Yesterday, good friend David Brinker and I made good on our promise to get out bear hunting at least one evening this year. David would carry his bow and I would man the rifle.
Saw six bears yesterday. A sow and two cubs of different colors. Two black boars, and one beautiful cinnamon that we were trying to shoot when we encountered this guy.
Around 7 O'clock, we saw a very nice cinnamon boar coming off the mountain, cross the fence to public and head into a brush patch that most hog hunters would give up on. We trotted the half mile to an overlook into the drainage, during which distance the wind went from perfect to terrible. The wind was funneling right down our backs. We're screwed.
All we could do is sit and watch the opposing hillside and hope our scent would bust the bear out of the draw and across the big steep face across from us. It would be about a 250 yard shot. Nope. Caught a glimpse of the bear crossing a little opening in the plum bushes and he was going the wrong way. Damn the luck. Oh well, this little trot had taken us closer to the truck, so we decided to slowly hunt our way back, glassing the little openings that were between us and the trail head.
The trail took us south of this big drainage of brush, with the wind still at our backs. Our hope was that we would catch something moving off a ridge down into the long draw; a draw where three years ago I saw seven bears in one evening. Not sure what gives with this spot, but it seems every bear on the mountain comes to this place toward dark. If we were lucky, we would catch them crossing one of the big sage hillsides that lead into this steep ugly place.
The trail we were following back down to the truck makes a turn that cuts closer to the draw where these bears like to gather. From this spot, you can look over to a little knob that protrudes above the mess of blowdown and cat-scratching plum bushes. The knob crest is a grassy patch littered with some aspens, a few spruce, but is mostly a small island of open ground among a huge drainage of the nastiest brush this part of Montana has to offer.
As we rounded that corner of the trail, David put up his binos and said he saw the ears of a bear sleeping in the brush. My thought, "Yeah, right. How do you see the ears of a bear sleeping in this thick brush?" I followed to where he was looking and did see what looked like two bear ears above the brush. Then, they disappeared. I didn't get a long enough look to tell for sure.
We stood there for five minutes and nothing. Something had been there and it looked like the it was just over the crest of the knob that floats above this mess of impenetrable brush. David moved down the trail for a different view. I stayed put and kept glassing.
Now, I see two black ears. Again, in the same spot. I whistled David back up to my position. We glass as hard as we can, but we cannot make it out for sure. Then, it disappears behind the brush that grows on the crest of the draw.
For the heck of it, I get out my range finder. 124 yards. Wind is perfect. But, what do we have over there? It was jet black, and the unmistakable color and sheen of a bear. The ears disappear again. The crest of this little knob makes it like a jack in the box. The ears we see seem attached to a bear just on the other side and when he lifts his head up from feeding, you can just see the tops of his head.
I tell David that often I see sows and cubs in here. No way I am going to shoot without knowing that some cubs are not on the other side of ridge. If nothing else, it is a fun game of peek-a-boo.
David and I weigh our options. We have about 45 minutes of shooting light left. The bear has now disappeared behind the crest of this ridge. We really have no shooting rest, as the brush is chest-high. We start to laugh and the craziness of this arrangement.
I search my pack and find an old diaphragm elk call that somehow I missed when de-junking my gear. I ask David what he thinks of the plan to scream on the call and hopefully bring the bear 20 yards our direction and no longer have the crest of the ridge obscuring our ability to check him out.
He laughs. I told him I have called a few bears before and if he screamed on that thing, I might have a 100-110 yard shot right where those few small spruce marked the crest of the ridge. He concluded we didn't have much to lose and there was no way he was going to get a shot with his recurve bow.
I moved forward a couple steps into the brush, hoping to find some small limbs I could use for a rest. No luck. I bent over a handful of sticker bushes and got a hand full of stickers. It was the best I could manufacture for a rest and was as close to free hand as a rest could be.
I turned back and gave David a nod. He let out his best dying animal imitation. Immediately, the bear head picked up and dialed right in to our location. Now, I could see the entire head of the bear. Through the scope, I was looking at a boar, or a sow with the widest noggin I had ever seen. All I could see was the head.
David kept up his racket. Now the bear disappeared. WTH. I grab my binos and I can see the bear's face peeking out the brush at the top of the ridge. The crest of the ridge has a lot thicker brush than I thought. Enough brush to head an entire bear standing on all four.
I look back at David. He whispers that if it is a sow, it would be bigger than any sow he's ever seen. I range it. 118 yards. David keeps howling on the call. The bear refuses to come out any further.
I have to raise my voice slightly above a whisper to let David know that I will not shoot unless the bear comes to this side and exposes himself in the open area of the ridge; an opening maybe 60 yards wide. At least then I can see his body and hopefully where any cubs are nearby. If nothing else, it's exciting to have a bear coming toward you in search of an easy meal. Real exciting.
The bear now steps forward about two steps and is completely free of any brush. He is looking right at us, clacking his teeth. His broad front shoulders confirm what his head indicated. Either a really good boar, or a sow on some sort of growth hormones. I try to place the cross hairs on his chest, only to realize the adrenaline has suddenly hit. I am chasing the crosshairs back and forth, coming to the conclusion I would never take this shot as unsteady as I am.
I look back at David and he is all excitement. As am I.
I return my focus to the bear, taking a few deep breaths in hopes to rid myself of the shakes. It works, a bit. David continues calling and the bear keeps examining and clacking his teeth as if to tell us something. I continue trying to calm my nerves.
There is a break in the calling. I turn to David and see he is out of breath and he is massaging his cheeks. He has been on this call a while and I know how your mouth/cheek muscles starts to hurt.
I turn back to the bear and I have him facing straight towards me. He has a small white spot on his chest. I try to keep the crosshairs on that white patch, though a frontal shot is not a shot I am not going to take. If the bear dives off into this brush, with low light, I don't care to go looking for him. With the scope at 6 power, I can see the bear smacking his teeth as if to say, "What ever you are, identify yourself or I'll have to come over there and shut you up."
Saw six bears yesterday. A sow and two cubs of different colors. Two black boars, and one beautiful cinnamon that we were trying to shoot when we encountered this guy.
Around 7 O'clock, we saw a very nice cinnamon boar coming off the mountain, cross the fence to public and head into a brush patch that most hog hunters would give up on. We trotted the half mile to an overlook into the drainage, during which distance the wind went from perfect to terrible. The wind was funneling right down our backs. We're screwed.
All we could do is sit and watch the opposing hillside and hope our scent would bust the bear out of the draw and across the big steep face across from us. It would be about a 250 yard shot. Nope. Caught a glimpse of the bear crossing a little opening in the plum bushes and he was going the wrong way. Damn the luck. Oh well, this little trot had taken us closer to the truck, so we decided to slowly hunt our way back, glassing the little openings that were between us and the trail head.
The trail took us south of this big drainage of brush, with the wind still at our backs. Our hope was that we would catch something moving off a ridge down into the long draw; a draw where three years ago I saw seven bears in one evening. Not sure what gives with this spot, but it seems every bear on the mountain comes to this place toward dark. If we were lucky, we would catch them crossing one of the big sage hillsides that lead into this steep ugly place.
The trail we were following back down to the truck makes a turn that cuts closer to the draw where these bears like to gather. From this spot, you can look over to a little knob that protrudes above the mess of blowdown and cat-scratching plum bushes. The knob crest is a grassy patch littered with some aspens, a few spruce, but is mostly a small island of open ground among a huge drainage of the nastiest brush this part of Montana has to offer.
As we rounded that corner of the trail, David put up his binos and said he saw the ears of a bear sleeping in the brush. My thought, "Yeah, right. How do you see the ears of a bear sleeping in this thick brush?" I followed to where he was looking and did see what looked like two bear ears above the brush. Then, they disappeared. I didn't get a long enough look to tell for sure.
We stood there for five minutes and nothing. Something had been there and it looked like the it was just over the crest of the knob that floats above this mess of impenetrable brush. David moved down the trail for a different view. I stayed put and kept glassing.
Now, I see two black ears. Again, in the same spot. I whistled David back up to my position. We glass as hard as we can, but we cannot make it out for sure. Then, it disappears behind the brush that grows on the crest of the draw.
For the heck of it, I get out my range finder. 124 yards. Wind is perfect. But, what do we have over there? It was jet black, and the unmistakable color and sheen of a bear. The ears disappear again. The crest of this little knob makes it like a jack in the box. The ears we see seem attached to a bear just on the other side and when he lifts his head up from feeding, you can just see the tops of his head.
I tell David that often I see sows and cubs in here. No way I am going to shoot without knowing that some cubs are not on the other side of ridge. If nothing else, it is a fun game of peek-a-boo.
David and I weigh our options. We have about 45 minutes of shooting light left. The bear has now disappeared behind the crest of this ridge. We really have no shooting rest, as the brush is chest-high. We start to laugh and the craziness of this arrangement.
I search my pack and find an old diaphragm elk call that somehow I missed when de-junking my gear. I ask David what he thinks of the plan to scream on the call and hopefully bring the bear 20 yards our direction and no longer have the crest of the ridge obscuring our ability to check him out.
He laughs. I told him I have called a few bears before and if he screamed on that thing, I might have a 100-110 yard shot right where those few small spruce marked the crest of the ridge. He concluded we didn't have much to lose and there was no way he was going to get a shot with his recurve bow.
I moved forward a couple steps into the brush, hoping to find some small limbs I could use for a rest. No luck. I bent over a handful of sticker bushes and got a hand full of stickers. It was the best I could manufacture for a rest and was as close to free hand as a rest could be.
I turned back and gave David a nod. He let out his best dying animal imitation. Immediately, the bear head picked up and dialed right in to our location. Now, I could see the entire head of the bear. Through the scope, I was looking at a boar, or a sow with the widest noggin I had ever seen. All I could see was the head.
David kept up his racket. Now the bear disappeared. WTH. I grab my binos and I can see the bear's face peeking out the brush at the top of the ridge. The crest of the ridge has a lot thicker brush than I thought. Enough brush to head an entire bear standing on all four.
I look back at David. He whispers that if it is a sow, it would be bigger than any sow he's ever seen. I range it. 118 yards. David keeps howling on the call. The bear refuses to come out any further.
I have to raise my voice slightly above a whisper to let David know that I will not shoot unless the bear comes to this side and exposes himself in the open area of the ridge; an opening maybe 60 yards wide. At least then I can see his body and hopefully where any cubs are nearby. If nothing else, it's exciting to have a bear coming toward you in search of an easy meal. Real exciting.
The bear now steps forward about two steps and is completely free of any brush. He is looking right at us, clacking his teeth. His broad front shoulders confirm what his head indicated. Either a really good boar, or a sow on some sort of growth hormones. I try to place the cross hairs on his chest, only to realize the adrenaline has suddenly hit. I am chasing the crosshairs back and forth, coming to the conclusion I would never take this shot as unsteady as I am.
I look back at David and he is all excitement. As am I.
I return my focus to the bear, taking a few deep breaths in hopes to rid myself of the shakes. It works, a bit. David continues calling and the bear keeps examining and clacking his teeth as if to tell us something. I continue trying to calm my nerves.
There is a break in the calling. I turn to David and see he is out of breath and he is massaging his cheeks. He has been on this call a while and I know how your mouth/cheek muscles starts to hurt.
I turn back to the bear and I have him facing straight towards me. He has a small white spot on his chest. I try to keep the crosshairs on that white patch, though a frontal shot is not a shot I am not going to take. If the bear dives off into this brush, with low light, I don't care to go looking for him. With the scope at 6 power, I can see the bear smacking his teeth as if to say, "What ever you are, identify yourself or I'll have to come over there and shut you up."
