Please forgive this long, picture-laden post, but it marks the end of a 33 year-old dream for me. Yes indeed, I was but 10 years old when I read the August, 1976 issue of Outdoor Life and was smitten with the idea of going on a grizzly hunt. Somehow, too many years of post-secondary schooling got in the way, followed by marriage, more schooling, then far too much work. By the time I was in a position to actually do this hunt, our season in Alberta had just been closed, and I needed to come up with another plan.
That led to a decision in 2003 to book a hunt in Alaska for 2007. It was a great plan, but for the fact that the outfitter I had carefully chosen was unable to make good on the booking, since he had to be in court that week to face criminal charges, including 7 counts of felony assault. Great...
After a lot of grief trying to get my deposit back (which, thankfully, I did), I decided to book for 2009 with Jake Jefferson of Black River Hunting Camps. Since Jake cheerfully admitted to having no pressing criminal issues, I figured this was the guy for me.
And so he was, for sure.
I think at this point I'd better stop talking and just show some of the highlights...
...Taking off from Talkeetna
... The view flying in
... Dropped off at last
... The first day of a 10-day hunt, and there's our bear (albeit in a terrible position and headed over the mountain)
... Hmm... That bear now seems to be wandering in our direction again. We'd better start chasing that thing.
... It's hard to pay attention to the bear when you keep finding yourself surrounded by caribou (in a zone without a !@#$ non-resident tag
)
... And of course, when you don't have a tag, bulls like this keep waltzing into bow range
... As we drew closer to the bear, this was the view down the west side of the valley. It's Mt. McKinley (tallest peak in North America) and despite being 110 km away, it dominated the horizon.
... Another view of that incredible mountain
... OK, back to business. That bear is now almost within my grasp. Or rather, it's about at the tip of my finger.
... Crossing the valley to get to the bear on the other side
... Time passes, as does some of the distance. Now it's at the tip of my rifle barrel.
... Eventually, more time and more distance passes. Once the range finder said we were within 600 yards, and the bear started working into an approachable spot, my mindset began to change. Until that point, I was mentally prepared for this to simply be a bear spotted rather than harvested. But it was beginning to look possible.
Then at around 250 yards, it was beginning to look really possible. That was when the bear heard something as we scrambled up the rocks and thick alders, and suddenly it was looking intently in our direction. As it turned out, Jake had just broken off eye contact for a moment and didn't notice this as he negotiated a particularly thick tangle of brush. I hissed out a warning and brought him to a sudden stop, and we stood there for what seemed an eternity as the bear stared holes right through us. Finally, it went back to feeding and the hunt was on again.
The last 65 yards we went up that slope sound simple, but they weren't. The alders got thicker, the rocks got bigger, and the bear got closer. When Jake ranged 185 yards, it was quickly decided that this was as good as it was going to get. I wish I could say that what followed as a cool-as-a-cucumber moment right out of the pages of Ruark or Capstick. But all of a sudden, I found myself dealing with fogged glasses (having really overheated during the climb up), shooting sticks that were sinking into the mossy ground as if it were quicksand, and some intervening brush that partially screened the bear from anything but a standing offhand shot. Eventually, I pulled myself and the shooting sticks together and -- to Jake's great amusement afterwards -- started talking myself through the shot. I don't recall having done that at all, but apparently I was whispering to myself -- "It's just another shot, Don. Just another shot. You've killed gophers a lot farther than that. It's just another shot."
Like hell it was just another shot! IT WAS A GRIZZLY GODDAMNIT!!!! Bigger than life, and something I'd dreamed about for almost all of mine. And it was right there on those rocks, quartering towards us. Then turning broadside. Then frozen for a moment, before rolling onto its side towards us. As it disappeared, I saw a front leg in the air completely frozen, then its head equally immobile. And then it was gone, vanished into the tangled rock slide. It was only then that I realized I must have shot it, but I honestly wasn't even aware of the .338 going off. All I could see, all I was aware of, was that bear.
Just as it disappeared, I heard Jake's .416 Remington roar out a back-up shot. I wasn't surprised, as we had agreed that the position of the bear wasn't likely to allow me a second shot before it was lost in the boulders.
Suddenly, everything was silent. After a few moments of listening, Jake circled above the bear's last known position while I covered the obvious escape routes I could see. Suddenly, a very happy guide called out that I needed to start climbing up slope and come enjoy a very special sight.
As it turned out, Jake's insurance shot wasn't needed. The Barnes TSX bullet from the .338 had flown true, hitting the front shoulder before proceeding upwards and breaking the bear's neck. It had been dead before it even hit the ground.
I'm not sure what these pictures will look like to anyone else, but to me they almost bring tears to my eyes with the realization that the dream I've held longer than any other has actually come to pass. There's almost a sadness in that, a feeling of mortality that furthers the bond I'll forever share with this animal. The big dream, the really Big Dream, is over. Perhaps I'll have the chance to hunt a grizzly again, but it will never be this bear again. It will never those final yards of stalking uphill towards a lifetime of destiny. It will never again be this:
With that, it was time to hoof it back to camp in a vain attempt to get back before dark. Then a return trip the next morning, a quick skinning of the bear, and an even longer, heavier trip back.
And before I forget -- here's a tip for the wise. Never (EVER) tell your guide that you want to pack the hide and skull out yourself. Because he'll absolutely love the idea and try to hold you to it. I'm going to guess that pack, gear, rifle, hide and skull hit the 90 lb mark. Which wouldn't have been that big a deal if: a) camp wasn't 8 km away and up about 2,000 feet in elevation from the bottom of the valley, and b) my body wasn't busy reminding me that I'm not 18 anymore.
... It's getting heavier
But somehow, my spirit kept getting lighter
That led to a decision in 2003 to book a hunt in Alaska for 2007. It was a great plan, but for the fact that the outfitter I had carefully chosen was unable to make good on the booking, since he had to be in court that week to face criminal charges, including 7 counts of felony assault. Great...
After a lot of grief trying to get my deposit back (which, thankfully, I did), I decided to book for 2009 with Jake Jefferson of Black River Hunting Camps. Since Jake cheerfully admitted to having no pressing criminal issues, I figured this was the guy for me.
And so he was, for sure.
I think at this point I'd better stop talking and just show some of the highlights...
...Taking off from Talkeetna
... The view flying in
... Dropped off at last
... The first day of a 10-day hunt, and there's our bear (albeit in a terrible position and headed over the mountain)
... Hmm... That bear now seems to be wandering in our direction again. We'd better start chasing that thing.
... It's hard to pay attention to the bear when you keep finding yourself surrounded by caribou (in a zone without a !@#$ non-resident tag
)
... And of course, when you don't have a tag, bulls like this keep waltzing into bow range
... As we drew closer to the bear, this was the view down the west side of the valley. It's Mt. McKinley (tallest peak in North America) and despite being 110 km away, it dominated the horizon.
... Another view of that incredible mountain
... OK, back to business. That bear is now almost within my grasp. Or rather, it's about at the tip of my finger.
... Crossing the valley to get to the bear on the other side
... Time passes, as does some of the distance. Now it's at the tip of my rifle barrel.
... Eventually, more time and more distance passes. Once the range finder said we were within 600 yards, and the bear started working into an approachable spot, my mindset began to change. Until that point, I was mentally prepared for this to simply be a bear spotted rather than harvested. But it was beginning to look possible.
Then at around 250 yards, it was beginning to look really possible. That was when the bear heard something as we scrambled up the rocks and thick alders, and suddenly it was looking intently in our direction. As it turned out, Jake had just broken off eye contact for a moment and didn't notice this as he negotiated a particularly thick tangle of brush. I hissed out a warning and brought him to a sudden stop, and we stood there for what seemed an eternity as the bear stared holes right through us. Finally, it went back to feeding and the hunt was on again.
The last 65 yards we went up that slope sound simple, but they weren't. The alders got thicker, the rocks got bigger, and the bear got closer. When Jake ranged 185 yards, it was quickly decided that this was as good as it was going to get. I wish I could say that what followed as a cool-as-a-cucumber moment right out of the pages of Ruark or Capstick. But all of a sudden, I found myself dealing with fogged glasses (having really overheated during the climb up), shooting sticks that were sinking into the mossy ground as if it were quicksand, and some intervening brush that partially screened the bear from anything but a standing offhand shot. Eventually, I pulled myself and the shooting sticks together and -- to Jake's great amusement afterwards -- started talking myself through the shot. I don't recall having done that at all, but apparently I was whispering to myself -- "It's just another shot, Don. Just another shot. You've killed gophers a lot farther than that. It's just another shot."
Like hell it was just another shot! IT WAS A GRIZZLY GODDAMNIT!!!! Bigger than life, and something I'd dreamed about for almost all of mine. And it was right there on those rocks, quartering towards us. Then turning broadside. Then frozen for a moment, before rolling onto its side towards us. As it disappeared, I saw a front leg in the air completely frozen, then its head equally immobile. And then it was gone, vanished into the tangled rock slide. It was only then that I realized I must have shot it, but I honestly wasn't even aware of the .338 going off. All I could see, all I was aware of, was that bear.
Just as it disappeared, I heard Jake's .416 Remington roar out a back-up shot. I wasn't surprised, as we had agreed that the position of the bear wasn't likely to allow me a second shot before it was lost in the boulders.
Suddenly, everything was silent. After a few moments of listening, Jake circled above the bear's last known position while I covered the obvious escape routes I could see. Suddenly, a very happy guide called out that I needed to start climbing up slope and come enjoy a very special sight.
As it turned out, Jake's insurance shot wasn't needed. The Barnes TSX bullet from the .338 had flown true, hitting the front shoulder before proceeding upwards and breaking the bear's neck. It had been dead before it even hit the ground.
I'm not sure what these pictures will look like to anyone else, but to me they almost bring tears to my eyes with the realization that the dream I've held longer than any other has actually come to pass. There's almost a sadness in that, a feeling of mortality that furthers the bond I'll forever share with this animal. The big dream, the really Big Dream, is over. Perhaps I'll have the chance to hunt a grizzly again, but it will never be this bear again. It will never those final yards of stalking uphill towards a lifetime of destiny. It will never again be this:
With that, it was time to hoof it back to camp in a vain attempt to get back before dark. Then a return trip the next morning, a quick skinning of the bear, and an even longer, heavier trip back.
And before I forget -- here's a tip for the wise. Never (EVER) tell your guide that you want to pack the hide and skull out yourself. Because he'll absolutely love the idea and try to hold you to it. I'm going to guess that pack, gear, rifle, hide and skull hit the 90 lb mark. Which wouldn't have been that big a deal if: a) camp wasn't 8 km away and up about 2,000 feet in elevation from the bottom of the valley, and b) my body wasn't busy reminding me that I'm not 18 anymore.
... It's getting heavier
But somehow, my spirit kept getting lighter
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