Adventures in Bear Country

Alaska.

It was time to return to the wild… another rolling suitcase packed with essentials…another multi-leg trip with little sleep… another adventure waiting to begin.

“Who is the one with the firearm?” an airline attendant asks.

That would be me.

I had practiced for weeks, set up in my backyard with a target, several layers of backstop and a pellet gun. I walked off 25 yards and shot an entire container. My neighbors wondered what I was doing. Sometimes I wasn’t so sure myself. The pellet gun was necessary, as the ammo shortage didn’t allow me to practice with an actual rifle. The goal was to get more comfortable with the scope, the aim, the trigger. Shoulder pocket. Cheek weld. Find the crosshairs. Squeeze.

I’ve been on a lot of hunting trips. Some of them have been cataloged on this site. I’ve hunted wild hogs in Texas, elk in Idaho, antelope in Wyoming and caribou in the arctic circle. But I’ve never pulled the trigger. I’ve never made that decision. But for some reason I wanted to hunt a bear. The thought would come to me, and I’d toss it out, but it always made its way back around. I couldn’t explain why, but I wanted a bear.

Hence, the target practice. I read articles and watched videos. I knew I would be nervous, adreneline pumping and maybe too far away to be comfortable. I studied shot placement and bear anatomy… and I kept firing off rounds in the backyard.

Travel day came and I rolled a large bag and an even larger gun case into the airport. The airline attendant was patient and checked that I had packed everything appropriately and had the keys to the gun case locks…. and then I was on my way. Three flights later, Edgar was loading everything into the back of his truck in Anchorage and we were on our way to Seward.

It was late, but it was also summer in Alaska, so the light was with us until about 11:30p. We found our lodge, which was clean, comfortable, and right down the road from where we planned to target shoot in the morning. It was a strong start, but a short sleep, and we were back at the truck bright and early, ready to see if my backyard efforts had paid off.

I’d be shooting a 7mm-08. I’d shot this rifle a couple times before, but it had been a while, and I didn’t know how it would feel compared to the pellet gun I’d lifted and fired 250 times. Turns out, it wasn’t a whole bunch different. Edgar shot it once to make sure it was on. It was. He handed it to me, and I shot two rounds that landed just outside the target circle. We looked at each other and nodded. I was feeling good, and confidence would be a big part of the process. We packed it up and headed for the docks.

We were going out with a transporter, which is different than a guide. Our captain knew the area and would take us to some good spots, but it would be up to us to find the bears and track them. He also knew where to find the fish. Once we got on board and made our introductions, the captain and his mate suggested we plan ahead. “Let’s stop on the way out and catch dinner.”

Our accomodations came in the way of a 44-foot boat called the Viking. It was custom made for hunting, fishing and surfing adventures, so we found ourselves right at home. The views on the way out of Seward were amazing, and even though it was overcast, the temperature was just fine for hanging out, sipping coffee and watching sea lions laze around on giant rocks.

Partway out we stopped in an area Captain Scott said should have some rockfish. We dropped lines and sure enough, brought a few right up. We wouldn’t be starving after all. We pulled up lines and got back on our way.

The Viking brought us close enough to a few coves to glass from the boat, but at first we weren’t seeing any bears. We’d slow down… check both sides…. make sure there was nothing there and then move on. Enough snow had melted that there were patches of green, and a few spots were looking good for grazing.

Eventually we spotted an area that was too good not to take a closer look. We didn’t see a bear, but it was worth going to shore. We loaded into the skiff with Captain Scott, and he buzzed us over to land. Just as we were about to hit the beach, Edgar said, “There’s a bear right there.” Sure enough, a large black bear with reddish brown markings on his sides was meandering along, about 1000 yards from where we were.

We unloaded as quietly as possible, and tried to stay out of the wind. Bears don’t have great eyesight, but their sense of smell is incredible, and we knew if he got a whiff of us he’d be gone in a hurry.

We made our way into some cover. The bear was still there. But the shot was still too far for me.

We covered a little more ground and found another area to stop and check. The bear was still there, but this time he was moving a little closer to the tree line, and it was still about 380 yards… too far for me to shoot. Edgar could have taken it, but he had agreed to let the rookie have the first go.

We took the long way to reach the tree line down the way from him, still hoping to be down wind. When we peeked out, the bear wasn’t where we’d last seen him. We hoped he hadn’t gone far. Maybe he’d been bumped into the woods for a quick nap, and he’d come back out to graze. We slid off our packs, got comfy and waited.

About an hour later, no sign of the bear. Edgar offered to sneak into the tree line, and scout the wide path the bear probably used for cover. I stayed put in case the bear was spooked back out into the clearing, but no such luck. After a bit more stillness with no bear, we radioed to the captain that we were ready for a pick up.

Next up: We catch a glimpse of another black bear across the water, and form what sounds like a foolproof plan.