Post by Deleted on Jan 22, 2017 15:00:04 GMT -4
HANK'S BEAR
I guess it all began a day or two before opening season in 2005 (give or take a year or so). My son's father-in-law again invited me over to his cabin in Eastern WA for the annual “deer camp”. Well to a hunter new to the state, this was a dream come true & an offer that any sane hunter wouldn't turn down. The only hitch was that I would be sharing the cabin w/another hunter I shall call Hank. I don't consider myself much of a prude but sharing a cabin w/this outspoken individual was a real challenge for me. John, my host, & Hank went back many years. Both John & Hank had served in Vietnam. John in Army infantry & Hank in Marine Recon (2 tours). They also had a close friendship & worked some time together for the same employer after returning from the war.
As a hunter, I greatly respected Hank's experience in the woods w/gun in hand. Our nightly stories, chaired by Hank (way past the bedtime of the rest of us), was a real education for me & I hung on every word. He had had a tough childhood & the Marine Corps & combat did little to modify his personality. His opinions on politics, or any other subject, were no secret as he colorfully belted out his opinions & seemed to challenge anyone in the room to enter into verbal combat w/him. Sometimes it was difficult to listen to those tirades. When John's son came over to also hunt, he seemed to take great sport in prodding this former marine to new heights of verbal outbursts. This would be the third year I attended deer camp under the aforementioned conditions.
Anyhow, this story is about a bear; not just any bear but a big, brave brute who seemed to be the only living creature east of Wauconda Summit to match Hank's disposition. Hank is gone now, I miss the times he shared his hunting & military experiences w/me. The bear apparently lives on & one of us has to face him, if nothing else, for Hank's memory. I wouldn't like to quote Hank's opinion of us if we failed to face up to this bruin & ultimately take him down.
I recall it all started the day before deer season began. I had gotten over there midday & unloaded my old Cherokee. John & Hank had gotten over there the day before & had their supplies in the cabin, wood stove cranking, & the generator purring. John had pumped water up from the creek just below the cabin's deck into a large storage tank on the 2d floor. We had hoped in vain that all the dry heat from the woodstove would eventually heat that stored water that gravity fed to the outhouse shower. I picked my bunk & began to unload my gear (why do I always take so much! I feel like the dude among seasoned ranch hands). At least three big ice chests had already staked their claim to the space set out for such stuff so I set mine outside on the deck by the front door (yeah you seasoned campers & hunters-I can see your smirk already). I then joined the group outside who were watching Hank check out his latest loads in his hand cannons he called “wheel guns”. I think the stainless revolvers were 454 & 500 cal. They were trying to punish a stump about 150 yds across the clearing that served as the front yard & entry road to the 5 acre parcel. They also punched holes in the 2” pipe that served as the post the gate was chained to when closed. This month (Oct 2009) as I unhooked the gate & saw the lead-stained holes in the post, I thought I had to write this story before it was lost.
That night I was tired after driving over 250 miles over the North Cascade Highway to the cabin. Of course the night before was spent deciding which “too many” items I should pack. In a lame excuse for my excesses you must realize that where the deer camp is, it can vary from warm Fall weather to snow w/everything in between. As I became more experienced each year, the pile of boots, long jons, rain gear, rifles & ammo finally dropped to a manageable amount. Well, we got to bed late as Hank was wound up & needed an audience so we was it. Opening morning was the first time I became aware of what I now call Hank's bear. John's son had mentioned that he had crossed paths w/it in previous seasons & had his eye out for him. Now it was becoming personal! My ice chest was upside down & open about halfway down the bank to the creek. Left on the deck was a 24 bottle case of water that was still shrink-wrapped. The only difference was that one end looked as though a grocery clerk had somehow held 3 or 4 box knives & had slashed open the shrink wrapping & the first row of plastic water bottles. The cardboard box was soggy & about 6 bottles were empty although the caps still securely fastened. The dozen eggs were gone except for broken shells. Across the creek, after sunup, we found a few papers that had separated the dozen frozen Kirkland ground beef patties. Hank, of course, commented on my wisdom of leaving the ice chest out there in the first place. We were pretty sure it was the work of a bear & I confess that I wasn't upset but encouraged as I had not only a deer & cougar tag in my billfold but a still valid bear tag. Don't ask me why, but some of you understand when I tell you that I “crossed the line” a few years ago & deer hunting had taken a back seat to bear hunt'in.
Opening morning found me in my old ground blind where I drilled my first (& only) Whitetail buck back in 2003. Funny how you always look into the same old clearing where, years ago, you either saw or shot a deer. Pavlovian conditioning I guess. Anyway, I couldn't remember if that was the morning I sat there for 4 hrs in the rain or not. I watched Whitetail does stroll by at 20 yds, daintily nibbling, at the buds of the brush that lined the old trail but nothing w/horns. About lunch time I decided to still hunt slowly down the road back to the cabin which was about ½ mile away at most. I love still hunt'in, its made for “mature” hunters like me. Two or three quiet steps, pause for 1 minute, 360 degree slow look around & repeat the process. Who cares if it takes over an hour to go ¼ mile? At my age this allows me to look like I know what I'm doing & I ration my energy to last 'til last light (ok with an under a tree nap usually).
I had silently still-hunted about 300 yards down the road through the 2d growth timber when I came upon a sight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up (if you've been in the woods much you know what I'm talk'in about). The wind was in my face & my camo prevented any bare skin from showing. I observed a beautiful, adult cougar performing an unusual act. He/she was standing about 25 yrs away from me & busily pawing twigs & leaves over something. It then stepped over the mound & repeated the process w/its hind feet much the same as a house cat does when it has “done its business”. I leaned against a sapling to further break up my outline. Periodically, the big cat looked up & scanned around. It seemed to look right at me but didn't see me-what a rush! I had a cougar tag in my pocket, an '06 round in the chamber & my thumb fidgeting w/the safety. I didn't at that time know how delicious cougar meat tasted but I knew how involved it is to get the skull & pelt to a WDFW officer to be sealed so I decided to let this easy shot pass & decided to watch & learn (later when I shared this experience w/the landowner of the 160 acres, he expressed his unhappiness w/my decision & stated “I don't care if you have a license or a tag, shoot every mtn lion you see!”. Well now you've heard the land owner's opinion of hunter ethics).
After a long time (probably 2-3 minutes) the big cat seemed to sense something was wrong although the way it was looking around I don't think he had really spotted me, perhaps a wiff of scent from the swirling air currents. It slowly sank to the ground. The relief of the ground hid its form. I waited for a few minutes not knowing what to expect & wishing I had buckshot rounds in my rifle in case of a surprise attack. Later, I cautiously walked, very slowly over to where the cat was. It had disappeared! I doubt that it had much more than 12” of uneven ground to hide in but it had made its escape effective. I almost sprained my neck as I kept looking behind me expecting the worse.
After a minute or two my breathing slowed down & I looked at the mound before me. The freshly killed Whitetail doe wasn't hard to see through the thin layer of debris. She had started to cool down but the blood around the hole in her chest was still somewhat wet. The heart & part of the lungs had been removed & obviously eaten. I imagine if I had inspected closer I would have found claw marks on the deer's snout & a broken neck. Anyway, I felt I had earned more than 4 units of university credits in a very short period of time & sensed I was being watched & decided to move out pronto-doing an about face about every 4 steps down the road.
Well you say, “I thought this was a bear story?”. Just be patient I'm gett'in to it. I shared my story around the woodstove that night as we took our turns w/our AARs (after action reports) of opening day. Didn't think anymore about the incident until later in the evening when Hank was getting into overdrive w/his stories & the rest of us were thinking of bed. That is when it happened.
Hank was in the middle of a story, looking from face to face to see if anyone was awake enough to register what he was saying when the stuffed chair he was sitting in-in front of the wood stove, began to raise up & down slightly-independently of Hank's body motions. I guess that the deck on the other side of the cabin wall was cantilevered to the cabin's floor joists w/beams that supported the deck's planking. Anyway, Hank stopped in mid sentence & said, w/a stage whisper “something is on the deck! I'll bet its a coyote! Watch this!” Well, by this time, as tired as we were, John & I were wide awake to see what Hank was going to do. He quickly tip-toed over to the cabin's door, put his hand on the knob & looked backed at us w/a smirk as if to say “watch this!”. Hank flung open the door, spun out the door sideways, landed on both feet & screamed Yaahhhah! only to find himself facing a black bear at least as big as he was about 18” in front of him. There was a split second of silence that was interrupted by Hank's loud exclamation (funny how one's bravado can leave one's tone of voice at times) “Holy Shit...get a gun....get a Big gun!!” Well, John & I commenced the classic “Chinese fire drill” we both ran over to Hank's bed & looked at his monster revolvers which we assumed he left laying on his bed ready to fire. Not being experienced w/these artillery pieces & being thoroughly confident in the self-sufficiency of a combat-proven Marine noncom we both paused, looked at each other, smiled, & more or less said, “Hank can take care of himself”.
Shortly, a breathless & excited Marine sgt re-emerged into the cabin & began to blurt out what had happened on the deck. He did briefly chastise us for not resupplying his defensive position w/his firepower. He didn't pursue this as he saw no sympathetic expression on our smiling faces. Well, after about 4 spirited renditions of what had happened on the deck, we went to bed. We did, however, surmise in our great wisdom that it had been only 24 hrs since the bear had raided my ice chest & that we had BBQ'ed hamburgers earlier that evening on the deck. What red-blooded American black bear could resist such (legal) baiting?
No bear news for about 2 or 3 days of hunting. Each day, out of habit, I checked the mtn lion's cache. On the 2d or 3rd day I noticed that the deer was getting a little “ripe”. The next AM I noticed a trail of deer hair & drag marks across the road that went past the mtn lion kill. Something had drug the now smelly deer carcass across the road & then reburied it in twigs & leaves (duh?-why bother?-but I was a Dimrod w/a lot to learn in the University Of The Woods). When I told the gang at our usual AAR briefing after supper (ruffed grouse breast & hamburgers-yum) about the disturbance & 30 yd relocation of the “ripe” kill, Hank jumped in & said “that's a bear!”. By this time I had begun to evaluate each judgment that the Marine had said (how can a yote move a floor joist??). However, this did spike my interest.
Based on the intel that I had provided ,Hank had formulated his paragraph 3 of the traditional military operation order (execution) to include a stealthy “reconnaissance in force” of the “bear cache” at 1st light. Our host, John, hunted w/his preferred weapon, a Savage 99 in 308 Win. What a combination!...dear to a levernut's heart like me & a cool, pointy cartridge in a clip magazine!!!(best of all worlds). Well, Hank was an accomplished amateur gunsmith & had cobbled together the same rifle himself w/parts he had gathered. So Hank, w/John's support, was to reconnoiter the bear's cache at 1st light-both w/leverguns w/308 Win cartridges-watch out bear!!!!
By this time I was sure that they had a handle on the terrain & the situation & didn't need help from nobody. I was way down the hill from Whitetail Ridge from which the “bear assault mission” was to take place. I still hunted the old corral ruins & found the Whitetail “highway” that followed the contour lines around the hillsides & ridges well concealed from where where us Nimrods preferred to comfortably to hunt. About 0700 I heard a shot from the general area of the bear “cache”. About 2 hrs later, when the sun had climbed into the sky high enough for me to wish I hadn't put long jons under my Carhartt canvas pants, I descended the other side of Whitetail Ridge to find Hank & John milling around the Whitetail bear cache. Seems that Hank had still-hunted the road at 1st light & caught the bear chow'in down on the deer carcass. Being only about 15 yds from the road, Hank thought it would be a slam dunk. He put the scope crosshairs on the bear's face between the eyes & pulled the trigger......Well the gun went off & the bear went down. In a few seconds the bear was back up & leaving the area! The next two hours John & Hank cautiously searched the area for the “dead” bear. They did find some blood spots near where the shot had taken place, but that's all. I will give them full credit, they spent at least two hours searching the area to find the dead/wounded bear. No Go!!!For once Hank didn't have all the answers. I appreciated the fact that Hank really wanted to bring closure to this event. Finally we adjourned to lunch at the cabin. Apparently the bullet had glanced off the bear's thick head leaving only a headache & a flesh wound. This would later be verified as we caught a glimpse of the now “educated” bear exiting the cache at sundown..... my gosh! After bouncing a 308 off his skull, he had the nerve to return for another meal!!!
That was almost the last time we saw what I now call Hank's Bear. The next day I was down below Whitetail Ridge still hunt'in the age-old trails the Whitetails take daily. No luck-don't tell me that deer aren't smarter than we are! I gave up & ambitiously started walking up the ridge perpendicular to the contour lines that parallel Whitetail Ridge. I was only about 200 yds from the summit when I was lucky to glance up at the right 3 seconds to see Hank's bear barrel along the trail just below the summit of the ridge. I marveled at the way the sunlight caused his jet black fur to glisten. Usually only fall bears have such a pretty pelt. He was definitely “picking them up & putting them down” as far as his rate of travel is concerned. I will always remember how his rump & lower back had ripples of fat oscillating as he galloped out of sight.
I never saw that bear again. Speak of respect for an animal! Hank has been gone for at least 2 years now. A victim of a stroke or an aneurysm. A hard man to communicate with but one who demands a lot of respect. I miss him although he was difficult to deal with. How do you explain that? Last week I set up a ground blind on a hillside where I “thought” two good deer trails crossed. Nothing happened after two long morning & evenings there. What did get my attention was a series of tracks in the soft soil.....one track revealed a 4.5” or 5” frontpaw of a bear. Could it be? I gotta go back. Sgt Henry has given a lawful order.
I guess it all began a day or two before opening season in 2005 (give or take a year or so). My son's father-in-law again invited me over to his cabin in Eastern WA for the annual “deer camp”. Well to a hunter new to the state, this was a dream come true & an offer that any sane hunter wouldn't turn down. The only hitch was that I would be sharing the cabin w/another hunter I shall call Hank. I don't consider myself much of a prude but sharing a cabin w/this outspoken individual was a real challenge for me. John, my host, & Hank went back many years. Both John & Hank had served in Vietnam. John in Army infantry & Hank in Marine Recon (2 tours). They also had a close friendship & worked some time together for the same employer after returning from the war.
As a hunter, I greatly respected Hank's experience in the woods w/gun in hand. Our nightly stories, chaired by Hank (way past the bedtime of the rest of us), was a real education for me & I hung on every word. He had had a tough childhood & the Marine Corps & combat did little to modify his personality. His opinions on politics, or any other subject, were no secret as he colorfully belted out his opinions & seemed to challenge anyone in the room to enter into verbal combat w/him. Sometimes it was difficult to listen to those tirades. When John's son came over to also hunt, he seemed to take great sport in prodding this former marine to new heights of verbal outbursts. This would be the third year I attended deer camp under the aforementioned conditions.
Anyhow, this story is about a bear; not just any bear but a big, brave brute who seemed to be the only living creature east of Wauconda Summit to match Hank's disposition. Hank is gone now, I miss the times he shared his hunting & military experiences w/me. The bear apparently lives on & one of us has to face him, if nothing else, for Hank's memory. I wouldn't like to quote Hank's opinion of us if we failed to face up to this bruin & ultimately take him down.
I recall it all started the day before deer season began. I had gotten over there midday & unloaded my old Cherokee. John & Hank had gotten over there the day before & had their supplies in the cabin, wood stove cranking, & the generator purring. John had pumped water up from the creek just below the cabin's deck into a large storage tank on the 2d floor. We had hoped in vain that all the dry heat from the woodstove would eventually heat that stored water that gravity fed to the outhouse shower. I picked my bunk & began to unload my gear (why do I always take so much! I feel like the dude among seasoned ranch hands). At least three big ice chests had already staked their claim to the space set out for such stuff so I set mine outside on the deck by the front door (yeah you seasoned campers & hunters-I can see your smirk already). I then joined the group outside who were watching Hank check out his latest loads in his hand cannons he called “wheel guns”. I think the stainless revolvers were 454 & 500 cal. They were trying to punish a stump about 150 yds across the clearing that served as the front yard & entry road to the 5 acre parcel. They also punched holes in the 2” pipe that served as the post the gate was chained to when closed. This month (Oct 2009) as I unhooked the gate & saw the lead-stained holes in the post, I thought I had to write this story before it was lost.
That night I was tired after driving over 250 miles over the North Cascade Highway to the cabin. Of course the night before was spent deciding which “too many” items I should pack. In a lame excuse for my excesses you must realize that where the deer camp is, it can vary from warm Fall weather to snow w/everything in between. As I became more experienced each year, the pile of boots, long jons, rain gear, rifles & ammo finally dropped to a manageable amount. Well, we got to bed late as Hank was wound up & needed an audience so we was it. Opening morning was the first time I became aware of what I now call Hank's bear. John's son had mentioned that he had crossed paths w/it in previous seasons & had his eye out for him. Now it was becoming personal! My ice chest was upside down & open about halfway down the bank to the creek. Left on the deck was a 24 bottle case of water that was still shrink-wrapped. The only difference was that one end looked as though a grocery clerk had somehow held 3 or 4 box knives & had slashed open the shrink wrapping & the first row of plastic water bottles. The cardboard box was soggy & about 6 bottles were empty although the caps still securely fastened. The dozen eggs were gone except for broken shells. Across the creek, after sunup, we found a few papers that had separated the dozen frozen Kirkland ground beef patties. Hank, of course, commented on my wisdom of leaving the ice chest out there in the first place. We were pretty sure it was the work of a bear & I confess that I wasn't upset but encouraged as I had not only a deer & cougar tag in my billfold but a still valid bear tag. Don't ask me why, but some of you understand when I tell you that I “crossed the line” a few years ago & deer hunting had taken a back seat to bear hunt'in.
Opening morning found me in my old ground blind where I drilled my first (& only) Whitetail buck back in 2003. Funny how you always look into the same old clearing where, years ago, you either saw or shot a deer. Pavlovian conditioning I guess. Anyway, I couldn't remember if that was the morning I sat there for 4 hrs in the rain or not. I watched Whitetail does stroll by at 20 yds, daintily nibbling, at the buds of the brush that lined the old trail but nothing w/horns. About lunch time I decided to still hunt slowly down the road back to the cabin which was about ½ mile away at most. I love still hunt'in, its made for “mature” hunters like me. Two or three quiet steps, pause for 1 minute, 360 degree slow look around & repeat the process. Who cares if it takes over an hour to go ¼ mile? At my age this allows me to look like I know what I'm doing & I ration my energy to last 'til last light (ok with an under a tree nap usually).
I had silently still-hunted about 300 yards down the road through the 2d growth timber when I came upon a sight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up (if you've been in the woods much you know what I'm talk'in about). The wind was in my face & my camo prevented any bare skin from showing. I observed a beautiful, adult cougar performing an unusual act. He/she was standing about 25 yrs away from me & busily pawing twigs & leaves over something. It then stepped over the mound & repeated the process w/its hind feet much the same as a house cat does when it has “done its business”. I leaned against a sapling to further break up my outline. Periodically, the big cat looked up & scanned around. It seemed to look right at me but didn't see me-what a rush! I had a cougar tag in my pocket, an '06 round in the chamber & my thumb fidgeting w/the safety. I didn't at that time know how delicious cougar meat tasted but I knew how involved it is to get the skull & pelt to a WDFW officer to be sealed so I decided to let this easy shot pass & decided to watch & learn (later when I shared this experience w/the landowner of the 160 acres, he expressed his unhappiness w/my decision & stated “I don't care if you have a license or a tag, shoot every mtn lion you see!”. Well now you've heard the land owner's opinion of hunter ethics).
After a long time (probably 2-3 minutes) the big cat seemed to sense something was wrong although the way it was looking around I don't think he had really spotted me, perhaps a wiff of scent from the swirling air currents. It slowly sank to the ground. The relief of the ground hid its form. I waited for a few minutes not knowing what to expect & wishing I had buckshot rounds in my rifle in case of a surprise attack. Later, I cautiously walked, very slowly over to where the cat was. It had disappeared! I doubt that it had much more than 12” of uneven ground to hide in but it had made its escape effective. I almost sprained my neck as I kept looking behind me expecting the worse.
After a minute or two my breathing slowed down & I looked at the mound before me. The freshly killed Whitetail doe wasn't hard to see through the thin layer of debris. She had started to cool down but the blood around the hole in her chest was still somewhat wet. The heart & part of the lungs had been removed & obviously eaten. I imagine if I had inspected closer I would have found claw marks on the deer's snout & a broken neck. Anyway, I felt I had earned more than 4 units of university credits in a very short period of time & sensed I was being watched & decided to move out pronto-doing an about face about every 4 steps down the road.
Well you say, “I thought this was a bear story?”. Just be patient I'm gett'in to it. I shared my story around the woodstove that night as we took our turns w/our AARs (after action reports) of opening day. Didn't think anymore about the incident until later in the evening when Hank was getting into overdrive w/his stories & the rest of us were thinking of bed. That is when it happened.
Hank was in the middle of a story, looking from face to face to see if anyone was awake enough to register what he was saying when the stuffed chair he was sitting in-in front of the wood stove, began to raise up & down slightly-independently of Hank's body motions. I guess that the deck on the other side of the cabin wall was cantilevered to the cabin's floor joists w/beams that supported the deck's planking. Anyway, Hank stopped in mid sentence & said, w/a stage whisper “something is on the deck! I'll bet its a coyote! Watch this!” Well, by this time, as tired as we were, John & I were wide awake to see what Hank was going to do. He quickly tip-toed over to the cabin's door, put his hand on the knob & looked backed at us w/a smirk as if to say “watch this!”. Hank flung open the door, spun out the door sideways, landed on both feet & screamed Yaahhhah! only to find himself facing a black bear at least as big as he was about 18” in front of him. There was a split second of silence that was interrupted by Hank's loud exclamation (funny how one's bravado can leave one's tone of voice at times) “Holy Shit...get a gun....get a Big gun!!” Well, John & I commenced the classic “Chinese fire drill” we both ran over to Hank's bed & looked at his monster revolvers which we assumed he left laying on his bed ready to fire. Not being experienced w/these artillery pieces & being thoroughly confident in the self-sufficiency of a combat-proven Marine noncom we both paused, looked at each other, smiled, & more or less said, “Hank can take care of himself”.
Shortly, a breathless & excited Marine sgt re-emerged into the cabin & began to blurt out what had happened on the deck. He did briefly chastise us for not resupplying his defensive position w/his firepower. He didn't pursue this as he saw no sympathetic expression on our smiling faces. Well, after about 4 spirited renditions of what had happened on the deck, we went to bed. We did, however, surmise in our great wisdom that it had been only 24 hrs since the bear had raided my ice chest & that we had BBQ'ed hamburgers earlier that evening on the deck. What red-blooded American black bear could resist such (legal) baiting?
No bear news for about 2 or 3 days of hunting. Each day, out of habit, I checked the mtn lion's cache. On the 2d or 3rd day I noticed that the deer was getting a little “ripe”. The next AM I noticed a trail of deer hair & drag marks across the road that went past the mtn lion kill. Something had drug the now smelly deer carcass across the road & then reburied it in twigs & leaves (duh?-why bother?-but I was a Dimrod w/a lot to learn in the University Of The Woods). When I told the gang at our usual AAR briefing after supper (ruffed grouse breast & hamburgers-yum) about the disturbance & 30 yd relocation of the “ripe” kill, Hank jumped in & said “that's a bear!”. By this time I had begun to evaluate each judgment that the Marine had said (how can a yote move a floor joist??). However, this did spike my interest.
Based on the intel that I had provided ,Hank had formulated his paragraph 3 of the traditional military operation order (execution) to include a stealthy “reconnaissance in force” of the “bear cache” at 1st light. Our host, John, hunted w/his preferred weapon, a Savage 99 in 308 Win. What a combination!...dear to a levernut's heart like me & a cool, pointy cartridge in a clip magazine!!!(best of all worlds). Well, Hank was an accomplished amateur gunsmith & had cobbled together the same rifle himself w/parts he had gathered. So Hank, w/John's support, was to reconnoiter the bear's cache at 1st light-both w/leverguns w/308 Win cartridges-watch out bear!!!!
By this time I was sure that they had a handle on the terrain & the situation & didn't need help from nobody. I was way down the hill from Whitetail Ridge from which the “bear assault mission” was to take place. I still hunted the old corral ruins & found the Whitetail “highway” that followed the contour lines around the hillsides & ridges well concealed from where where us Nimrods preferred to comfortably to hunt. About 0700 I heard a shot from the general area of the bear “cache”. About 2 hrs later, when the sun had climbed into the sky high enough for me to wish I hadn't put long jons under my Carhartt canvas pants, I descended the other side of Whitetail Ridge to find Hank & John milling around the Whitetail bear cache. Seems that Hank had still-hunted the road at 1st light & caught the bear chow'in down on the deer carcass. Being only about 15 yds from the road, Hank thought it would be a slam dunk. He put the scope crosshairs on the bear's face between the eyes & pulled the trigger......Well the gun went off & the bear went down. In a few seconds the bear was back up & leaving the area! The next two hours John & Hank cautiously searched the area for the “dead” bear. They did find some blood spots near where the shot had taken place, but that's all. I will give them full credit, they spent at least two hours searching the area to find the dead/wounded bear. No Go!!!For once Hank didn't have all the answers. I appreciated the fact that Hank really wanted to bring closure to this event. Finally we adjourned to lunch at the cabin. Apparently the bullet had glanced off the bear's thick head leaving only a headache & a flesh wound. This would later be verified as we caught a glimpse of the now “educated” bear exiting the cache at sundown..... my gosh! After bouncing a 308 off his skull, he had the nerve to return for another meal!!!
That was almost the last time we saw what I now call Hank's Bear. The next day I was down below Whitetail Ridge still hunt'in the age-old trails the Whitetails take daily. No luck-don't tell me that deer aren't smarter than we are! I gave up & ambitiously started walking up the ridge perpendicular to the contour lines that parallel Whitetail Ridge. I was only about 200 yds from the summit when I was lucky to glance up at the right 3 seconds to see Hank's bear barrel along the trail just below the summit of the ridge. I marveled at the way the sunlight caused his jet black fur to glisten. Usually only fall bears have such a pretty pelt. He was definitely “picking them up & putting them down” as far as his rate of travel is concerned. I will always remember how his rump & lower back had ripples of fat oscillating as he galloped out of sight.
I never saw that bear again. Speak of respect for an animal! Hank has been gone for at least 2 years now. A victim of a stroke or an aneurysm. A hard man to communicate with but one who demands a lot of respect. I miss him although he was difficult to deal with. How do you explain that? Last week I set up a ground blind on a hillside where I “thought” two good deer trails crossed. Nothing happened after two long morning & evenings there. What did get my attention was a series of tracks in the soft soil.....one track revealed a 4.5” or 5” frontpaw of a bear. Could it be? I gotta go back. Sgt Henry has given a lawful order.
