Really Big Black Bears!

Two weeks previous, while scouting for deer we saw him. John spotted him at 350 yards. I immediately called him on it. "Yes, it's right there, that black spot! It's got to be a big male," John said. "Look though your binos; you'll see."

"John, you're crazy. That's a burned-out stump." I brought the binos to my eyes and stared at the burned-out tree stump. Then the strangest thing happened. The stump turned and looked at me. With what suddenly seemed like a very short 350 yards, the hair stood up on the back of my neck as I saw my first black bear in the wild.

I hunted that bear for several days, but never saw him again. On the last day of bow season I found myself perched on a hillside overlooking a small stream bed the bears were traversing on their way to raid a local campground two miles down the draw. By 7:00 a.m. I was bored and chanting to myself, "I wish I'd see a bear. I wish I'd see a bear." Then a squirrel would scratch somewhere behind me, and as I puckered up, the mantra changed to, "I hope that's not a bear! I hope that's not a bear!" It's funny how your perspective changes when you're hunting something that could be hunting you. After nine sightings--one within 15 yards--an arrow downed my first bear, and the memory of its death growl still sends a tickle down the back of my neck. At the time, I felt as if I were on the top of the world, ready to take on all comers. Little did I know it would be more than a decade before I would once again have the opportunity to hunt bear.

Vancouver Island
Not only was I ready to gear up for a bear hunt, but I was quick to learn that not all black bear are created equal it seems. In Southern California I was hunting Ursus americanus californiensis. Now I was headed for Vancouver Island, British Columbia, and would stalk the bigger Ursus americanus vancouveri. Simply stated, it's a subspecies that tends to run a lot bigger than its southern cousins such as I had encountered in California. This was all the more special as Safari Club International was in the process of classifying the island bears as their own category for records-book purposes, and I was booked for the first hunt of the year with a camera crew in tow for an episode of "Petersen's Hunting Adventures TV."

After arriving at the lodge and settling in for the night, haunting images of big, black bears kept my hackles up into the night and through breakfast. I've had several encounters with bears since that first one, without incident, but for some reason they still put a knot in my stomach. I would not classify it as fear. Most bears will turn at the first hint of man. It's the "most" part of that last statement that gives me what I would call a "healthy respect" for a fellow predator (we all have to go someday; I just don't plan my next life to be in the form of bear scat is all…)