TSY recently shared an awesome adventure. When it hit the Facebook bunch it received a lot of attention, some of which was very favorable, and some that came in the form of an ugly attack.
I’ve heard a phrase come up many times in and around the surfing community. “Only a surfer knows the feeling.” This phrase is a bit abstract. It is a bit inviting and sends several messages.
After reading Leigh’s bear hunting article, I see the phrase in a new way. For most of surfing’s life, it was frowned upon. Surfing was thought to be a waste of time and simply not productive. Only a surfer knows, was sent to the folks judging and berating. It was a message that said, “Hey, you ever surfed?” It asked “Could you, even if you tried?” It said, “If you made the commitment that I made to do this thing, your perspective would not be what it is.”
When I spent more time with it, it echoes other sentiments found in the Indian’s Prayer. Do not judge your neighbor until you have walked a mile in their moccasins. It is says judge not, lest ye be judged.
These simple ways of respecting one another have a common thread that seems to be lost in our cyber space. I’m certain the cyber bullying would diminish if it were not cyber. In a one-on-one session, cowardice would silence this hate. With no accountability, some folks simply can’t behave or don’t understand how to control themselves.
We don’t all agree on everything and that’s good. The world is a lovely melting pot of ideas and pursuits. That’s beautiful, until ugly hate is allowed to creep in. This is the stuff that perpetuates ill will, and we can control it. If you can’t say anything nice, zip it.
It’s very simple. If you are not able to apply some empathy, learn.
Only a surfer knows the feeling is not exclusive to surfing. Only a Yogi… Only a Vegan…. Only a Woman… Only a Hunter… Only a whatever…don’t be ugly to one another. One more interesting point, and please fact check this, if you look at the hate-filled childish comments, they seem to come from a crowd that touts inclusion when it’s trendy. Interesting to see who says what. Enjoy what you do, and let’s all just be little sweeties. If you can’t find sweet, then just zip it up.
This is part three of our bear hunt in Alaska. If you missed part two you can get caught up in a hurry here.Also, a heads up for our readers: This post contains photos of field care, so there is blood. It’s part of life and certainly part of hunting, but we felt it was worth letting you know before you scroll down.
When I pulled the trigger, I lost sight of the bear in my scope.
“Dead bear,” came the immediate assessment from Edgar. He’d watched the boar crumple to the ground.
But seconds later, the bear got to his feet and was rushing to the tree line. I had chambered another round, but Edgar was faster, and followed up with another shot. He walked toward the trees and motioned for me to stay back. Minutes later I heard another shot, and then Edgar waved me forward.
“It’s a big bear.”
When we walked up on the bear, I was in awe. This was a huge black bear, much bigger than I expected. I felt so many emotions all at once. I felt a little sad, but also in shock. I had thought about this hunt for so long, and had taken a long time to determine that I wanted to shoot a bear. I also knew I might cry when I did, or feel intense regret. But I didn’t. It’s hard to put into words everything I was feeling. But the best way to describe it is, I loved this bear. I know how that sounds. I just put him down, but he was an incredible animal and I loved him.
We dragged him into a clearing and got to work. It was nearing ten o’clock at night, but we still had light for another hour, and needed to make the best of it. We dressed him out there in the field, being careful to take all the meat that would be good to eat, and cutting the hide away.
With the bear dissected in front of us, we could see that my first shot went into his neck, traveled diagonally through his body and exited out the opposite thigh. It would have killed him, but big bears don’t die easily, and I didn’t want him to suffer, so I’m glad Edgar was there with the follow up.
It took three hours to get the meat into bags and pack the bear to the boat. Captain Scott and first mate Dave had been anchored off a short distance away, and watched all the action, but they couldn’t tell how the land dipped so they were puzzled as to why we didn’t shoot the bear from that first downed tree. We told the story and stayed up a little while, walking them through it. Then we tied the meat bags to the railing on the stern, had seconds on fish dinner, and climbed into bed.
In the morning, after coffee and a quick breakfast, it was Edgar’s turn to find a big boar, and he had one in mind. We hopped in the skiff and zoomed over to the beach where we’d spotted the cinnamon bear the day before. We got out quietly and crept over to the clearing. The cinnamon bear wasn’t around, but another bear was. From that distance we could tell he was a shooter… big and furry, and not looking in our direction.
We moved in a little closer and paused behind some tree cover. Still there. We closed in a little more, and I put my fingers in my ears as Edgar took aim. One shot and the bear was down.
He was beautiful… all black with a brown heart on his chest. He was already in a clearing so we got to work, dressing out our second bear in less than twelve hours. This time it took two hours to pack up meat bags and skin the hide. Then we let Captain Scott know we were ready for pick up.
On the way back to Seward we stopped for a little more fishing. I brought up my first ever halibut, and Edgar caught some beautiful yelloweye rockfish.
We also caught a lingcod that matched perfectly with my outfit, but he was not a size we could keep.
Back in Anchorage, we went shopping for a grinder, vacuum sealer and smaller freezer bags and got to work in Edgar’s garage. (We figured getting all those supplies beforehand would be presumptuous.) Edgar cut the bear meat into strips, and I worked the grinder, mixing the lean bear with some pork sausage, then bagging it and marking it for the freezer.
How much meat do you get from two Alaskan black bears? We processed meat for 17 hours.
I’m writing this recap a couple weeks after the hunt, and I’m realizing how the hunt isn’t over when the trip ends. I’ve brought meat home… meat that I’ve harvested myself. My freezer is full, and so are my neighbors. They came over for bear chili and asked for seconds. My coworkers all asked to try some, and they’re organizing a potluck where we all bring in something we’ve cooked with the meat. I’ve told the story of the bear, and I’ve shared photos. I’ve thought a lot about this bear’s legacy, and I don’t take any of it lightly. I will forever be thankful for this trip, the Alaskan wilderness and my bear.
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