all of those changes from one county to the next.
I’ve lived long enough to see spots that were dead quiet turn into great hunting a few years later, and places that used to be crawling with deer go quiet for a while. That’s not predators wiping things out. That’s just the land doing what the land does — shifting.
Back when I was young, the Northwoods were full of young, regenerating forests — the kind of habitat that pours out browse and edges and deer. Those woods were healthy enough that deer were everywhere, not because of anything we did, but because the land itself was producing. What’s changed isn’t just the number of animals on the landscape; it’s the forest itself. As those stands aged, the canopy closed and the understory thinned. The groceries disappeared. And when the habitat stops producing, everything struggles — deer, turkeys, and all the other wildlife people remember from those earlier years.
So, when someone says, “Wolves killed all the deer,” what they’re really seeing is a habitat that can’t support the numbers we grew up with. Wolves take deer, sure. So do coyotes. So do harsh winters. So do we. But if wolves could wipe out deer, we wouldn’t have strong deer seasons in Minnesota, Michigan, or Ontario. Yet we do. The system is tougher than we give it credit for.
And this idea that we’re “overrun” with predators — well, I’ve watched enough seasons come and go to know how that works. You get a couple trail‑cam photos, or you cut a fresh track in the snow, and it feels like they’re everywhere. But wolves hold territories. They don’t pile up endlessly. Bobcats boom when rabbits boom, then drop off again. Coyotes fill gaps when wolves aren’t around, then settle back when wolves return. It’s cycles — the same cycles I watched when I was still carrying a rifle.
What I’ve come to appreciate, now that I’m just out there enjoying the quiet, is that predators aren’t the enemy. A broken ecosystem is. When the woods are healthy — when there’s good cover, good browse, good mast — deer do just fine with wolves, coyotes, bobcats, and everything else on the landscape. When the habitat goes downhill, everything goes downhill with it.
Predators actually help keep the system running. Wolves keep deer moving so they don’t strip the same spots bare. Coyotes thin rodents and rabbits, which protects seeds and young plants. Foxes help ground‑nesting birds by keeping rodent pressure down. Raptors sweep the fields and keep rodent cycles from blowing up. Every one of them plays a part in keeping the land balanced — the same balance that gives us good hunting in the first place.
And that balance doesn’t stop with game animals. When deer over browse or when habitat gets worn down, the first things to disappear are the flowering plants — the very plants that feed our pollinators. Bees, butterflies, moths, beetles, even certain birds depend on those blooms. And we depend on pollinators, whether we think about it or not. They’re part of the chain that puts food on our tables, fills the orchards, and keeps the crops healthy that deer and turkeys rely on too. A balanced ecosystem isn’t just good for wildlife — it’s tied directly to our food supply and the land’s ability to keep providing for all of us.
And here’s something else the woods taught me: every species needs a different kind of management. Some animals reproduce fast and can handle more pressure. Others have slow life cycles and need more protection. Some thrive near people; others disappear when the habitat frays. Good management isn’t about wiping out predators. It’s about understanding each species’ biology and making decisions that keep the whole web intact.
I may not hunt anymore, but I still care deeply about this land. I want the next generation — whoever they are, whether they’re hunters or hikers or just folks who like to watch a deer cross a clearing — to inherit woods that are alive and balanced. And the truth is, that only happens when the whole system is working. Predators included. They’re not out there trying to ruin hunting. They’re just doing the job nature gave them.
We can manage them — we always have. But wiping them out? That’s not management. That’s just repeating the mistakes our grandparents already learned from. The woods taught me that everything out there has a role, and when the system is balanced, people benefit most of all.
That’s what the land has shown me over the years. And I figure it’s worth passing on.
