Remembering follow-ups on wounded bears

Most times a hunter is tight to a bear without ever knowing it

Some odd thoughts  rumble through  my mind without apparent thought or reason. Current weather of circumstances have little to do with when these thoughts come to mind.

I don’t know how it happens. I guess it’s just the way my brain is wired together. Frankly, I  delight in these off-the-wall thoughts because they usually put a gentle spin on an  uneventful day.

I was looking through an old pile of Outdoor Life magazines from the decade when I wrote stories for them  on a regular basis for. One article was about a grizzly bear attack that I'd covered for the magazine.

The biologist was a man who had most of his face chewed or ripped off by a grizzly bear, and lived to tell me the story. The magazine flew me to Salt Lake City where the interview took place.

The man got too close to the bear without knowing it. Bad mistake

He lost one eye, his nose and one ear, and the bear literally ripped his face off. He'd had over 1,000 stitches when I did the interview, and he had more plastic surgeries scheduled.

That got me to thinking about the number of black bears I've killed while mopping up a messy job of shooting by other people. Years ago, when bear hunting meant going into a sporting goods store and buying a license. There was no need for a lottery draw in those days. Few people hunted bruins back then.

One of those kills was a bruin that had been shot in the hip, breaking the leg bone. The hunter was frightened and asked if I'd help. I said I would if he agreed to stay behind so I didn't have to listen to his nervous jabbering.

He agreed, and I went after the bear with a 3-inch magnum 12 gauge shotgun stoked with five No. 4 buckshot. I saw the bear at 40 yards, and hit him. He went down at the shot, got up, came running toward me, and four more shots were taken with the last one at six feet. It finally killed the pain-crazed animal.

I'd read stories as a kid about African hunters shooting a leopard or lion, and then having to dig them out of thick cover and kill them at close range. This was pretty heady business for me, knowing full well I'd never go to Africa. I'd have to settle on killing wounded bears that other people had severely injured but were scared to finish the job.

Another bear led me on a two-day hunt that covered a small swamp bordered on one side by a tiny creek. I had lost any blood sign but had found where the bear had bedded down three times. Finally a drop of blood was found near the creek. I crossed the creek and followed a faint blood trail slowly up a steep hill.

The shotgun barrel preceded me, and bent blades of grass pointed out the path taken by the wounded bruin. I'd just topped the hill when I spotted the bear three feet away. It moved and I shot, and that mess was over.

Take a step, stop, listen and look around, listen again and be silent

Bears have provided me with some hair-raising thrills. People talk about brown bears, grizzlies and polar bears, but more people are attacked by black bears each year than many people believe. Black bears are most common, and I've had some close encounters when armed and unarmed, and it's a thrill most people would prefer to live without.

Only once did I go after a wounded bear with another person, and it was a friend whose skills were legendary. We got that bear, but every other time I've done it was alone. And that was the way I preferred it.

Frightened people talk, make noise, and generally get in other people's way when some serious work must be done. Wounded bears often are shot at very close range in thick cover, and I didn't want anyone nearby for fear they would create a greater hazard than already existed.

I'd move slowly if the going was tough, stopping often and looking around. Of the six wounded bears I've dispatched, none had injuries that would have been immediately fatal. All animals were moving, and often the dirty work was done within an hour of sundown. It meant moving fast and quiet, getting close enough to the animal for a deadly shot. Of those six, only the one noted above required more than one shot.

It isn't something I'd do now because my vision is so poor. Back then I could see well, and there is a major adrenalin rush when the wounded animal is first spotted. Then it means staying downwind and trying to get close to the bruin without spooking it.

Doing this nasty piece of  business was never fun but whenever I went after a bear it was because the hunter couldn't or wouldn't do it. It meant putting an animal out of its misery as quickly as possible. I never advertised my services, never went looking for this kind of work, but for many years I always seemed to be in the area where bears were being hunted and trouble always seemed to find me.

This type of adventure offers more than enough for most people

I did it because someone had to. Otherwise, a frightened hunter may walk away from the problem or wait until the next day and not be able to find the bear.

This string of memories came back to me like a recurring bad dream. This wasn't Africa, and it wasn't a wounded leopard or lion at the end of a blood trail, but they were wild black bears that would be lost or may live long enough to become a danger to someone else.

It offered some hair-raising adventures, and the adrenalin rush was rather addictive to this small-town sportsman. And trust me, these were adventures I'll never forget.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors