THWAK1
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- Jul 25, 2011
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I was able to do quite a bit of bowhunting for bear this spring, between taking family turkey hunting that is. In all, I saw 5 bears, one was a griz. Here is how my season ended…
I had planned on hunting with my dad all of Memorial Day weekend, which started on Friday for us. My dad is 62 years old and has never shot a bear, so this weekend was going to be all about getting him his first since I've shot many and had my opportunities earlier in the spring.
He picked me up at 3:30 am and we headed to a good late May bear hunting area where I have seen many bears over the years. After hiking and glassing until after noon, I suggested we hike another mile up the ridge to a spot I knew we could glass a lot of country from, stop for a bite to eat and glass some more. As dad was preparing to eat, I almost immediately spotted a bear with my binos at over a mile away. I got out my spotting scope and showed my dad and we watched the bear while we finished a hurried lunch. I knew he was a big bear and one that would make a great trophy for my dad.
We were in an area where he had never hunted, but that I've been hunting for many years. I planned our route and off we went, down the mountain, across the valley and up the other side. We topped out on a finger ridge and spotted the bear feeding in a small opening next to a creek below us, about 400 yards away. As we watched the bear, he fed into the timber so I decided to build a fire to keep warm, as it was raining and blowing, and to wait him out. After about an hour, he reemerged about 200 yards farther up the meadow. We kicked out our fire with the newly falling snow, grabbed our gear and dropped behind the ridge to close the distance. Using the ridge and trees, we were able to get to within 150 yards for the shot and dad set up on his shooting sticks. I was watching through my scope as he shot and heard the resounding "whoomp". As the bear whirled and headed into the thick timber, I took a running shot to try to drop him, not wanting to track a wounded bear.
We gathered our gear and headed to where the bear had been feeding. We found his tracks and shortly afterwards started finding blood. We waited for about 30 minutes then began to track him into the timber, where it became easier as there was new snow sticking to the ground. He was heading up the mountain at an angle. Following the blood was easy but the terrain was steep and snow covered and the timber was thick, all of which made the going slow. Dad was getting winded so I took the lead and he started to lag behind. After about 30 minutes, the bears tracks headed straight up the mountain then cut back the way we had just come from; he had bedded down, watching his back trail. There were two beds in the snow that were full of blood, about 10 feet apart. Although I never heard the bear leave, I was pretty sure he couldn’t be that far ahead of me. I stopped and waited for my dad to catch up. When my dad arrived, we examined the beds and came to the conclusion that he was bleeding out of at least three holes; two mid body and one at the front of his body. We walked up the heavily timbered mountainside another 30 yards to find another bed, fresher than the previous two, with even more blood in it. It looked like something finally broke free inside of him. At this point I told my dad that I was going to push the bear, hoping to make him bleed out completely and end this.
Shortly after I took off on his trail, he finally started side-hilling for the first time. Following his tracks, I crossed a small opening on the side of the mountain, maybe 40-50 yards wide. Arriving at the opposite end I came to a halt and peered into the dense thicket. I was at the top end of a steep chute and as I peered into the thicket at his tracks, something just didn’t feel right. I slowly examined the thicket but could see no signs of the bear. For some reason, I dropped maybe 10 feet below his tracks and entered the thicket. Going was slow. If I had stayed on his tracks it would have been easier walking. When I got to where the chute started up the other side, I stopped to make sure I was still moving parallel to his tracks above me. As I looked up, I could barely make out the bear, standing above me and facing me on all fours, not 20 feet away in the thicket. As I instinctively started to raise my rifle, he started down the chute. It all happened SO quickly! I fired a round off and dived head first back toward the way I had just came from. The bear just missed my feet as I lunged out of his way and he made a terrible noise I can’t really explain. I whirled around, still on my rear, to see the bear sliding to a stop as he piled up against some trees almost directly below me. He never moved again. I rolled over to the edge of the opening and just sat there, my backpack as my rest behind me. A few minutes later, my dad came into sight as he entered the small clearing. He sat down next to me and asked if I got him. I pointed to where he was laying and explained what had happened. Apparently he had had enough and was waiting for me; I was glad I hadn’t followed his tracks into the thicket. We were both relieved it hadn’t ended worse and that it was over. We sat there for probably 15 minutes until my rubbery legs would work again, I remembered to eject my spent cartridge and loaded a new one, brushed all the snow off myself and we carefully made our way down the steep, snowy rocks to where the bear lay. On the way down, my dad pointed out that the bears tracks turned into a slide, only feet past where he had crossed my last set of tracks. When we reached the bear, we each placed a hand on him and dad said a prayer of thanks.
The bear had done a big half circle and died at the head of the creek of which he had been feeding next to in the meadow below. We slid him down the hill to where two small springs converged in the drainage, took pictures and prepped him for skinning and butchering.
It was getting late and I figured we had at least a 5 mile hike back to the truck. It was also starting to snow really hard and the forecast for the weekend didn’t sound promising. I knew we wouldn’t make the truck by dark, plus the 2 hour drive home, I figured we’d be home between 1-2am. I decided that we would hike out and come back the next day to pack him out. I hung flagging tape on a branch near the bear and we headed to the truck.
I had planned on hunting with my dad all of Memorial Day weekend, which started on Friday for us. My dad is 62 years old and has never shot a bear, so this weekend was going to be all about getting him his first since I've shot many and had my opportunities earlier in the spring.
He picked me up at 3:30 am and we headed to a good late May bear hunting area where I have seen many bears over the years. After hiking and glassing until after noon, I suggested we hike another mile up the ridge to a spot I knew we could glass a lot of country from, stop for a bite to eat and glass some more. As dad was preparing to eat, I almost immediately spotted a bear with my binos at over a mile away. I got out my spotting scope and showed my dad and we watched the bear while we finished a hurried lunch. I knew he was a big bear and one that would make a great trophy for my dad.
We were in an area where he had never hunted, but that I've been hunting for many years. I planned our route and off we went, down the mountain, across the valley and up the other side. We topped out on a finger ridge and spotted the bear feeding in a small opening next to a creek below us, about 400 yards away. As we watched the bear, he fed into the timber so I decided to build a fire to keep warm, as it was raining and blowing, and to wait him out. After about an hour, he reemerged about 200 yards farther up the meadow. We kicked out our fire with the newly falling snow, grabbed our gear and dropped behind the ridge to close the distance. Using the ridge and trees, we were able to get to within 150 yards for the shot and dad set up on his shooting sticks. I was watching through my scope as he shot and heard the resounding "whoomp". As the bear whirled and headed into the thick timber, I took a running shot to try to drop him, not wanting to track a wounded bear.
We gathered our gear and headed to where the bear had been feeding. We found his tracks and shortly afterwards started finding blood. We waited for about 30 minutes then began to track him into the timber, where it became easier as there was new snow sticking to the ground. He was heading up the mountain at an angle. Following the blood was easy but the terrain was steep and snow covered and the timber was thick, all of which made the going slow. Dad was getting winded so I took the lead and he started to lag behind. After about 30 minutes, the bears tracks headed straight up the mountain then cut back the way we had just come from; he had bedded down, watching his back trail. There were two beds in the snow that were full of blood, about 10 feet apart. Although I never heard the bear leave, I was pretty sure he couldn’t be that far ahead of me. I stopped and waited for my dad to catch up. When my dad arrived, we examined the beds and came to the conclusion that he was bleeding out of at least three holes; two mid body and one at the front of his body. We walked up the heavily timbered mountainside another 30 yards to find another bed, fresher than the previous two, with even more blood in it. It looked like something finally broke free inside of him. At this point I told my dad that I was going to push the bear, hoping to make him bleed out completely and end this.
Shortly after I took off on his trail, he finally started side-hilling for the first time. Following his tracks, I crossed a small opening on the side of the mountain, maybe 40-50 yards wide. Arriving at the opposite end I came to a halt and peered into the dense thicket. I was at the top end of a steep chute and as I peered into the thicket at his tracks, something just didn’t feel right. I slowly examined the thicket but could see no signs of the bear. For some reason, I dropped maybe 10 feet below his tracks and entered the thicket. Going was slow. If I had stayed on his tracks it would have been easier walking. When I got to where the chute started up the other side, I stopped to make sure I was still moving parallel to his tracks above me. As I looked up, I could barely make out the bear, standing above me and facing me on all fours, not 20 feet away in the thicket. As I instinctively started to raise my rifle, he started down the chute. It all happened SO quickly! I fired a round off and dived head first back toward the way I had just came from. The bear just missed my feet as I lunged out of his way and he made a terrible noise I can’t really explain. I whirled around, still on my rear, to see the bear sliding to a stop as he piled up against some trees almost directly below me. He never moved again. I rolled over to the edge of the opening and just sat there, my backpack as my rest behind me. A few minutes later, my dad came into sight as he entered the small clearing. He sat down next to me and asked if I got him. I pointed to where he was laying and explained what had happened. Apparently he had had enough and was waiting for me; I was glad I hadn’t followed his tracks into the thicket. We were both relieved it hadn’t ended worse and that it was over. We sat there for probably 15 minutes until my rubbery legs would work again, I remembered to eject my spent cartridge and loaded a new one, brushed all the snow off myself and we carefully made our way down the steep, snowy rocks to where the bear lay. On the way down, my dad pointed out that the bears tracks turned into a slide, only feet past where he had crossed my last set of tracks. When we reached the bear, we each placed a hand on him and dad said a prayer of thanks.
The bear had done a big half circle and died at the head of the creek of which he had been feeding next to in the meadow below. We slid him down the hill to where two small springs converged in the drainage, took pictures and prepped him for skinning and butchering.
It was getting late and I figured we had at least a 5 mile hike back to the truck. It was also starting to snow really hard and the forecast for the weekend didn’t sound promising. I knew we wouldn’t make the truck by dark, plus the 2 hour drive home, I figured we’d be home between 1-2am. I decided that we would hike out and come back the next day to pack him out. I hung flagging tape on a branch near the bear and we headed to the truck.
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