When I got up the next morning I was hurting. On this kind of hunt, it’s very normal to wake up a little sore after a hard day, but this went beyond that. My legs, especially my right ankle and calf, felt weak and unstable. After getting dressed I walked over to where the dogs were chained up. I wasn’t the only one hurting; Buster’s feet were really torn up and he could hardly stand. Booie was in better shape and seemed ready for another day. Jake, who had been on the bench the previous day, was ready to go.

After breakfast, we headed up the Moose Creek trail to check the baits. The dogs didn’t smell anything of interest at the Camp Bait, so we pressed on to the Trout Creek bait. By the time we got to the top of the ridge my legs were just about done. And we hadn’t even started hunting yet.

The bait site was torn up again when we got there with lots of fresh scat. As the dogs started casting around, you could tell by their body language that there was fresh scent. As they cast further out, Michael and I waited to hear that first bawl. Jake struck the track and Booie soon joined him – and it didn’t take a GPS to see that they were headed straight through the re-prod on the west side of the ridge.

Michael tracking the hounds' progess through re-prod on his GPS

We stood at the edge of the bait site and listened to the chase unfold. “They seem to be headed towards the third bait,” Michael said as he watched their progress on the GPS. “Where is it?” I asked. He pointed to the northwest. “That way about a mile and half.”

We waited for another 20 minute or so when Michael said casually, “According to this, they’re treed.”

“Where?” I asked.

“In the middle of all of this re-prod.”

“Well, at least it isn’t uphill,” I said grabbing my pack. “You lead the way.”

Trying to navigate in a specific direction through the stuff is almost impossible. In places, it’s so thick that it truly is impenetrable. We worked our way through it as best we could, often walking on fallen trees like balance beams. After a half an hour we really weren’t much closer to where the GPS said they were treed than when we started. As we took a breather, Michael checked the GPS again. “Are they still treed?” I asked.

“No, they’ve left the tree and now they’re down by the trail again.”

I honestly felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

“OK, so what now?” I asked.

“We need to get out of this stuff. If we head north on this contour, we can follow the next drainage down to the trail and that other bait.”

With that, we started working our way north and eventually came to some more open terrain. I know Michael was frustrated that his dogs weren’t holding the bears in the trees and I was just about spent. As we made our way down to the trail, I had serious doubts if my legs would last for another day. Getting to the main trail raised my spirits a little bit as it meant no more side-hilling for the day.

After finding the dogs, we started back to camp. Along the way, I spotted a large morel mushroom. “They grow all over in here,” Michael said. “You should see it after a fire.” I picked the mushroom and put in an extra lunch bag I had in my pack. As we walked back to camp, we filled two bags full of fresh mushrooms that we found growing on the side of the trail. We hadn’t caught a bear, but at least we’d have a tasty snack for dinner!

Morel mushrooms were a common sight along the main trail

When we got back to camp, we found that Mike had arrived to do some camp maintenance. That night, over a dinner of mountain lion cutlets, they came up with a plan for the next day. Michael would take off first thing in the morning with the hounds and see if he could strike a fresh track. Mike and I would take the horses and refill the baits. If Michael got on a good track, we could then ride as far as possible. It sounded like a good plan to me. At minimum, I hoped it would give my legs a rest.

Mike and I were just leading the horses to the camp bait when we got a call from Michael that they’d treed a bear. “Is it a big one?” Mike asked him. “Yup,” was the reply. “Well, we better get you to the tree!” Mike said as he started leading the horses back down the trail.

We followed the main trail for about three quarters of a mile until we came to the second drainage north of the bait. Mike stopped the horses and listened. Very faintly, I could hear hounds up the ridge. “Just keep walking up and follow your ears,” he said to me. I’m going to keep going and get the baits refilled. I’ll meet you guys on the way back.” With that, he started up the trail with the horses and I started up the ridge to get my bear.

It wasn’t that steep in the beginning, but as I got closer it started getting much steeper. My legs still weren’t recovered and I soon had bad cramps, especially in my right leg. But I could hear the hounds above me. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other,” I thought to myself.

When I finally reached Michael and the dogs, they had the bear treed in a large fir about 40 feet off the ground. The beautiful chocolate colored bear was lying on a horizontal branch just staring down at the dogs. After taking a few pictures and some video, Michael leashed the dogs so I could shoot. The dogs need to be leashed in case the bear is still alive when comes out of the tree. If dogs jump on a wounded bear, they can get really torn up in a hurry.

With the dogs restrained, I centered the sights of my pistol directly between the bears from legs and squeezed the trigger. The shot landed true and the bear started slowly rolling off the limb. “Hit him again,” Michael said. Having lost a bear before because I didn’t want to put an extra hole in the hide, I didn’t need much encouragement. I put another shot in behind the shoulders, then a couple more for good measure. When the bear fell out of the tree and rolled down the ridge, it was already very dead.

The bear eventually came to a stop when it hit the roots of a fallen tree. When we gathered around it, I think everyone, dogs included, was really happy to finally have some success.

While bears weigh less in the spring, their coats are at their best this time of the year. This bear’s coat was in perfect condition without a single rub mark.

After taking a few pictures, we got to work skinning and quartering up the carcass and packed everything back to camp. That night, we had a couple of toasts, simply to “the bear.”

Michael with the skinned out hide