With one bear in the salt, I think all of us felt like the pressure was off. Even the dogs seemed a little more relaxed. But that didn’t mean that we weren’t going to make the most out of the last two days. I still had a valid tag in my pocket, and I intended to fill it if I could find a bigger bear than the chocolate.

When we took off Sunday morning, I could tell that my legs needed several days of rest before I’d be back to normal. But since I didn’t have several days, I was just going to have to man up keep putting one foot in front of the other. We checked the Camp Bait, but the dogs didn’t smell anything they liked. From there, we went back up to the Trout Creek bait, where the dogs once again got on a hot scent that took them over the top of the high ridge. To make a long story short, they didn’t catch him. Between the patches of re-prod and the bear repeatedly crossing the creek, the dogs finally lost the scent.

That afternoon as we were sitting there back in camp, I decided that I might as well make the most out of my time and decided to sit on the Camp Bait. The bears had pretty much cleaned it out, so Michael gave me a small bottle of restaurant grease to take with me to do a burn when I got there. There was a blind built out of some brush and logs, but it was about 60 yards from the bait which is farther than I’m comfortable shooting a handgun with open sights. Looking around, I noticed a small clump of trees about 25 yards downwind of the bait sight. I built a makeshift blind by tying a string between two of the trees and hanging my raincoat over it. It wasn’t fancy, but I figured it would work so long as I sat still.

My blind set up, I built a small fire and got the grease burning. I threw the fir branches on it and soon copious amounts of smoke were billowing into the air. After letting it burn for about five more minutes, I completely smothered it by kicking dirt over it. I then gave the barrel a couple of good shakes, to imitate the sound of it either being filled or of a bear eating out of it.

I was just getting settled when I noticed a bear walking down the trail towards the bait. While bears can be hard to judge, it was obvious this was a young bear. I think it was actually the yearling we’d treed there on the first day. He stopped about 20 yards from the bait and just stood there listening for several minutes. Then, convinced the coast was clear, he trotted over to the barrel to see what had been dropped off.

When he looked inside and realized that there wasn’t anything in there to eat, you could tell he was irritated. He started shaking the barrel back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge it from the tree. At this point, I was laughing so hard that I figured he’d have to have heard me and would take off. But he didn’t pay any attention to me.

After realizing that the chain holding the barrel to the tree was his problem, he grabbed it in his teeth and managed to get it slide down the tree and the barrel tipped over. There was a metal grate chained to the top of the barrel that divided in into quarters. This grate keeps them from being able to completely clean out the barrel. After getting his whole front leg in, he still couldn’t get the last bit of grain out of the bottom. Not being one to give up, he pulled his front leg out and then shoved his head in. Now things got really funny, because he head got stuck in the barrel. Soon, he was growling and bleating, thrashing around trying to get his head out of the barrel. After about thirty seconds, he finally dislodged himself and sat down to take a breather.

At this point, he noticed something I had forgotten – the empty grease bottle. I set it down about 10 yards in front of my makeshift blind and hadn’t had a chance to pick it up before he got there. Now I could see his nose working as he approached the new object in his environment.

He was just about to grab the bottle when I launched a stick at him from behind my blind. With a grunt, he went crashing off. “Well, that should be the end of that,” I thought to myself, a little sad that the entertainment would be over. But it was far from over. Over the next two hours, he came back about a half a dozen times. Each time, just before he’d be about to grab the bottle I’d do something to chase him off; throwing a stick at him, saying “boo!”, barking at him, etc. When the light got too low to shoot, I packed up and headed back to camp. Hopefully, my entertaining myself at the expense of the young bear smartened him up a little bit!

Monday we were up early again and on the trail with the dogs. It was the same story. The dogs cut a good track, a good chase ensued, but the bear got away. Anyone who thinks that hunting with hounds is a sure thing should try a hunt like this. Out of all the bears we chased, we only ended up treeing two of them. The odds are definitely in the bear’s favor.

We were back in camp by about 2:00, so I decided that I might as well get my gear packed up somewhat so I wouldn’t have to deal with it in the morning. As I was stuffing some really dirty laundry into my bag, I was also thinking about what to do for the evening. On one hand, I already had a bear and it would be a nice ending to the trip to just relax for the rest of the evening and have a few drinks. On the other hand, I knew that there were multiple bears hitting the Trout Creek bait, and we still hadn’t seen any of them. Thinking about it for a while, I decided that instead of relaxing on my last night I’d give it one last shot.

We got a late start out of camp that evening because of a thunderstorm that rolled through. It was a pretty hot day, and the short storm really cooled things off. Around 7:00, Michael and I took off on the horses with about a 45 minute ride in front of us.

Michael dropped me off about two thirds up the ridge. The plan was for me to head up to the bait on foot. If I shot something, I’d radio him and he’d come back with the horses, otherwise I’d just walk back to camp at dark. “If I shoot something tonight, it’s going to be big and I’m going to try and break both shoulders and the spine with my first shot. I’d hate for you to have to pack a bear out of all of that re-prod,” I said to him as we checked our radios. With that I headed up the ridge.

Most of the trail up to the bait is fairly steep switchbacks until you get to the top. About a quarter mile from the bait, the trail does level out some and it’s fairly open country with mature pines and firs. All of the soft needles on the ground make for quiet walking if you watch where you put your feet. As I got closer to the bait, I slowed my pace and listened to see if I could hear anything in the bait itself and scanned the two ridges above me for bears. I was about 200 yards from the bait when I saw a bear about 100 yards up the north ridge from me. Instinctively, I stopped and crouched down. While the wind was completely in my favor, I was also completely out in the open. Trying not to make direct eye contact, I could see the bear looking at me, then looking at the bait, then looking back at me, then back to the bait.

I remembered hearing someone on TV once say that he dressed in black, because sometimes a bear would mistake him for another bear. While I wasn’t wearing black, I couldn’t think of anything else to try, so leaning over I did my best impression of a bear walk (probably looking more like a gorilla than a bear) and went towards the bait about 20 yards. This gave me cover behind a good sized fir tree. I quickly got out of my pack and pulled my revolver from its holster.

When I peeked around the tree, the bear was trotting down the ridge straight towards me. This surprised the heck out of me. I thought for sure I would have spooked him off. While I didn’t have a lot of time, it looked like a decent sized bear. When he was about thirty yards from me I stepped out from behind the tree and raised my gun. The bear stopped, then turned, giving me a broadside shot. I held high on the shoulder and squeezed the trigger. At the shot, the bear dropped like a rock and started rolling down the hill towards me. “Through both shoulders and the spine,” I thought to myself. “That was a good shot…”

The bear was about 15 yards from me when it started coming back to life. I hadn’t gotten both shoulders and the spine. I’d gotten the spine right behind the shoulders. At about 10 yards, the bear pulled itself up on its front legs. This time, I aimed for the heart and squeezed off a round. I saw fur fly, but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect. I thumbed back the hammer and put another one through the shoulders, hoping to break him down. That shot knocked it off it’s feet, but it continued to slide down the ridge, thrashing and snapping its teeth and bawling and snarling. Wanting to end things quickly, I walked up to it and put another round right in between the front legs when it rolled over on its back. This was from about six feet away. I then backed up few feet and was thinking that everything would be done in a few seconds. Instead, the bear got back on its feet and started pulling itself down the hill and towards me. I don’t really think it was charging me, but they same token if it would have been able to get a hold of me I think he would have done his best to tear me up. Not wanting to prolong this any longer, I quickly fired my last two shots into its chest from the front. As I backed up and tried to reload, the bear finally fell and took one last breath. While I would have preferred to have a one-shot kill, it was over and I got the job done.

I hadn’t had enough time to get a really good look at him before I took the shot. I knew that it was a mature bear, but I wasn’t sure how big it really was. Ground shrinkage is something I’ve experienced many times hunting bears. After my heart rate slowed a little bit, I finally got a good look at him. He was a big bear. No doubt about it. His head looked like a basketball and he had scars all over his face. I looked at his teeth, and they were worn down.

I radioed Michael who had just gotten to the bottom of the ridge that I had an animal down and he started on his way back up. By the time we had the pictures taken and the bear skinned and quartered, it was long past dark. The horses were at the bottom of the ridge, so we had some packing to do. Michael carried out the meat and I took the hide and skull. He definitely got the short end of that deal!

When we finally got back to the horses, it was pitch black. I literally couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

“Have you ever ridden in the dark before?”

“Nope.”

“Well, don’t turn on your flashlight. Your horse can see in the dark and will get you back to camp. Keep your head down and just focus on staying centered.”

I have to admit that at first, I was little nervous as the big horse started walking down the trail. Every once in a while a branch would brush my face, reminding me to keep my head down. But after a while the steady plodding of the horse, combined with a very long day had me just about asleep in the saddle. Before I knew it I could see the lights in camp. Lights I definitely hope to see again!