T Bone
Well-known member
Refilled the popcorn bowl.... Please continue Randy.
Alaska Black Bear - Part II
- Thread starter Big Fin
- Start date
drahthaar
Active member
yes..... and........ come on!!!!
npaden
Well-known member
Heh, I guess I'm not the only one hitting refresh on my computer!
Probably need to issue a spoiler alert or something pretty soon. It will be interesting to watch the TV show when you already know what happens.
Probably need to issue a spoiler alert or something pretty soon. It will be interesting to watch the TV show when you already know what happens.
Day 6 - Continued
Not a lot of words were spoken as we left this bay. We were all bumming. The biggest bear of the trip had slipped through our fingers. If we couldn't capitalize on that grand opportunity, could make anything work? Troy was really bumming, as the footage was not that great, when the bear is that far away. Major downer.
Now what do we do? The great weather looks to be coming to an end. It is deemed we will head back toward camp and hope we can find some of those bears we spotted and chased last night.
I have the throttle open and we are bouncing down the straights. Chit, I am snake bit when it comes to Alaska bear hunting. Lots of doubts and second guessing are going through my mind.
As we buzz past a place I chased a bear last year, Joe taps me on the shoulder. He sees a bear on the bank. I lower the throttle and we come to a quick halt. We glass the bear about 250 yards away. He is facing right at us. This is a nice bear. Not as big as a couple that we have seen, but no doubt a boar. As he looks at us, I can tell he is wide in the front. In the rain it is hard to tell exactly how big he is, but I tell Joe he looks to be a boar and if he wants to shoot it, we should give it a go.
Without even answering, Joe starts getting his gear ready. He fully intends to make this one work, and you can see the determination on his face. I swing the boat to the west. Having beached a boat here last year, I knew we had a deep spot right next to shore. That is a welcome change from all the rocky shallows we had been dealing with. I throttle way down, trying to be as quiet as possible. Troy is adjusting audio and getting rain covers on his gear.
I kill the throttle and momentum is bringing us to the rocks. Joe is on the bow, ready to stop the boat from making a loud bang on the rocks. This bear is close and any noise might mess us up.
I look down at the depth finder 6.5 feet. I look around the windshield to tell Joe to wait 'til we get closer, as this is a deep cove. As my head peeks around the console I see Joe launch himself over the bow. Though he is only 20 feet from shore, Joe is quickly in water over his head.
He completely disappears. Troy is yelling for him to get to shore and forget about the boat. I run to the bow and see Joe trying his best to get his water-filled waders to shallow water. I reach down to try grab him, but he is too far out.
I yell for him to forget about the rifle, while he fights to keep one arm and the rifle above the water. I doubt he hears me, as his head looks under the water. An ever-caring rifleman, even in the face of great danger.
Three or four big lunges and some bobbing under the water and he gets to the four-foot depth. Joe stands up and is trying to catch his breath after filling his waders with 35F salt water. He looks back and still has the rifle over his head, trying to keep it from the salt water.
Seeing he is OK, I raise the motor out of the water, jump out, and grab hold of him to make sure he is gonna make it.. That was a close call. So much for this opportunity.
Joe starts laughing. Realizing he is in good enough spirits to laugh, Troy and I join him in this outburst. What the hell were you thinking, Joe? Well, this was the first clear water we had seen, and he thought it was much shallower than it really was. And, feeling bummed that the last opportunity got away, he was even more committed to making sure the boat made no noise as we hit the rocks. Well, the boat made no noise, but we sure did.
It took a few minutes to compose ourselves. Joe's remote mic was toast. Troy was scrambling for the back up audio and was fishing through the piles of dry bags on the boat. We told Joe to get in the boat, knowing with this rain and wind, that cold weather/water was a recipe for hypothermia. He protested. He stated his wader belt kept him from taking on too much water, and he wanted to go see if the bear was still around the corner. Yeah, right!
At Joe's insistence, we re-miked him, gathered ourselves and our gear, then walked the 100 yards around the rock corner. I almost dropped when I saw the bear still grazing in the rain. No way. This stuff doesn't happen to us.
I asked Joe what he wanted to do. He said that after all of this, he was shooting that bear if I could assure him it was a boar. As if on que, the bear turned toward us and sat on his butt, sniffing the wind that was now to our disadvantage. He looked straight at us. No doubt, this was a boar. His front end was wide as was his skull. The ears were further apart.
I told Joe it was a boar, and if he wanted him, I had a range of 126 yards. Easy work for the .308 and this new Howa rifle. Joe told me he was shooting this bear.
Joe asked if Troy was ready. I looked at Troy. Troy gave the thumbs up. I told Joe that all was a go. Joe asked where he should aim. I told him I thought at this quartering angle, the front left shoulder was best.
I heard Joe click the safety as I watched through the binos. The bear was looking back, indicating he was ready to leave the calamity. Joe said, "Here it goes."
Boom! Thwack!
The bear spun a couple quick spins. Joe jacked in another round. No need. The bear went about twenty yards and was done.
I turned to the camera and Troy was laughing hysterically. I could not control myself. I joined Troy as Joe looked at us in disbelief that this had really happened.
After all the great chances we had failed to capitalize on, a circus such as this results in a dead bear. No way. I am still shaking my head as to how we could pull that together after Joe taking the big plunge, the scramble for new audio, and all the time that had expired as we tried to inventory Joe's ability to continue.
We walked up and saw this was a very nice bear. Not huge, but nice. We rolled him over and confirmed he was a boar.
Joe was ecstatic. So was I. A great shot had put the bear down before he even reached the forest.
The size of the bear was not what gave us such a great feeling of accomplishment. All we had overcome and all the challenges of filming in this weather was an accomplishment in itself.
With the rain hammering down, we took some pics. I went to the boat and got it as close to shore as we could. It was getting dark, so we wanted to get the bear back to camp before we lost all light. The skinning and quartering went fast. In short order, the bear was hanging in game bags and we were heading to the cabin for warm dinner and drying out some clothes.
Of all the scary, but funny hunting ordeals I have ever been involved with, Joe's jump over the bow is at the top. Way at the top. I went from concern about his well being, to laughing humor, within two minutes. And for him to have finally killed a bear as part of this fiasco is beyond my imagination. I don't think the tape will do justice to what a train wreck this was, but Troy was running when Joe went for his plunge, so you will get to see it "As it happened."
Here is a picture of Joe's bear. A very nice bear by all standards. Rubbed, but a trophy for most anyone.
Will post the rest of the hunt when I get to Seattle. In Juneau right now and will be boarding soon.
I think you will find it to be worth the wait.
Not a lot of words were spoken as we left this bay. We were all bumming. The biggest bear of the trip had slipped through our fingers. If we couldn't capitalize on that grand opportunity, could make anything work? Troy was really bumming, as the footage was not that great, when the bear is that far away. Major downer.
Now what do we do? The great weather looks to be coming to an end. It is deemed we will head back toward camp and hope we can find some of those bears we spotted and chased last night.
I have the throttle open and we are bouncing down the straights. Chit, I am snake bit when it comes to Alaska bear hunting. Lots of doubts and second guessing are going through my mind.
As we buzz past a place I chased a bear last year, Joe taps me on the shoulder. He sees a bear on the bank. I lower the throttle and we come to a quick halt. We glass the bear about 250 yards away. He is facing right at us. This is a nice bear. Not as big as a couple that we have seen, but no doubt a boar. As he looks at us, I can tell he is wide in the front. In the rain it is hard to tell exactly how big he is, but I tell Joe he looks to be a boar and if he wants to shoot it, we should give it a go.
Without even answering, Joe starts getting his gear ready. He fully intends to make this one work, and you can see the determination on his face. I swing the boat to the west. Having beached a boat here last year, I knew we had a deep spot right next to shore. That is a welcome change from all the rocky shallows we had been dealing with. I throttle way down, trying to be as quiet as possible. Troy is adjusting audio and getting rain covers on his gear.
I kill the throttle and momentum is bringing us to the rocks. Joe is on the bow, ready to stop the boat from making a loud bang on the rocks. This bear is close and any noise might mess us up.
I look down at the depth finder 6.5 feet. I look around the windshield to tell Joe to wait 'til we get closer, as this is a deep cove. As my head peeks around the console I see Joe launch himself over the bow. Though he is only 20 feet from shore, Joe is quickly in water over his head.
He completely disappears. Troy is yelling for him to get to shore and forget about the boat. I run to the bow and see Joe trying his best to get his water-filled waders to shallow water. I reach down to try grab him, but he is too far out.
I yell for him to forget about the rifle, while he fights to keep one arm and the rifle above the water. I doubt he hears me, as his head looks under the water. An ever-caring rifleman, even in the face of great danger.
Three or four big lunges and some bobbing under the water and he gets to the four-foot depth. Joe stands up and is trying to catch his breath after filling his waders with 35F salt water. He looks back and still has the rifle over his head, trying to keep it from the salt water.
Seeing he is OK, I raise the motor out of the water, jump out, and grab hold of him to make sure he is gonna make it.. That was a close call. So much for this opportunity.
Joe starts laughing. Realizing he is in good enough spirits to laugh, Troy and I join him in this outburst. What the hell were you thinking, Joe? Well, this was the first clear water we had seen, and he thought it was much shallower than it really was. And, feeling bummed that the last opportunity got away, he was even more committed to making sure the boat made no noise as we hit the rocks. Well, the boat made no noise, but we sure did.
It took a few minutes to compose ourselves. Joe's remote mic was toast. Troy was scrambling for the back up audio and was fishing through the piles of dry bags on the boat. We told Joe to get in the boat, knowing with this rain and wind, that cold weather/water was a recipe for hypothermia. He protested. He stated his wader belt kept him from taking on too much water, and he wanted to go see if the bear was still around the corner. Yeah, right!
At Joe's insistence, we re-miked him, gathered ourselves and our gear, then walked the 100 yards around the rock corner. I almost dropped when I saw the bear still grazing in the rain. No way. This stuff doesn't happen to us.
I asked Joe what he wanted to do. He said that after all of this, he was shooting that bear if I could assure him it was a boar. As if on que, the bear turned toward us and sat on his butt, sniffing the wind that was now to our disadvantage. He looked straight at us. No doubt, this was a boar. His front end was wide as was his skull. The ears were further apart.
I told Joe it was a boar, and if he wanted him, I had a range of 126 yards. Easy work for the .308 and this new Howa rifle. Joe told me he was shooting this bear.
Joe asked if Troy was ready. I looked at Troy. Troy gave the thumbs up. I told Joe that all was a go. Joe asked where he should aim. I told him I thought at this quartering angle, the front left shoulder was best.
I heard Joe click the safety as I watched through the binos. The bear was looking back, indicating he was ready to leave the calamity. Joe said, "Here it goes."
Boom! Thwack!
The bear spun a couple quick spins. Joe jacked in another round. No need. The bear went about twenty yards and was done.
I turned to the camera and Troy was laughing hysterically. I could not control myself. I joined Troy as Joe looked at us in disbelief that this had really happened.
After all the great chances we had failed to capitalize on, a circus such as this results in a dead bear. No way. I am still shaking my head as to how we could pull that together after Joe taking the big plunge, the scramble for new audio, and all the time that had expired as we tried to inventory Joe's ability to continue.
We walked up and saw this was a very nice bear. Not huge, but nice. We rolled him over and confirmed he was a boar.
Joe was ecstatic. So was I. A great shot had put the bear down before he even reached the forest.
The size of the bear was not what gave us such a great feeling of accomplishment. All we had overcome and all the challenges of filming in this weather was an accomplishment in itself.
With the rain hammering down, we took some pics. I went to the boat and got it as close to shore as we could. It was getting dark, so we wanted to get the bear back to camp before we lost all light. The skinning and quartering went fast. In short order, the bear was hanging in game bags and we were heading to the cabin for warm dinner and drying out some clothes.
Of all the scary, but funny hunting ordeals I have ever been involved with, Joe's jump over the bow is at the top. Way at the top. I went from concern about his well being, to laughing humor, within two minutes. And for him to have finally killed a bear as part of this fiasco is beyond my imagination. I don't think the tape will do justice to what a train wreck this was, but Troy was running when Joe went for his plunge, so you will get to see it "As it happened."
Here is a picture of Joe's bear. A very nice bear by all standards. Rubbed, but a trophy for most anyone.
Will post the rest of the hunt when I get to Seattle. In Juneau right now and will be boarding soon.
I think you will find it to be worth the wait.
MNHunter
Well-known member
Good stuff Fin! Congrats Joe, Randy & Troy!
drahthaar
Active member
UNFLIPPING BELIEVABLE!! What an ending. The fact that cameras were rolling on the plunge is priceless.
Goldtip
New member
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2009
- Messages
- 1,142
Amazing story, congrats to Joe on a very good bear.
Day 7 - Randy's turn
With Joe having tagged his bear, we were committed to getting one more. We had all day today, and half day tomorrow. The bears seemed to be much more cooperative. I told Joe I want to shoot one of those two big ones we had seen up north, especially the one that had disappeared from him and Troy two days earlier.
The clouds were here again, but the wind was only 10 mph and very little drizzle. It looked like it might clear up and be beautiful again later in the day. The forecast was good.
We got going before the incoming high tide, which was around 9AM. Right away, we see some bears. One is in a back bay that Joe and I had said "Sure looks beary" every time we motored by. This time Joe spotted one on the beach, not far off the main channel that this bay joins into. We stopped and idled. While glassing, we knew this was a really good bear. Just how good was hard to tell, but in short order, Troy and I left Joe to man the boat and we were making tracks along the shore.
As I came around the corner the bear was feeding from right to left. We were downwind and he was feeding across from us at 180 yards. I moved forward to 155. He turned and looked at me. This was a really nice bear. I told Troy I was moving forward further. He asked me what the hell I was waiting for. The footage would be perfect. I wanted "more perfect" and I wanted a complete view of the bear, from all angles. He was big, but I was thinking we had seen two bears bigger, and one that was way bigger.
Troy followed along until I got to 115 yards. The bear had no idea we were there. He walked straight away. He was a wide body, for sure. He turned sideways and let me take some pictures of him. He had a big sagging belly. The noggin looked to be a real good one. Yet, in spite of all of that, I could not get myself to pull the trigger.
The weather had eaten about three days of our hunt. Searching and investigation has taken three more. I did not come here, for the second year in a row, to hurry myself and not milk it for all I could. I wanted to soak it in and make sure I had done all I could to give Alaska my best effort.
If this trip was about shooting a great bear, I would end the story here. It was a great bear. A great set-up. All the planets had aligned. But, it was my hunt, and I was wanting more from it. When you see the footage, you will think I have lost my mind. And, maybe I had. To me, the beauty of hunting is that each hunter defines what he/she wants from the experience. I had yet to get from the experience all I wanted. So, I put the scope covers back on and walked back to the boat.
Troy was shaking his head. Joe was not there to see what a great chance it was, but given Troy's narration, I think Joe was quickly swayed to Troy's camp - Randy was losing it.
The sun came out and the wind died down. Time for some TV. Even with only a day left to hunt, we still had some TV work to do. So, we set up on a big island and started doing some interviews and scenics. I accept that as part of this TV gig. I wouldn't ask guest hunters to interrupt their final day for such minutia, but that is why our show is the quality it is. After that session Troy told me he was done filming anything other than bears betting shot. Sounds good to me.
The next sequence is going to take a long time to type and post, so I am going to finish it on my way to Seattle and hopefully can post it there. In the mean time, here is a photo of the bear I passed. As big as he is, he is not nearly as big as two others we had chased.
With Joe having tagged his bear, we were committed to getting one more. We had all day today, and half day tomorrow. The bears seemed to be much more cooperative. I told Joe I want to shoot one of those two big ones we had seen up north, especially the one that had disappeared from him and Troy two days earlier.
The clouds were here again, but the wind was only 10 mph and very little drizzle. It looked like it might clear up and be beautiful again later in the day. The forecast was good.
We got going before the incoming high tide, which was around 9AM. Right away, we see some bears. One is in a back bay that Joe and I had said "Sure looks beary" every time we motored by. This time Joe spotted one on the beach, not far off the main channel that this bay joins into. We stopped and idled. While glassing, we knew this was a really good bear. Just how good was hard to tell, but in short order, Troy and I left Joe to man the boat and we were making tracks along the shore.
As I came around the corner the bear was feeding from right to left. We were downwind and he was feeding across from us at 180 yards. I moved forward to 155. He turned and looked at me. This was a really nice bear. I told Troy I was moving forward further. He asked me what the hell I was waiting for. The footage would be perfect. I wanted "more perfect" and I wanted a complete view of the bear, from all angles. He was big, but I was thinking we had seen two bears bigger, and one that was way bigger.
Troy followed along until I got to 115 yards. The bear had no idea we were there. He walked straight away. He was a wide body, for sure. He turned sideways and let me take some pictures of him. He had a big sagging belly. The noggin looked to be a real good one. Yet, in spite of all of that, I could not get myself to pull the trigger.
The weather had eaten about three days of our hunt. Searching and investigation has taken three more. I did not come here, for the second year in a row, to hurry myself and not milk it for all I could. I wanted to soak it in and make sure I had done all I could to give Alaska my best effort.
If this trip was about shooting a great bear, I would end the story here. It was a great bear. A great set-up. All the planets had aligned. But, it was my hunt, and I was wanting more from it. When you see the footage, you will think I have lost my mind. And, maybe I had. To me, the beauty of hunting is that each hunter defines what he/she wants from the experience. I had yet to get from the experience all I wanted. So, I put the scope covers back on and walked back to the boat.
Troy was shaking his head. Joe was not there to see what a great chance it was, but given Troy's narration, I think Joe was quickly swayed to Troy's camp - Randy was losing it.
The sun came out and the wind died down. Time for some TV. Even with only a day left to hunt, we still had some TV work to do. So, we set up on a big island and started doing some interviews and scenics. I accept that as part of this TV gig. I wouldn't ask guest hunters to interrupt their final day for such minutia, but that is why our show is the quality it is. After that session Troy told me he was done filming anything other than bears betting shot. Sounds good to me.
The next sequence is going to take a long time to type and post, so I am going to finish it on my way to Seattle and hopefully can post it there. In the mean time, here is a photo of the bear I passed. As big as he is, he is not nearly as big as two others we had chased.
shoots-straight
Well-known member
You are nuts! Great story for a crazy man.
Day 7 - Part II
After some TV junk, we went and looked for "Mr. Regular" up on the bay where Joe had the close encounter yesterday. We had seen that bear most every time we had cruised that bay, so I hoped he would be there. He is the King of the Woods in this place. Of all bears we had seen, he was so much bigger, it almost was hard to think of him as a black bear. But, since there are not grizz/brownies on this island and he was jet black, we know he was a blackie.
We cruised the bay slowly, glassing as hard as we can. No dice. The sun was now out in full array, and it was easy to see anything as black and shimmering as that bear would be. We killed the motor and drifted in the middle of the bay for almost an hour, hoping he would come out. Given we had all afternoon, all evening, and tomorrow until noon, I was going to be patient and give this guy time to make a reappearance.
After a while, we motored to the south side of the bay where the creek came in, hoping that big bear might be back in the creek mouth and give me a chance. Nope, he hadn't read the script, or he just was being uncooperative. So, we moved on.
We cruised some more islands. I had beached the boat to stretch and go answer nature's call. A boat came around into this small bay, and it looked like two guys trolling for salmon. They saw we were bear hunting and shouted out that they had just trolled by a really big bear on the south side of the island. Were they for real, or were they giving us the BS line? With it being not much past noon, we decided to motor over there and find out.
As we cruised the shoreline, we saw nothing. We slowed down and give it the hard glass. Nope, no bear. We motored out to the where the island reached some bigger water. Still no bear.
Oh well, not the first time I had followed a crazy rumor from some stranger, only ot be the one who was made a fool of. I turned around and we decided to slowly cruise the shore back to where we had first seen these guys. Upon rounding the point that formed the last bay of this island, I noticed a black outline in the brush. I stopped the boat and told Joe I thought I saw a bear.
He raised his binos and said, "Yeah, a big bear." I think there was some more colorful adjectives and descriptions, but what it boiled down to was this - Those fisherman knew a big bear when they saw one, and here he was, standing on the beach about 400 yards away. The big problem was the wind. It was coming from the south and blowing almost directly back into the bay.
We really had no choice. The little inlet was too small to motor across. He would see and hear us for sure. And, the wind would take our scent directly to him as we did that. Our best bet was to circle back and hide the boat behind the point from which we had just emerged. That would hopefully be a slight angling wind, not directly to him.
This bear was big. Bigger than any bear I had passed in my two trips to Alaska. Not sure if he was as big as "Mr. Regular," but he looked like he had no rubs. The light was great, the footage would be spectacular of we could get close enough. OK, the time had come for me to get serious about shooting a big Alaska black bear.
We beached the boat and no one got soaked. The tide was coming in and close to high tide, so we were not too worried about the tides messing with the boat while we made the stalk. I grabbed my new Howa .300 Win, shouldered my Crew Cab and started down the beach. I gave Joe the rangefinder and asked if he would range any shot for me. Troy was filming as we went.
The rocks were very noisy. The saving grace was the noise waves make as they beat against the shore. I doubted he would hear this train of humans as we stumbled over this rocky beach, making a clank and clatter with every dropping boot step.
When we rounded the last point of brush, I could see the bear down the beach. He was obscured by some brush, so I felt comfortable easing up to a big pile of driftwood. From there, Joe ranged the distance as 264 yards. Easy money.
From this higher point on the beach, the bear was covered by too much brush. I told Troy to follow me as I dropped down toward the waterline and to a nice rock where I could lay down and rest my rifle across my pack. We did that. The bear decided he was tired and went and laid down in a pile of alders, though still very visible to us. I was not going to chance a shot with the brush in the way.
I looked at Joe and told him I would like to get up to that really big rock between us and the bear. I had no more than said that and the bear sat up and started sniffing the wind. Our wind was blowing a few degrees left of him, or so it seemed from this point. But, given his new alertness and how hard he was testing the air currents, I was worried that our gig was up. Going further another 100 yards to that big rock would probably blow this chance.
Instead, I settled in and got very comfortable. I told Troy to be ready. I was going to shoot as soon as the bear stood and cleared the brush. After a few minutes, the bear did just that.
He walked from the brush, out toward the water line, leaving me a completely unobstructed view. But, he was walking toward us and getting closer to our scent stream. The bear stopped and looked right at us. I had my binos on him and told Troy this was a big bear and as soon as he turned, I would drill him.
I dropped the binos and got ready. Dead solid rest. I practiced the hold on him as he looked at us. Not sure what he was doing, but he stood there for a while.
Finally, he turned as if he was going to walk back into the forest. I was ready. He took about two steps and stopped for some grass. He was now quartering to me.
I held for the near side front should. The trigger broke clean and the shot rang out. Shortly followed by a loud crack.
The bear whirled and ran five yards down toward the beach, then leaped back toward the brush line, snapping at his left leg. He paused for a few seconds and Joe was yelling for me to shoot again. I wanted to, but he stopped right behind the big rock I had thought about scurrying up to. Joe kept and eye on him as he stumbled into the brush.
Wow, things had all come together. A huge bear did his part. Troy thought the shot looked a little low on the view finder. I felt it was a perfect hit. The loud crack of the bullet hitting gave me confidence that my Alaska black bear hunt had come to a happy ending. Joe and I were doing warhoops and dancing some sort of jig at the joy or our great fortunes.
Troy kept us behind to get a couple tight cuts to make sure he had everything. He had set up a second camera as we waited for the bear to give us the shot, so I am sure he has it as good as it can be. But, being the perfectionist he is, he wanted more. No biggie. I wanted to give the bear a while to die. Really didn't want to chase a bear into these thick woods without giving him plenty of time to give up the ghost.
This post is getting too long for the allowable characters, so I will continue it with another post.
After some TV junk, we went and looked for "Mr. Regular" up on the bay where Joe had the close encounter yesterday. We had seen that bear most every time we had cruised that bay, so I hoped he would be there. He is the King of the Woods in this place. Of all bears we had seen, he was so much bigger, it almost was hard to think of him as a black bear. But, since there are not grizz/brownies on this island and he was jet black, we know he was a blackie.
We cruised the bay slowly, glassing as hard as we can. No dice. The sun was now out in full array, and it was easy to see anything as black and shimmering as that bear would be. We killed the motor and drifted in the middle of the bay for almost an hour, hoping he would come out. Given we had all afternoon, all evening, and tomorrow until noon, I was going to be patient and give this guy time to make a reappearance.
After a while, we motored to the south side of the bay where the creek came in, hoping that big bear might be back in the creek mouth and give me a chance. Nope, he hadn't read the script, or he just was being uncooperative. So, we moved on.
We cruised some more islands. I had beached the boat to stretch and go answer nature's call. A boat came around into this small bay, and it looked like two guys trolling for salmon. They saw we were bear hunting and shouted out that they had just trolled by a really big bear on the south side of the island. Were they for real, or were they giving us the BS line? With it being not much past noon, we decided to motor over there and find out.
As we cruised the shoreline, we saw nothing. We slowed down and give it the hard glass. Nope, no bear. We motored out to the where the island reached some bigger water. Still no bear.
Oh well, not the first time I had followed a crazy rumor from some stranger, only ot be the one who was made a fool of. I turned around and we decided to slowly cruise the shore back to where we had first seen these guys. Upon rounding the point that formed the last bay of this island, I noticed a black outline in the brush. I stopped the boat and told Joe I thought I saw a bear.
He raised his binos and said, "Yeah, a big bear." I think there was some more colorful adjectives and descriptions, but what it boiled down to was this - Those fisherman knew a big bear when they saw one, and here he was, standing on the beach about 400 yards away. The big problem was the wind. It was coming from the south and blowing almost directly back into the bay.
We really had no choice. The little inlet was too small to motor across. He would see and hear us for sure. And, the wind would take our scent directly to him as we did that. Our best bet was to circle back and hide the boat behind the point from which we had just emerged. That would hopefully be a slight angling wind, not directly to him.
This bear was big. Bigger than any bear I had passed in my two trips to Alaska. Not sure if he was as big as "Mr. Regular," but he looked like he had no rubs. The light was great, the footage would be spectacular of we could get close enough. OK, the time had come for me to get serious about shooting a big Alaska black bear.
We beached the boat and no one got soaked. The tide was coming in and close to high tide, so we were not too worried about the tides messing with the boat while we made the stalk. I grabbed my new Howa .300 Win, shouldered my Crew Cab and started down the beach. I gave Joe the rangefinder and asked if he would range any shot for me. Troy was filming as we went.
The rocks were very noisy. The saving grace was the noise waves make as they beat against the shore. I doubted he would hear this train of humans as we stumbled over this rocky beach, making a clank and clatter with every dropping boot step.
When we rounded the last point of brush, I could see the bear down the beach. He was obscured by some brush, so I felt comfortable easing up to a big pile of driftwood. From there, Joe ranged the distance as 264 yards. Easy money.
From this higher point on the beach, the bear was covered by too much brush. I told Troy to follow me as I dropped down toward the waterline and to a nice rock where I could lay down and rest my rifle across my pack. We did that. The bear decided he was tired and went and laid down in a pile of alders, though still very visible to us. I was not going to chance a shot with the brush in the way.
I looked at Joe and told him I would like to get up to that really big rock between us and the bear. I had no more than said that and the bear sat up and started sniffing the wind. Our wind was blowing a few degrees left of him, or so it seemed from this point. But, given his new alertness and how hard he was testing the air currents, I was worried that our gig was up. Going further another 100 yards to that big rock would probably blow this chance.
Instead, I settled in and got very comfortable. I told Troy to be ready. I was going to shoot as soon as the bear stood and cleared the brush. After a few minutes, the bear did just that.
He walked from the brush, out toward the water line, leaving me a completely unobstructed view. But, he was walking toward us and getting closer to our scent stream. The bear stopped and looked right at us. I had my binos on him and told Troy this was a big bear and as soon as he turned, I would drill him.
I dropped the binos and got ready. Dead solid rest. I practiced the hold on him as he looked at us. Not sure what he was doing, but he stood there for a while.
Finally, he turned as if he was going to walk back into the forest. I was ready. He took about two steps and stopped for some grass. He was now quartering to me.
I held for the near side front should. The trigger broke clean and the shot rang out. Shortly followed by a loud crack.
The bear whirled and ran five yards down toward the beach, then leaped back toward the brush line, snapping at his left leg. He paused for a few seconds and Joe was yelling for me to shoot again. I wanted to, but he stopped right behind the big rock I had thought about scurrying up to. Joe kept and eye on him as he stumbled into the brush.
Wow, things had all come together. A huge bear did his part. Troy thought the shot looked a little low on the view finder. I felt it was a perfect hit. The loud crack of the bullet hitting gave me confidence that my Alaska black bear hunt had come to a happy ending. Joe and I were doing warhoops and dancing some sort of jig at the joy or our great fortunes.
Troy kept us behind to get a couple tight cuts to make sure he had everything. He had set up a second camera as we waited for the bear to give us the shot, so I am sure he has it as good as it can be. But, being the perfectionist he is, he wanted more. No biggie. I wanted to give the bear a while to die. Really didn't want to chase a bear into these thick woods without giving him plenty of time to give up the ghost.
This post is getting too long for the allowable characters, so I will continue it with another post.
Lawnboy
Well-known member
You're killing me smalls!
Day 7 - Part III
So, after about 45 minutes, we find ourselves at the piece of brush where the bear had posed for his TV debut. We search the rocks for blood. In short order, we find blood on the rocks and follow it up to the brush line. Once in the brush line we see a lot of blood where it looks like the bear had stopped. Good signs, for sure.
I drop my pack at that spot of blood and start moving forward to the next blood spot, Bright red blood on green moss and ferns is easy to see. At least in the amounts we are finding. The trail turns downwind from our position, taking the bear further away from the original location of the shot. The trail is at times lost, but with scuff marks and more blood, we quickly get back on track.
Now the trail turns back into the deep forest. Those of you who have been in SE Alaska know how ugly and thick it can get. This bear decides that when he dies, he is going to die in a spot where the hunter will earn his keep to retrieve the carcass.
It is terrible going. We are now 200 yards into the trail and it has taken at least 20 minutes. The direction he is heading only gets worse. He is climbing over big dead Sitka Spruce, then under them, then through the worst alders and Devil's club patches to be found. Another half hour is required for us to follow the lessening trail 150 yards further.
This is not good. A mortally hit bear does not make it this far, especially through this level of jungle. I see the blood trail getting less, except for areas where he appears to have stopped. As he scrambles over obstacles and makes tracks in the mud, it is almost as if he is traveling on three legs. His front left foot seldom makes a track, and most the blood pools are on the left side of his path. Where he does put that foot down, there is always a big spot of blood.
I think the bullet has hit his chest, but maybe only in the brisket, as often he leaves blood on plants and brush right in the middle of his gait, even high off the ground. But none of it is the side blown splatter of a lung hit. All the blood is low on the ground. We all know a good lung or shoulder hit put blood on trees and shrubs a foot or more off the ground.
It is impossible for Troy to follow with his camera and tall tripod. Plus, the boat has now been tied up for almost two hours. I ask Troy to give me the small POV camera and I will film this recovery myself. Someone needs to check on the boat, and his pack and his huge tripod are not feasible in these kind of conditions.
Troy turns back and Joe and I follow the blood. We find where it appears the bear has laid down. The blood spot is good, but only about a foot in diameter. A bear that makes it this far is not hit as hard as I expected. He now goes into a maze of alders growing under the an open area of wind-smashed Sitka Spruce. The opening of these downed trees makes the undergrowth beyond anything one can imagine.
We are now crawling. That makes it easier to follow the diminishing blood drops, and is lessens the dragging effects of the alder thickets. He enters a wet boggy area, and the track gets even less. I have lost the trail. Joe circles out in front, eventually finding some scuff marks and blood on a log. We are back on.
After leaving the bog, the bear heads back toward the coast line. He beds down again under a big tree root. The blood pool is sizable, but less than the last time he had bedded.
I am now getting a sick, sinking, feeling. The bear had left this bed and walked along the crest of a huge fallen spruce that was six feet above the ground. It looked as if he fell off the big log, taking a huge patch of moss with him as he left scuff marks and blood in his path.
Joe stopped. He thought he heard something in front of us. We scoured ahead, not knowing what was there. I had heard nothing, but knew the dangers of a wounder bear that had made it at least five or six hundred yards, through some of the worst mess in North America. Yet, my mind was so focused on recovering this bear, I really gave it no thought.
We followed his path through another thick alder patch created by an opening in the forest canopy. It was almost impossible to follow and any progress was a challenge. We were wearing waders and layers of clothes. I was sweating profusely. I was sweating physically and emotionally.
Things had went from the thrill of success to the gut wrenching realization that short of some miracle, this bear was going to get away. I fought the doubt and kept focused on the task at hand. The trail was becoming so faint. If not for Joe's tracking and sharp eye, I doubt we would have followed the trail to this point.
We came to a small trickle of a creek. No sign of blood. We found some scuff marks where an animal has crossed the creek. On the bank, some blood was found, and a few fresh drops had hit a rock. The bear has scrambled up the other side, only to take us into the biggest maze of downed spruce on the entire island. Not sure what created this strewn mess of downed trees, but they were stacked on top of each other and laid in every direction, from pointing northeast to northwest, making it easier to crawl between them, rather than over them.
A few drops of blood took us to the center of this jumbled pile. The moss had been growing on these blowdowns for many years. Only the moss on the top of these logs provided a faint sign of where the bear had traveled. Finally we came to a big den in the middle of the mess. I crawled down in there and found a small circle of blood, about four inches in diameter. Some dirt and sticks had been scratched out, and small drips of blood could be seen.
Somehow, the bear knew we were on this trail and he scrambled out of this temporary bed, seeming to head straight north. We found two small drops of blood as he had went from one log to the next. That was the last blood we could find.
We marked the last spot of blood. We crawled out in every possible direction, looking for any scuffs, any blood, any sign to which direction the bear had went. We were now over three hours into this tracking episode. Mortally hit bears do not travel through this kind of terrain for three-plus hours, over a distance of however far we had went. I have no idea how far we had traveled, as much of it was crawling, circling, re-crossing our trail.
After an hour of searching from the point of last blood, I had to confess to Joe that I had messed up the perfect opportunity. Two years of searching for that special chance had been squandered. Passing many opportunities, waiting for that time I knew was the time to shoot, was now all for naught.
It was not mechanical error. The rifle is dead nuts on. The scope is almost impossible to miss with. I shoot this bullet in all of my .300 Win rifles, and kills big critters fast. At least when I do my job. On this occasion I had not done my job. Days of practice at the range has helped me take a lot of animals at this range, and further, but this time I failed.
I fear Troy was right, that I had hit low. I think I hit the bear in the front left leg, too low to enter the vitals, but grazing his brisket., I think the loud crack was hitting the leg bone. None of this is what I want to think, but experience tells me otherwise.
Eventually, all avenues were exhausted. It was getting later in the day. Our best hope was to follow the general direction the bear has started on his last heading, mostly downhill, and hope that would lead us to some sign. I had little hope, given we had already searched in every direction, multiple times.
I pulled out the POV camera and tried to capture what was on my mind. It was hard to do. I wanted to turn back the hands of time. Yet in hunting, we get no mulligans, no second chances, no re-takes. When the trigger is pulled serious stuff is going to happen.
I have always been proud to say that in my 34 years of hunting, I have never lost an animal. I have come close, but with help of friends, seemed to always luck out and recover the game. When friends had told me of the struggle they felt from losing an animal, I would say, "Yeah, I am sure that is a terrible feeling." never knowing quite what that feeling was.
Well, now I know. And hearing it from a friend does nothing to compare to the gravity and ache caused by knowing your failure has created this wreck.
Some will say that nothing goes to waste in nature. Yeah, that is true. But, that does nothing to console me. The bear might live. Or, he might die a slow and miserable death. Either way, I screwed up and my mistake caused his problems.
Sorry, still too many characters. One last post will follow to finish my thoughts.
So, after about 45 minutes, we find ourselves at the piece of brush where the bear had posed for his TV debut. We search the rocks for blood. In short order, we find blood on the rocks and follow it up to the brush line. Once in the brush line we see a lot of blood where it looks like the bear had stopped. Good signs, for sure.
I drop my pack at that spot of blood and start moving forward to the next blood spot, Bright red blood on green moss and ferns is easy to see. At least in the amounts we are finding. The trail turns downwind from our position, taking the bear further away from the original location of the shot. The trail is at times lost, but with scuff marks and more blood, we quickly get back on track.
Now the trail turns back into the deep forest. Those of you who have been in SE Alaska know how ugly and thick it can get. This bear decides that when he dies, he is going to die in a spot where the hunter will earn his keep to retrieve the carcass.
It is terrible going. We are now 200 yards into the trail and it has taken at least 20 minutes. The direction he is heading only gets worse. He is climbing over big dead Sitka Spruce, then under them, then through the worst alders and Devil's club patches to be found. Another half hour is required for us to follow the lessening trail 150 yards further.
This is not good. A mortally hit bear does not make it this far, especially through this level of jungle. I see the blood trail getting less, except for areas where he appears to have stopped. As he scrambles over obstacles and makes tracks in the mud, it is almost as if he is traveling on three legs. His front left foot seldom makes a track, and most the blood pools are on the left side of his path. Where he does put that foot down, there is always a big spot of blood.
I think the bullet has hit his chest, but maybe only in the brisket, as often he leaves blood on plants and brush right in the middle of his gait, even high off the ground. But none of it is the side blown splatter of a lung hit. All the blood is low on the ground. We all know a good lung or shoulder hit put blood on trees and shrubs a foot or more off the ground.
It is impossible for Troy to follow with his camera and tall tripod. Plus, the boat has now been tied up for almost two hours. I ask Troy to give me the small POV camera and I will film this recovery myself. Someone needs to check on the boat, and his pack and his huge tripod are not feasible in these kind of conditions.
Troy turns back and Joe and I follow the blood. We find where it appears the bear has laid down. The blood spot is good, but only about a foot in diameter. A bear that makes it this far is not hit as hard as I expected. He now goes into a maze of alders growing under the an open area of wind-smashed Sitka Spruce. The opening of these downed trees makes the undergrowth beyond anything one can imagine.
We are now crawling. That makes it easier to follow the diminishing blood drops, and is lessens the dragging effects of the alder thickets. He enters a wet boggy area, and the track gets even less. I have lost the trail. Joe circles out in front, eventually finding some scuff marks and blood on a log. We are back on.
After leaving the bog, the bear heads back toward the coast line. He beds down again under a big tree root. The blood pool is sizable, but less than the last time he had bedded.
I am now getting a sick, sinking, feeling. The bear had left this bed and walked along the crest of a huge fallen spruce that was six feet above the ground. It looked as if he fell off the big log, taking a huge patch of moss with him as he left scuff marks and blood in his path.
Joe stopped. He thought he heard something in front of us. We scoured ahead, not knowing what was there. I had heard nothing, but knew the dangers of a wounder bear that had made it at least five or six hundred yards, through some of the worst mess in North America. Yet, my mind was so focused on recovering this bear, I really gave it no thought.
We followed his path through another thick alder patch created by an opening in the forest canopy. It was almost impossible to follow and any progress was a challenge. We were wearing waders and layers of clothes. I was sweating profusely. I was sweating physically and emotionally.
Things had went from the thrill of success to the gut wrenching realization that short of some miracle, this bear was going to get away. I fought the doubt and kept focused on the task at hand. The trail was becoming so faint. If not for Joe's tracking and sharp eye, I doubt we would have followed the trail to this point.
We came to a small trickle of a creek. No sign of blood. We found some scuff marks where an animal has crossed the creek. On the bank, some blood was found, and a few fresh drops had hit a rock. The bear has scrambled up the other side, only to take us into the biggest maze of downed spruce on the entire island. Not sure what created this strewn mess of downed trees, but they were stacked on top of each other and laid in every direction, from pointing northeast to northwest, making it easier to crawl between them, rather than over them.
A few drops of blood took us to the center of this jumbled pile. The moss had been growing on these blowdowns for many years. Only the moss on the top of these logs provided a faint sign of where the bear had traveled. Finally we came to a big den in the middle of the mess. I crawled down in there and found a small circle of blood, about four inches in diameter. Some dirt and sticks had been scratched out, and small drips of blood could be seen.
Somehow, the bear knew we were on this trail and he scrambled out of this temporary bed, seeming to head straight north. We found two small drops of blood as he had went from one log to the next. That was the last blood we could find.
We marked the last spot of blood. We crawled out in every possible direction, looking for any scuffs, any blood, any sign to which direction the bear had went. We were now over three hours into this tracking episode. Mortally hit bears do not travel through this kind of terrain for three-plus hours, over a distance of however far we had went. I have no idea how far we had traveled, as much of it was crawling, circling, re-crossing our trail.
After an hour of searching from the point of last blood, I had to confess to Joe that I had messed up the perfect opportunity. Two years of searching for that special chance had been squandered. Passing many opportunities, waiting for that time I knew was the time to shoot, was now all for naught.
It was not mechanical error. The rifle is dead nuts on. The scope is almost impossible to miss with. I shoot this bullet in all of my .300 Win rifles, and kills big critters fast. At least when I do my job. On this occasion I had not done my job. Days of practice at the range has helped me take a lot of animals at this range, and further, but this time I failed.
I fear Troy was right, that I had hit low. I think I hit the bear in the front left leg, too low to enter the vitals, but grazing his brisket., I think the loud crack was hitting the leg bone. None of this is what I want to think, but experience tells me otherwise.
Eventually, all avenues were exhausted. It was getting later in the day. Our best hope was to follow the general direction the bear has started on his last heading, mostly downhill, and hope that would lead us to some sign. I had little hope, given we had already searched in every direction, multiple times.
I pulled out the POV camera and tried to capture what was on my mind. It was hard to do. I wanted to turn back the hands of time. Yet in hunting, we get no mulligans, no second chances, no re-takes. When the trigger is pulled serious stuff is going to happen.
I have always been proud to say that in my 34 years of hunting, I have never lost an animal. I have come close, but with help of friends, seemed to always luck out and recover the game. When friends had told me of the struggle they felt from losing an animal, I would say, "Yeah, I am sure that is a terrible feeling." never knowing quite what that feeling was.
Well, now I know. And hearing it from a friend does nothing to compare to the gravity and ache caused by knowing your failure has created this wreck.
Some will say that nothing goes to waste in nature. Yeah, that is true. But, that does nothing to console me. The bear might live. Or, he might die a slow and miserable death. Either way, I screwed up and my mistake caused his problems.
Sorry, still too many characters. One last post will follow to finish my thoughts.
Day 7 - The finale
As we fought our way out of this jungle and back toward the beach, not much was said. Joe could see how upset I was. What could he really say? I told him I was done hunting for this trip. Even though I had the evening to hunt, and all the next morning, I was punching my tag on this bear.
I have always said that when I make a hard hit on an animal, my hunt is complete. My chance was provided. I don't view the animals we chase as targets. They are animals that I cherish.
Animals for which I have this confusing relationship of loving them and all they represent, yet chase them for food and for my need to be a participant in nature, not a passive spectator. I understand some may think I am stupid and my despair is an overreaction. But, that is how I feel about it.
I took the bullets out of my rifle and silently asked the bears for forgiveness. They had provided me the greatest of all hunts. A chase and pursuit for two trips over two seasons - memories that will only die when I do. The bear deserved better than what I had delivered.
My gut is still in a knot. I have until August before we start our archery hunts. I worry that this event will make me crawl back in my archery shell and never allow me to release an arrow, for fear of wounding. I have some time ahead to think about it; to relive every second of it.
And we will air it on TV, just as it happened. OYOA is not going to cut something from the final episode because Randy is worried that people will think he is a bad shot, an inferior hunter, or whatever is the reason that many other shows edit out these events.
This is real, and really difficult. Though an unfortunate part of the hunting experience, I want to show people how hard we tried, how much effort we gave, and even that was not enough. A part of hunting I hope no other hunter will ever have to reconcile. Yet, it will happen to other hunters.
Maybe TV is not the place to show the sometimes ugly reality of what hunting is, or to show that being a participant in the eons-old cycle of predator and prey has instances where things are not always pretty. I don't want our show to be in denial that such things happen. When they do happen I think a valuable message can show that it is the way the hunter deals with such disappointment that demonstrates our value to this thing we call Life.
As we made it to the boat, Troy knew what had happened. We had been gone too long and the look on my face said it all. We loaded up and headed toward camp with two hours of light left.
Being the great friend he is, Joe did his best to try ease the heavy load on my shoulders. I really didn't say much on the ride back to camp. Joe pointed out a couple bears on the beach. Each time, I looked at the bears, nodded at Joe, looked at the bears, and said, "I'm done."
We woke up the next morning and started packing. Even with a full morning on our hands, this hunt was over. It did not even enter my mind to go out and look for another bear, after the long night previous.
The morning was calm and beautiful, in sharp contrast to the emotions going through my mind. Sleep did not come easy the previous night, and rightfully so. I suspect the bear did not sleep easy either.
At 3PM, the Pacific Wing Beaver showed up and taxied to our location. We loaded our gear. It had been the best of OYOA and the worst of OYOA. As we took off, I stared out the window, wondering when I will get back to this amazing place. Will I apply for tags when they become limited entry next year? Will I find a solution to the skiff logistics that does not cause me to take huge risks?
I hope to come back some day. I hope to spend another week in the Alaska wild with such great friends as Joe and Troy. I hope to come back and redeem myself. And I hope the bears I passed on these last two seasons live long and productive lives, allowing other hunters to come here and experience the amazing opportunities this place has provided to me.
Thanks to all who helped. Jim, Joe, Troy. You guys are great. And thanks for following along. I wish it had a different ending, but it does not.
Happy Hunting!
As we fought our way out of this jungle and back toward the beach, not much was said. Joe could see how upset I was. What could he really say? I told him I was done hunting for this trip. Even though I had the evening to hunt, and all the next morning, I was punching my tag on this bear.
I have always said that when I make a hard hit on an animal, my hunt is complete. My chance was provided. I don't view the animals we chase as targets. They are animals that I cherish.
Animals for which I have this confusing relationship of loving them and all they represent, yet chase them for food and for my need to be a participant in nature, not a passive spectator. I understand some may think I am stupid and my despair is an overreaction. But, that is how I feel about it.
I took the bullets out of my rifle and silently asked the bears for forgiveness. They had provided me the greatest of all hunts. A chase and pursuit for two trips over two seasons - memories that will only die when I do. The bear deserved better than what I had delivered.
My gut is still in a knot. I have until August before we start our archery hunts. I worry that this event will make me crawl back in my archery shell and never allow me to release an arrow, for fear of wounding. I have some time ahead to think about it; to relive every second of it.
And we will air it on TV, just as it happened. OYOA is not going to cut something from the final episode because Randy is worried that people will think he is a bad shot, an inferior hunter, or whatever is the reason that many other shows edit out these events.
This is real, and really difficult. Though an unfortunate part of the hunting experience, I want to show people how hard we tried, how much effort we gave, and even that was not enough. A part of hunting I hope no other hunter will ever have to reconcile. Yet, it will happen to other hunters.
Maybe TV is not the place to show the sometimes ugly reality of what hunting is, or to show that being a participant in the eons-old cycle of predator and prey has instances where things are not always pretty. I don't want our show to be in denial that such things happen. When they do happen I think a valuable message can show that it is the way the hunter deals with such disappointment that demonstrates our value to this thing we call Life.
As we made it to the boat, Troy knew what had happened. We had been gone too long and the look on my face said it all. We loaded up and headed toward camp with two hours of light left.
Being the great friend he is, Joe did his best to try ease the heavy load on my shoulders. I really didn't say much on the ride back to camp. Joe pointed out a couple bears on the beach. Each time, I looked at the bears, nodded at Joe, looked at the bears, and said, "I'm done."
We woke up the next morning and started packing. Even with a full morning on our hands, this hunt was over. It did not even enter my mind to go out and look for another bear, after the long night previous.
The morning was calm and beautiful, in sharp contrast to the emotions going through my mind. Sleep did not come easy the previous night, and rightfully so. I suspect the bear did not sleep easy either.
At 3PM, the Pacific Wing Beaver showed up and taxied to our location. We loaded our gear. It had been the best of OYOA and the worst of OYOA. As we took off, I stared out the window, wondering when I will get back to this amazing place. Will I apply for tags when they become limited entry next year? Will I find a solution to the skiff logistics that does not cause me to take huge risks?
I hope to come back some day. I hope to spend another week in the Alaska wild with such great friends as Joe and Troy. I hope to come back and redeem myself. And I hope the bears I passed on these last two seasons live long and productive lives, allowing other hunters to come here and experience the amazing opportunities this place has provided to me.
Thanks to all who helped. Jim, Joe, Troy. You guys are great. And thanks for following along. I wish it had a different ending, but it does not.
Happy Hunting!
Brisco
New member
Bumm deal on your bear Big Fin. Congrates to Joe its a great bear. I enjoyed the story and photos an excellent write up. Your first Alaska bear hunt was how I found this site searching on the net.
The only thing you can do is learn from the experience and move on, Ive been there myself.
The only thing you can do is learn from the experience and move on, Ive been there myself.
mdunc8
Well-known member
Sorry to hear the bad new Randy. Up to the end, it sounded like a great hunt. While my hunting career is considerably shorter than yours (in no way am I insinuating you're old), I had prided myself on never loosing an animal either. Unfortunately that streak came to an end last year while deer hunting on the river. The shot was well within my range on an animal in the perfect position and I blew it. Felt like someone kicked me in the gut. I will say that the next time I had an animal in the crosshairs, which just so happened to be an elk shortly after that, the thought of loosing another animal never crossed my mind. Thanks for another great story especially given how difficult it probably was to write up.
the nikster
Well-known member
I've seen a bunch of video shows that handled a successful retrieval with far less class than the events you have shared today. Congratulations on a successful hunt. I look forward to seeing the events unfold in real time. Thanks for not dressing it up, thanks.
shoots-straight
Well-known member
Regardless of the outcome, you had one great hunt. The loss of any animal is tough to take, Let alone a big old boy. If you hunt long enough, there's going to come a time, a humbling slap in the face. I think it's the shingle that makes us who we are. If you haven't then it's a matter of time. You now have your reality check, and it will make you a better hunter,(person) for the experience. Had this not bothered you, then I would have worried. The will of the bear was great enough that he wouldn't be denied his freedom. That was a great bear and he won. Hunting wouldn't be what it is without the uncertainty that comes from it. My dad always told me "to shoot em tell their on the ground, then shoot em again". He must of had the same type of experience, to give that advice.
Congrats on an exceptional hunting experience. I can't wait to see the episode.
Congrats on an exceptional hunting experience. I can't wait to see the episode.
BuzzH
Well-known member
Great write-up on the hunt Fin...
You're right about things like that happening to everyone, eventually. No matter how much a person practices, how much you prepare, how careful you are, there is no certainity of how things will work out. Its hunting...that simple.
Of course any responsible hunter feels bad when things like that happen, its a bitter pill for sure. But considering your track record up to this point...you've done it right way, way, way more often than not, you've been very fortunate. The fact that a chance of wounding an animal and failing to recover it exists, is simply a burden a Sportsman has to carry.
Sounds like a great time was had by all.
Congrats.
You're right about things like that happening to everyone, eventually. No matter how much a person practices, how much you prepare, how careful you are, there is no certainity of how things will work out. Its hunting...that simple.
Of course any responsible hunter feels bad when things like that happen, its a bitter pill for sure. But considering your track record up to this point...you've done it right way, way, way more often than not, you've been very fortunate. The fact that a chance of wounding an animal and failing to recover it exists, is simply a burden a Sportsman has to carry.
Sounds like a great time was had by all.
Congrats.
