Bonding with Bears: An Alaska Hunt Forged in Friendship

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As the float plane banked, our first look at the large bay we’d found on a map months prior was a welcome sight. The plane passed over the Forest Service cabin before touching down on the water. My friend Jesse Tillman and I unloaded all our gear onto a gravel bar at the head of the bay. This would be our first Alaskan hunt. Excited as we were, there was work to be done; we needed to inflate the Alpacka rafts and shuttle all our gear over three miles to the cabin we would call home for the next nine days.

Tillman and I have been hunting partners for nearly two decades. After becoming friends in the military, we quickly developed a bond over hunting, old country music and NASCAR. We spent nearly 10 years stationed together in Georgia, where in between training and deployments, we were practically inseparable. When I got out of the Air Force in 2014, I moved to Wyoming. Shortly thereafter, Jesse got stationed in California, then New York. Though we talked regularly, we didn’t have the opportunity to hunt together often. So, when I came up with a crazy idea to apply for an Alaska bear hunt to coincide with his 40th birthday, it didn’t take much convincing for Jesse to jump on board.

Plenty of Time to Plan

Hunting a limited draw bear tag unit in southeast Alaska is something of a marathon. First, you need to apply in December, with results coming out in February. The tag doesn’t technically open until that following fall season and runs through the spring of the following year. So, by time this hunt had come to fruition, we’d applied a full 18 months prior.

The one positive being that left plenty of time to plan and sort out logistics. We needed to figure out hunt dates, find a hunting location, book travel, secure a float plane and coordinate vacation to maximize our time in the field. Even though it was our first trip to Alaska, working through all the logistics was surprisingly easy, but time consuming. We were able to sync our schedules so we could step off the commercial plane, onto the float plane, and be headed to our hunting destination within two hours of arriving in Alaska.

The Work Begins

As we trudged up the tidal bay, we laughed and joked about all the planning and preparation it took to get to this point. All jokes aside, we had arrived with bear tags in our pockets and nine days to make it happen. It was time to put our plan into action and test our skills for chasing black bears in the wilds of Alaska.

It took us nearly four hours from the time we were dropped off to get to the cabin. Per Alaskan law we couldn’t start hunting until the next day, which gave us plenty of time to check the zero on the Chapuis rifle. Hunting with a double rifle would be another first for us both. The Chapuis Iphisi is quite elegant, a one-rifle hunter’s dream double. Chambered in the classic .375 H&H and regulated to shoot a 300-grain pill of the Hornady DGX variety, it was sure to pack a punch for our intended game.

After confirming the rifle was on, squaring away our gear, and getting our first load of water to purify, we took in the rest of the evening from the porch of the cabin we would call home. Being this far north in late May, the days are long, averaging around 18 hours of daylight. We sat there and caught up while the sky gave us a sunset that felt it lasted for hours with hues of yellow turning to orange and finally pink. Then the rain started.

Anyone that’s hunted southeast Alaska in the spring knows if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s precipitation. On this trip, Alaska gave us the full experience. Waking up to a steady drizzle the next morning, we ate a quick breakfast and headed out to explore the various coves in hopes of turning up a bear.

Though we’d originally planned to be able to use the Alpacka rafts as a means of transportation, we learned quickly the bay had massive tidal swings. Because of this, we’d need to cruise the shorelines by foot. With the drizzle turning to an outright downpour, we hung tight to the heavy canopy, not expecting much bear activity. When the rain slacked off, we’d use it to move to the next potential glassing location, then the rain would pick back up again. This continued for most of the first day, playing a game of cat and mouse with Mother Nature.

As the evening sky again gave way to a stellar sunset on our first full day in the Alaskan wilderness, we glassed off the porch of our cabin. Just as we were finishing up a freeze-dried meal, something caught my eye across the bay on the distant shoreline. In the knee-high grass, I could make out just the hump of a bear. Our spirits lifted as we watched, but quickly noticed two other black dots; it was a sow with two cubs and therefore off-limits.

Rainy Day Fun

The next morning was more of the same, rain, rain and more rain. Since we’d seen a bear from the cabin the previous evening, we decided to utilize our shelter and glass from the porch. Though the days were long, this gave time for Jesse and I to catch up on family, relive our glory days in the military, talk about how it had changed since I got out and what he’d do once he retired. Late that afternoon another black spot appeared on a far-off shoreline. Another bear, though this time it looked like a boar feeding in a small cove more than a mile away.

With our gear loaded, we hustled to cut the distance, all the while being cognizant of the swirling winds. As we crossed the third slough and popped out on the same shoreline as the bear, the wind was still good. Closing the distance to within 200 yards, we saw the top of his back over the roll ahead of us. Seconds later, I felt the wind shift. In the blink of an eye, the bear picked his head up, sniffed the air and whirled, retreating for cover in the nearly impenetrable brush.

As we walked back to camp, we talked through our process of the stalk. Should we have been more patient? Could we have let him feed further out along the shoreline? Though we couldn’t seal the deal on that boar, one thing we took away was the need to get in close with our short-range rifle of choice. Now, we just needed another opportunity. As we settled in for the night, we made a game plan for the next day and drifted to sleep to the serenade of rain on the roof.

A Final Stalk

The next morning we woke to birds chirping and sunshine. Not wanting to let the luck of good weather get away from us, we set out to explore new areas of the large bay in hopes of finding bears in more remote areas. The day drug on, punctuated by intermittent rain, as we gave each spot an hour or two before moving on. We’d just got to our fourth or fifth “new spot” of the day, when I heard Jesse whisper “Bear!”

Thinking he was ribbing me as old hunting buddies do, I gave him the look of “yeah right.” Sure enough, Jesse pointed across the bay as a bear emerged in a small meadow 400 yards away. After checking the wind, we quickly cut the distance. Within minutes, we were inside 200 yards with a constant wind hitting my right cheek. My goal was to get within 100 yards with the Chapuis rifle. The bear was head down, feeding vigorously on the lush tidal grass, giving us the cover we needed to close the final few paces and get in position for the shot.

At 92 yards, we stopped as the bear casually fed in front of us. With just the top of the bear’s back protruding above the grass, we waited for him to present a clean look at his vitals. When the bear lifted his nose to test the wind, we could see his large, round head, confirming he was a mature boar. Finally, his vitals were exposed and with one shot from the Chapuis Iphisi, the boar dropped.

A Hard-Earned Trophy

Walking up to my bear, the rain didn’t seem to matter much. We’d come to Alaska, got dropped off in the middle of nowhere and accomplished our goal. As we took photos, skinned the bear and quartered up the meat, it rained even more. Once back to the cabin, we cooked up some tenderloin, adding the meat to our freeze-dried meals and took in the sunset. It was a perfect end to the day and gave us high hopes for the remainder of the trip.

Over the remaining days we had to hunt it rained more than it didn’t. Though we saw quite a few bears, they were either deemed immature or were sows with cubs. We were able to cover most of the large bay and hidden meadows in the time we had there, still enjoying each other’s camaraderie despite the lack of opportunities.

The trek back out to our exfil location seemed to be more of a chore than going in. Fighting an incoming tide with the added weight of a bear skull, hide and meat was quite an adventure. With a large storm looming, through the fog and the heavy rain, we saw the float plane. The hour-long flight back was quiet, almost somber as we headed back to cell-phone service. But as I write this, I eagerly await the next draw cycle and hope to get lucky enough to be planning another late-spring trip to chase bruins along the beach again.

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