Wess Roley Obituary, Death Cause: Idaho Ambush Shooter Who Once Dreamed of Fighting Fires Dies After Fatally Shooting Two Firefighters in Coeur d’Alene Sniper-Style Attack on Canfield Mountain

In the steep, forested foothills of Canfield Mountain near Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, a tragedy unfolded on the morning of June 30, 2025, that left the region reeling, the firefighting community in mourning, and law enforcement agencies combing through evidence with painstaking care. The alleged perpetrator behind the sniper-style ambush that claimed the lives of two firefighters and injured a third has been identified as 20-year-old Wess Roley, a young man whose past bore signs of both deep internal struggles and an unusual, tragic irony: he once dreamed of becoming a firefighter himself.

According to Kootenai County Sheriff Robert Norris, the incident was a calculated act of deadly deception. Preliminary evidence indicates that Roley deliberately set a brush fire near the mountain in order to lure first responders into a fatal trap. Once firefighters arrived, Roley allegedly opened fire from a concealed position—possibly from within a tree—inflicting catastrophic casualties before turning the weapon on himself. His body was discovered at the scene, alongside a flint fire starter, a shotgun, and a long rifle. Investigators have since recovered rifled shotgun slugs and other forms of munitions consistent with a sniper-style attack.

There was no manifesto found, no letter of explanation, no social media post foreshadowing the horror. As Sheriff Norris plainly stated, “There is no known manifesto or clear motive at this time.” Yet what investigators have uncovered paints the chilling portrait of a disturbed young man with a troubled past, broken family ties, and a haunting contradiction: the same forests where he once envisioned saving lives became the stage for a deliberate and devastating act of targeted violence.

A Lure Set by Fire
The sequence of events began with a small blaze—just enough to require emergency attention, just enough to trigger a response from local firefighting teams. This was not an ordinary wildfire, nor a natural occurrence. Rather, authorities believe the fire was deliberately set by Roley himself, using a flint fire starter found on his person, to draw in unsuspecting responders.

Roley’s understanding of fire behavior, forest terrain, and emergency response procedures may not have been incidental. His grandfather, Dale Roley, told reporters that Wess came from a family of arborists and had worked in the tree services industry. “He wanted to be a fireman—he was doing tree work and he wanted to be a fireman in the forest,” Dale said. “As far as I know, he was actually pursuing it.” Whether he studied firefighting formally or simply imagined a future in it, Wess had reportedly expressed a genuine interest in joining the ranks of those who protect lives and land.

It is unclear how long Roley had planned the attack or whether the fire itself was set with calculated precision. But once the fire began to smolder and spread, first responders were dispatched to contain it. They never expected the ambush awaiting them.

When firefighters arrived, the situation escalated immediately. Shots rang out from an elevated and concealed location—possibly a tree—suggesting a sniper-style assault that gave Roley clear line-of-sight advantages over the victims. Two firefighters were killed during the assault. A third sustained injuries and was transported to receive medical care. The exact identities of the victims had not yet been released at the time of reporting, but the loss resonated across the state and among fire departments nationwide.

Shortly after the shooting began, Roley was found dead, apparently having taken his own life.

A Haunting Past
Born in California and having lived in Arizona and Idaho, Wess Roley’s life was marked by geographic movement and domestic turmoil. Public records reveal that his parents divorced in 2015 when he was just 10 years old. The court documents attached to the divorce are disturbing, foreshadowing the darkness that would later erupt.

In her petition for separation, Roley’s mother accused his father of repeated episodes of domestic violence. The allegations included being pushed to the ground, witnessing property destruction—such as punched-in walls—and enduring threats of extreme violence. Most chillingly, she stated that Roley’s father had threatened to burn the house down or use a sniper rifle against her. These are not metaphors or exaggerations—they are explicit threats that eerily mirror the type of violence Wess Roley would eventually inflict upon others a decade later.

A protective order was granted at the time, initially including young Wess. However, it was later modified to allow contact between father and son after the father claimed he posed no threat. Whether that contact resumed in a healthy manner is not publicly known. What is known is that Roley carried some weight from his childhood with him into adulthood—weight that would eventually manifest in a violent and irreversible way.

As a young adult, Roley spent time in Phoenix, Arizona, before relocating to Idaho. His social media presence was sparse, though one post showed him vacationing with his mother in Hawaii last year. His grandfather reported that he and Wess spoke weekly but had not been in contact for about a month before the attack, after Wess reportedly lost his phone. Law enforcement now believes that at the time of the ambush, Roley may have been living in his vehicle.

The disconnect—between familial ambition and operational violence, between wanting to protect and choosing to destroy—makes this tragedy all the more difficult to understand. What pushes a man from aspiring heroism to calculated destruction? For now, there is no clear answer, no guiding manifesto, no political or ideological trigger.

A Calculated Assault
The tactical nature of the ambush raises difficult questions about Roley’s state of mind and the level of premeditation involved. Sheriff Norris confirmed that both a long rifle and a shotgun were in Roley’s possession, though investigators have not publicly confirmed which weapon was used in the killings. The presence of rifled shotgun slugs at the scene, however, suggests long-range targeting and sniper-like execution.

This was not a frenzied outburst or random act of violence—it was a coordinated trap. The creation of the fire, the apparent selection of a concealed firing position, and the calculated timing all point to an intent to kill, not merely to lash out. This was a methodical act engineered for maximum damage against unsuspecting first responders.

Even more chilling is the sheriff’s statement that there was some form of verbal interaction between Roley and the firefighters before the shooting began. Whether this was a warning, a taunt, or a last-minute psychological negotiation remains unclear. But it confirms one more harrowing detail: the victims likely saw and heard their killer before he pulled the trigger.

Mourning and Fallout
As news of the ambush spread, shock turned into sorrow across Coeur d’Alene and beyond. Fire departments across the region lowered their flags to half-mast. Messages of condolence began pouring in from all corners of the nation. The loss of life—especially in such a violent, premeditated manner—cut deep into the heart of a profession defined by sacrifice.

Firefighters are trained to face risk—but not to become targets. They rush into danger to save others, not to be met with gunfire from a tree. In small towns and sprawling cities alike, departments held internal moments of silence for the fallen. In many cases, words failed.

The surviving firefighter, whose injuries were not detailed in the initial reports, faces a long road to recovery—not only from physical wounds but from the psychological scars that such trauma inevitably leaves behind. For the families of the deceased, the grief is only beginning.

Unanswered Questions
Why did Wess Roley do it? Why lure in and execute those whose job it is to help? What was the trigger in his personal life that led him to this point?

Sheriff Norris was emphatic in reiterating that no political motive or ideological manifesto has been discovered. This was not a terrorism case, nor does it appear to have been an act of retaliation. Yet that only deepens the mystery. In a time when mass violence is often accompanied by screeds, manifestos, or ideological pronouncements, the silence surrounding Roley’s motivations is unsettling. It offers no narrative, no justification, no closure—only grief and confusion.

The absence of clear motive means that the focus now shifts to background, behavior, and history. Investigators will be combing through Roley’s digital footprint, past contacts, financial activity, and physical possessions. Every scrap of information could be meaningful: books he read, text messages he sent, online communities he frequented. Anything that might provide even the faintest outline of intent.

The deeper question, of course, is whether this attack was preventable. Were there warning signs that went unnoticed or unheeded? Did Roley exhibit behaviors—withdrawal, obsession with violence, erratic behavior—that should have raised flags?

A Broader Pattern?
Though rare, targeted attacks against first responders have been rising in number and complexity in recent years. The idea that firefighters, medics, or utility workers could be deliberately lured into deadly situations is a growing concern among public safety officials. Many departments now train personnel in “situational ambush awareness,” particularly in regions with tense civil conditions or high-risk callouts.

Yet even these protocols are often geared toward urban or riot scenarios—not isolated forested ridges in rural Idaho. The idea of firemen being sniped from the trees remains, mercifully, almost unheard of. And yet, here it has happened.

This ambush forces a hard reckoning: Are first responders adequately protected in remote environments? Should fire departments be issued ballistic protection or undergo active shooter scenario training? Should dispatchers be trained to assess calls for potential lures?

More broadly, the tragedy invokes questions about mental health services in rural and semi-rural America. For someone like Roley—possibly living in his vehicle, out of contact with family, and harboring mental or emotional turmoil—the available social safety nets may have been too sparse or too late.

Moving Forward
As the investigation into Wess Roley’s actions continues, the community’s focus will gradually shift toward healing and memorializing the dead. Plans for public services, firefighter memorials, and statewide tributes will likely follow. But the pain will persist for much longer than the headlines.

For the Kootenai County Sheriff’s Office and all agencies involved in the response, there will be lessons learned, policies reviewed, and strategies developed. Yet even the most comprehensive procedural overhaul cannot undo what happened that day on Canfield Mountain.

In the stillness of that ridge, where the pine needles rustle and the smoke has cleared, the aftermath lingers like a wound in the landscape—one that marks not just the loss of life, but the loss of security in the very people sworn to protect life and land.

Wess Roley is dead. So are two public servants who woke that morning with the intention of keeping their community safe. No ideology. No demands. Just silence, smoke, and blood.

And now, the hardest question of all: Why?