"fruit of the Loom" cleaning time... - 05/23/07
All,
A couple of days ago, I experienced one of those "Kodiak moments" (pun intended) that can only be described in the past tense. To try and recount what took place and make the most sense out of it has taken an overtime amount of the bearhuntr's thought and memory; it would be impossible to slow the clock down (again) as it seemingly was during the event. I'll do my best.
Last Monday (week ago,)the preacher and I headed out to the bait station. Pictures from our game camera indicated we had a pair of decent black bears coming in at varied times of the evening, though the cycle of every two days was now a routine. This would be the second evening of the cycle and prospects looked good; the bait had been hit regularly.
About an hour into the stand, the smaller of the two bears we had on film came in, and the preacher took him with a good shot through the shoulder. This sub 6'bear was a fine looking specimen and had a very full hide with no rubs. The one we really wanted to see (that sported the 5 1/2" front pad) had been real elusive and didn't show.
The next two evenings found nary a hit at the site at all. A quick couple of calls to those that keep track indicated that none of the neighboring sites had scored yet, so prospects were still looking good. GregP (from here at the campfire)went along: it was decided that he would be the shooter for the evening if a suitable blackie came in.
I had a bow stand fixed at about 15 paces and a rifle stand at about twenty from the bait. After re-baiting and completing a short honey burn, Gregp settled into the rifle stand, and I climbed into the other. We didn't wait long for the bears to start showing...
I motioned to Greg that I could hear a bear in the bottoms moving around and pointed in it's general direction. After a few minutes, the bear had come around and up the hill towards us, settling itself down about 40 or 50 yards behind our position. It could be heard sniffing from time to time, yet still held it's position behind us. Then we heard another bear, this one to the left of the first bear. Scant moments later, all hell broke loose!
Fur was flying and branches were snapping as the bears came in at top speed! The 3 brown bears that leaped over the spruce log to the right of our stands were longer than the 55 gallon bait drum by at least a foot; they were larger in girth as well. Great...where's momma?
Momma made her presence known to us immediately, but it was the chocolate colored boar to her left that had her undivided attention. She started huffing and showing her displeasure toward the boar for several minutes. (We never did figure out what the fracas was about. He might have wanted to try and mate her, or possibly wanted to get a hold of one of the offspring and invite it to dinner.) The sow continued huffing and making her presence know. Ultimately, the ploy worked; the boar left the immediate area, unhappy after being scolded by momma.
Meanwhile, back at the "ranch," Greg and I were trying to figure out how to chase off the teenagers while not provoking the sow, who at this time was still somewhat occupied with the boar. We both made hand and arm motions and talked to them in an attempt to get their attention. I took off my hat and threw it towards them, intent on getting my scent down there. When they ignored my hat (the toss was too short to draw them away from the bait) I wadded up one of my gloves and threw it. One of the bears backed off yet the other two remained. I decided to take a shot at the coffee can sitting close to the barrel. The can flew and the rapport of the shot sent the three packing down the hill. Finally! The site seemed to settle; momma made no more noise...the boar had moved on a ways...and the three amigos were out of there. Peace, brother!
I mentioned to Greg that things were now better as I had been worried about momma and that, "she would have been very sore at having been harassed by the boar and would not have been joyous at finding us between her and the rag-tag, fur ball siblings." Also, I mentioned that �I would sure have hated to have shot her.� It was cool to have 5 brown bears around for awhile.
After about 20 minutes, I considered getting down and heading to the barn. Greg's advice to set tight for a little longer convinced me, and it proved prudent. Our trail back to the road was directly inline with where momma had been. Greg mentioned that he hadn't actually heard momma leave. She never really had�
In the briefest of moments and with little warning, the three teens and momma came in, directly under my stand. Two were in the lead with momma and the third right behind. Their approach was quick and I had little time to react to what happened next. As soon as the sow cleared the log under my stand she turned, cocked her head towards Greg and I, and charged. Her momentum carried her bulky frame right up under my tree stand and, with no little force, she rammed her jaws into the bottom side of the framework. I immediately stood up with rifle in hand and both of us started yelling like banshees at her. It seemed like long moments but she came up again in seconds (as Greg tells me later) and this time managed to reach her jaws over the side of the folding stand. I jabbed the barrel of my 338 into her face and she reacted like she had been stabbed with a hot fireplace poker. After being thwarted on the right side of the stand, she shifted tactics and decided to come up on the left!
Understand, this platform is only two feet (24 paltry inches) wide; the length of it's floor three feet. It was designed to support up to 300 pounds; I weigh 215 of those 300, my rifle and water bottle about 10 more. Momma weighed about 600. Being up as high as she was, her only option for claw use was to hang onto the tree. Thank God for well built, American made, quality products!
When momma came up the last time, there was no doubt about what needed to be done. The safety came off and, as her head and jaws cleared the side of the stand, I pulled the 338�s trigger. I couldn�t shoulder the rifle so had to fire it freehand. The end of the barrel was already lower than the corner of her open maw; the bullet smacked her in the neck and coursed straight through her body. When she hit the ground she managed two steps and turned towards our direction. A second 275 grain A-Frame to the chest finished her , though the first was lethal. After we skinned this bear , it was clear that the first bullet went all of the way through her body. It exited her rear ham and left an inch and a half hole in it�s haunch prior to plowing into the ground below.
The air was thick with unbelief of the event that had just unfolded. All happened so quickly. Seemingly,time stood still. Greg finally broke the ice with a patented �oh scheet� expletive. I seconded his �commotion� with my own.
It�s important to know that friend Greg P. is a very handy fellow. He is an awesome hunter in the sense that he�s woods-wise, calm under pressure, and has talent in endeavors as varying as ballistics and tracking or game calling. He also carried a working cell phone and had tested it�s capability on a previous trip to the site! A quick call to friends Jay and Pete meant that reps from Fish and Game troopers and biologists were on the way. Their ETA would be approximately one hour. We might as well start the skinning task. Wrong again.
We heard branches breaking and the sound of heavy steps coming up from the bottoms. We knew (or at least felt) that the three teens were just behind us. These sounds were 120 degrees to the northwest. Three more brownies had scented the bait and were now within 25 yards of us. These guys (or gals) were larger. A sow (as big as momma was) and two more bears, as large or just slightly smaller then she was, were now 5 yards from the bait. We had not been able to leave the stands for a second time.
We yelled at the top of our lungs, broke branches, and continued in an attempt to thwart these rascals from coming in. We would have our friends walking into a real melee if these newcomers had an opportunity to reach the bait barrel. I had one cartridge left (for what ever reason had only brought four in) yet Greg had eight for his 375 H&H. He fired a shot to the can on the backstop and sent it flying. The bears flew also�about 65 yards. For a few minutes, they took cover behind some blow-downs . The scents surrounding the bait site were too much for these bears; they recommited to carefully �stalking� the barrel again. We yelled some more and Greg fired yet another 300 grainer into the barrel as a deterrent. The fellows should be here any time. Greg had 6 cartridges remaining. We kept yelling. The new trio kept stalking. Finally we heard the yells of our friends. I asked Greg to stay in the stand and maintain a birds-eye view of the bruins while I went the 100 yards to meet the crew coming in. As I hit the ground, Greg shouted at the bears and told me they were just behind the barrel now: thirty yards away.
I double timed it over to where the men were and apprised them of the situation. We made lots of noise upon reentering the site and friend Larry let loose with a barrage bomb (my descriptive of what it was; I still don�t know it�s proper name) that went up above the trees like an aerial bomb and exploded with a thunderous clap! The bears moved back fifty or so yards. Now, armed with sturdy men and an arsenal of weapons, Pete and I got to skinning the brownie. Greg P was sent back up the stand to maintain an aerial vigil, and Larry, Todd, and Jay formed a perimeter around us while we worked. We were on our way out 35 minutes later.
This was a sad event in retrospect. I never wanted to shoot a sow in DLP (defense of life or property.) We took every precaution one could think of to keep from having such a showdown as this one ended up to be. In retrospect, I am convinced that the original, chocolate colored boar that harassed momma probably set her off. I feel that she scented me; I never moved or made a noise until she charge up the tree. I should note that Greg and I concur on one fact; momma never made a sound once she started coming. She didn�t growl, grunt, huff or even break wind�she just came. Full speed ahead.I can still hear the noise her jaws (and nose) made when it smacked the bottom of my hanging stand. The sight of same will not leave for awhile either.
There are many more things I could say as to these events but time is short. If I make it back to the computer for a couple of minutes in the next few days I�ll consider myself lucky. In the meantime, the fact that Greg and I had EIGHT brown bears at our site at almost the same time still hasn�t fully sunken in yet. I�m sure it will soon.
Best,
bhtr
A couple of days ago, I experienced one of those "Kodiak moments" (pun intended) that can only be described in the past tense. To try and recount what took place and make the most sense out of it has taken an overtime amount of the bearhuntr's thought and memory; it would be impossible to slow the clock down (again) as it seemingly was during the event. I'll do my best.
Last Monday (week ago,)the preacher and I headed out to the bait station. Pictures from our game camera indicated we had a pair of decent black bears coming in at varied times of the evening, though the cycle of every two days was now a routine. This would be the second evening of the cycle and prospects looked good; the bait had been hit regularly.
About an hour into the stand, the smaller of the two bears we had on film came in, and the preacher took him with a good shot through the shoulder. This sub 6'bear was a fine looking specimen and had a very full hide with no rubs. The one we really wanted to see (that sported the 5 1/2" front pad) had been real elusive and didn't show.
The next two evenings found nary a hit at the site at all. A quick couple of calls to those that keep track indicated that none of the neighboring sites had scored yet, so prospects were still looking good. GregP (from here at the campfire)went along: it was decided that he would be the shooter for the evening if a suitable blackie came in.
I had a bow stand fixed at about 15 paces and a rifle stand at about twenty from the bait. After re-baiting and completing a short honey burn, Gregp settled into the rifle stand, and I climbed into the other. We didn't wait long for the bears to start showing...
I motioned to Greg that I could hear a bear in the bottoms moving around and pointed in it's general direction. After a few minutes, the bear had come around and up the hill towards us, settling itself down about 40 or 50 yards behind our position. It could be heard sniffing from time to time, yet still held it's position behind us. Then we heard another bear, this one to the left of the first bear. Scant moments later, all hell broke loose!
Fur was flying and branches were snapping as the bears came in at top speed! The 3 brown bears that leaped over the spruce log to the right of our stands were longer than the 55 gallon bait drum by at least a foot; they were larger in girth as well. Great...where's momma?
Momma made her presence known to us immediately, but it was the chocolate colored boar to her left that had her undivided attention. She started huffing and showing her displeasure toward the boar for several minutes. (We never did figure out what the fracas was about. He might have wanted to try and mate her, or possibly wanted to get a hold of one of the offspring and invite it to dinner.) The sow continued huffing and making her presence know. Ultimately, the ploy worked; the boar left the immediate area, unhappy after being scolded by momma.
Meanwhile, back at the "ranch," Greg and I were trying to figure out how to chase off the teenagers while not provoking the sow, who at this time was still somewhat occupied with the boar. We both made hand and arm motions and talked to them in an attempt to get their attention. I took off my hat and threw it towards them, intent on getting my scent down there. When they ignored my hat (the toss was too short to draw them away from the bait) I wadded up one of my gloves and threw it. One of the bears backed off yet the other two remained. I decided to take a shot at the coffee can sitting close to the barrel. The can flew and the rapport of the shot sent the three packing down the hill. Finally! The site seemed to settle; momma made no more noise...the boar had moved on a ways...and the three amigos were out of there. Peace, brother!
I mentioned to Greg that things were now better as I had been worried about momma and that, "she would have been very sore at having been harassed by the boar and would not have been joyous at finding us between her and the rag-tag, fur ball siblings." Also, I mentioned that �I would sure have hated to have shot her.� It was cool to have 5 brown bears around for awhile.
After about 20 minutes, I considered getting down and heading to the barn. Greg's advice to set tight for a little longer convinced me, and it proved prudent. Our trail back to the road was directly inline with where momma had been. Greg mentioned that he hadn't actually heard momma leave. She never really had�
In the briefest of moments and with little warning, the three teens and momma came in, directly under my stand. Two were in the lead with momma and the third right behind. Their approach was quick and I had little time to react to what happened next. As soon as the sow cleared the log under my stand she turned, cocked her head towards Greg and I, and charged. Her momentum carried her bulky frame right up under my tree stand and, with no little force, she rammed her jaws into the bottom side of the framework. I immediately stood up with rifle in hand and both of us started yelling like banshees at her. It seemed like long moments but she came up again in seconds (as Greg tells me later) and this time managed to reach her jaws over the side of the folding stand. I jabbed the barrel of my 338 into her face and she reacted like she had been stabbed with a hot fireplace poker. After being thwarted on the right side of the stand, she shifted tactics and decided to come up on the left!
Understand, this platform is only two feet (24 paltry inches) wide; the length of it's floor three feet. It was designed to support up to 300 pounds; I weigh 215 of those 300, my rifle and water bottle about 10 more. Momma weighed about 600. Being up as high as she was, her only option for claw use was to hang onto the tree. Thank God for well built, American made, quality products!
When momma came up the last time, there was no doubt about what needed to be done. The safety came off and, as her head and jaws cleared the side of the stand, I pulled the 338�s trigger. I couldn�t shoulder the rifle so had to fire it freehand. The end of the barrel was already lower than the corner of her open maw; the bullet smacked her in the neck and coursed straight through her body. When she hit the ground she managed two steps and turned towards our direction. A second 275 grain A-Frame to the chest finished her , though the first was lethal. After we skinned this bear , it was clear that the first bullet went all of the way through her body. It exited her rear ham and left an inch and a half hole in it�s haunch prior to plowing into the ground below.
The air was thick with unbelief of the event that had just unfolded. All happened so quickly. Seemingly,time stood still. Greg finally broke the ice with a patented �oh scheet� expletive. I seconded his �commotion� with my own.
It�s important to know that friend Greg P. is a very handy fellow. He is an awesome hunter in the sense that he�s woods-wise, calm under pressure, and has talent in endeavors as varying as ballistics and tracking or game calling. He also carried a working cell phone and had tested it�s capability on a previous trip to the site! A quick call to friends Jay and Pete meant that reps from Fish and Game troopers and biologists were on the way. Their ETA would be approximately one hour. We might as well start the skinning task. Wrong again.
We heard branches breaking and the sound of heavy steps coming up from the bottoms. We knew (or at least felt) that the three teens were just behind us. These sounds were 120 degrees to the northwest. Three more brownies had scented the bait and were now within 25 yards of us. These guys (or gals) were larger. A sow (as big as momma was) and two more bears, as large or just slightly smaller then she was, were now 5 yards from the bait. We had not been able to leave the stands for a second time.
We yelled at the top of our lungs, broke branches, and continued in an attempt to thwart these rascals from coming in. We would have our friends walking into a real melee if these newcomers had an opportunity to reach the bait barrel. I had one cartridge left (for what ever reason had only brought four in) yet Greg had eight for his 375 H&H. He fired a shot to the can on the backstop and sent it flying. The bears flew also�about 65 yards. For a few minutes, they took cover behind some blow-downs . The scents surrounding the bait site were too much for these bears; they recommited to carefully �stalking� the barrel again. We yelled some more and Greg fired yet another 300 grainer into the barrel as a deterrent. The fellows should be here any time. Greg had 6 cartridges remaining. We kept yelling. The new trio kept stalking. Finally we heard the yells of our friends. I asked Greg to stay in the stand and maintain a birds-eye view of the bruins while I went the 100 yards to meet the crew coming in. As I hit the ground, Greg shouted at the bears and told me they were just behind the barrel now: thirty yards away.
I double timed it over to where the men were and apprised them of the situation. We made lots of noise upon reentering the site and friend Larry let loose with a barrage bomb (my descriptive of what it was; I still don�t know it�s proper name) that went up above the trees like an aerial bomb and exploded with a thunderous clap! The bears moved back fifty or so yards. Now, armed with sturdy men and an arsenal of weapons, Pete and I got to skinning the brownie. Greg P was sent back up the stand to maintain an aerial vigil, and Larry, Todd, and Jay formed a perimeter around us while we worked. We were on our way out 35 minutes later.
This was a sad event in retrospect. I never wanted to shoot a sow in DLP (defense of life or property.) We took every precaution one could think of to keep from having such a showdown as this one ended up to be. In retrospect, I am convinced that the original, chocolate colored boar that harassed momma probably set her off. I feel that she scented me; I never moved or made a noise until she charge up the tree. I should note that Greg and I concur on one fact; momma never made a sound once she started coming. She didn�t growl, grunt, huff or even break wind�she just came. Full speed ahead.I can still hear the noise her jaws (and nose) made when it smacked the bottom of my hanging stand. The sight of same will not leave for awhile either.
There are many more things I could say as to these events but time is short. If I make it back to the computer for a couple of minutes in the next few days I�ll consider myself lucky. In the meantime, the fact that Greg and I had EIGHT brown bears at our site at almost the same time still hasn�t fully sunken in yet. I�m sure it will soon.
Best,
bhtr
and am quite aware of your attitude and willingness, and will say it's a comforting thought.
...
.