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Well, boys, it's been a while since I had a chance to boast about a hunt here on the 'Fire... but now's the time, it would appear. So here we go.

A couple years ago I was at DSC's show in Dallas and I got to talking with an outfitter about hunting bear with him up in the Peace River country in northern Alberta. He was a helluva nice guy, and before I could get my guard up I'd let him talk me into booking a spring bear hunt with him for 2016. I gave him a check for a deposit, and let the idea percolate in the back of my brain for a while.

Then last March I got a phone call from his head guide, Cody, telling me that Scott had up and died of a heart attack. Well, that was a shock! Scott was a youngish guy, reasonably good shape, waaaaaay too young to just drop dead like that, even if he did drop dead just like that. Damn shame. But Cody told me they were going ahead with the spring bear season, and his wife Sheila was running the business side just like she'd always done, and Cody was shouldering the bulk of the guide duties. Well, I was okay with that, so sent in the rest of my money, and was all set to go when I got a case of atypical pneumonia in early May, had to go on antibiotics and steroids. The steroids messed up my blood sugars so bad I could barely see (literally! high blood glucose screws up the lens of your eyes) and I had to call Sheila 3 days before I was scheduled to fly north and ask her if we could postpone. She said yes, but they had no openings in '16, so I'd have to wait til '17.

"Fine with me," says I, and that was that.

Fast forward to this past winter. Actually, we have to start up the Wayback Machine and travel back to 1978, sitting at the kitchen table one winter morning in my late father-in-law's house, drinking coffee and talking about guns 'n huntin' 'n stuff. We were discussing woods rifles. Bob had had an old Model 94 in 30-30 in his young manhood that he foolishly let go in favor of one of them new-fangled bolt action guns, and he bitterly regretted it.

"I killed more game with that thutty-thutty than I ever did with all of the rifles I've owned since," he said in his slow New Mexico drawl, that no amount of time in the Alberta North woods had been able to erase.

We chatted quietly (so as not to wake up the womenfolk, who wouldn't tolerate talk of hunting and guns in favor of stupid topics they preferred, like shopping and ballet) about the superiority of a short lever rifle for fast handling and quick followup shots in the deep woods. At that time the choices were pretty much what they are today... Winchester, Marlin, and Savage. Browning's BLR wasn't much of a deal then, if at all. Anyways, Bob opined that in his view, the Savage M99 in .308 caliber would be his ideal North woods rifle for anything but bears... he would want something heavier for bears.

That's when my young brother-in-law piped up that his friend's dad had a Savage 99 in .358 Winchester caliber, and Bob let out a slow whistle. "Now, that would be about as good a North woods rifle as a man could ask for," he mused.

And somehow that remark stuck in my head. At the time, I owned exactly 2 rifles: a single-shot Anschutz .22 rifle I'd had since my 12th birthday, and a sporterized military surplus Lee-Enfield .303. I'd shot exactly one deer with the .303, a spike mule deer buck, the previous fall, and the next spring I shot a skinny ol' black bear with it. More on that one later. But from the morning of that conversation, I had a wild hair up my butt tellin' me that my .303 wasn't good enough... I needed a Savage Model 99. And as luck would have it, a little less than a year later a guy I knew said he had a Savage 99 in .308 caliber he wanted to trade for a .303, because in his opinion the .308 wasn't big enough for moose, but the .303 was.

"Okay," I shrugged, not about to try to argue him out of his illogical position, and I swapped my Lee-Enfield for his Model 99.

That Model 99 was my only centerfire rifle for the next 20 years, and I killed quite a few head of game with it. When I moved down to Wisconsin in the mid-90's the 99 came with me, and it killed American deer just as well as it had killed Canadian deer, and it remained my main hunting rifle for some time thereafter. But always in the back of my mind there was this notion that I really, really needed a Model 99 in 358 Winchester.

OK, so now we can fast forward to this past winter. As you might guess, I'd been kinda-sorta looking for a .358 Win Model 99 for about 20 years. Never bought one, mostly because the price was invariably obscene. Savage only made 2500 Model 99's in that caliber, and they are in high demand. The cheapest price I ever saw at a gun show was over $3000, and on Gunbroker they routinely sold for $2500 and up, even in pretty rough condition. I eventually gave up my quest... I bought a BLR in 358 Winchester, and it's a pretty thing, and I guess it's probably accurate, but I never fired the damn thing... it's just too damn ugly to my eye, when my eye compares every lever rifle to the Model 99.

So anyways, for some weird reason in January I opened up Gunbroker and typed "Savage Model 99 358 Winchester" in the search box. Sure enough, up popped the usual half-dozen offerings with bids starting at $2000 and soaring quickly, and "Reserve Not Met" beside the bid box, meaning they were gonna go for more than 3 Large. But tucked at the bottom was one rifle with a full week left on the auction, no Reserve, and a bid of only $700 on it. What the hell, says I, and I put in my max bid for $1100. Then I forgot about it. Until a week later, when an email popped up saying I'd won the rifle! My first thought was, "Oh, [bleep], I must have typed in $11,000 by mistake!!!". I opened my GB account and sonofagun, I'd won the rifle for $1095.00!!! I'm damned if I know how the rifle snuck past the other bidders... but there it was, mine for the paying! The seller, a gunshop in Maine, emailed his info, I sent the money order, and a week or so later I held in my hands my very own Savage Model 99, caliber .358 Winchester.

That was mighty sweet, I must say. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you that as I turned that old, well-oiled stock over in my hands, my late FIL's voice echoed in my head. There was no doubt what rifle I'd be taking to the North woods of Alberta to hunt black bear in May. The rifle's serial number indicates it was manufactured in 1956, when I was 2 years old. The rifle was used, but not abuse. There were some small scratches on the buttstock, and a couple of rust spots on the receiver that had been rubbed out and touched up with cold blue. The scope on it was a 1950's issue, too... a 2X Weaver K4, with a post-and-crosshair reticle. And on the right side of the stock, just behind the receiver, were two brass tacks, like furniture tacks, each with an embossed image of an antlered deer. A small hole beside the two tacks suggested that at one time a third tack had been driven into the wood to attest to the rifle's kill history. I doubt that it only killed 3 deer in its lifetime, judging by the amount of honest wear on it... likely the owner lost interest in keeping a tally, or the local hardware store ran out of deer-head furniture tacks. The tacks ruined it as a collector's piece, but as far as I'm concerned they were beyond price... testament to the fact that this was a hunter's rifle that had been carried in the Maine woods, that had brought home winter's meat from the deep dark North woods. Provenance such as this is beyond price, to my mind.

I had no time to work up a load, so I bought a couple boxes of Hornady 200 gr ammo, and a couple boxes of Double D 250 gr ammo, which the box said was loaded to a muzzle velocity of 2750 fps. I took it all to the range, and found the 250 grainers wer surprisingly pleasant to shoot, and hit right on zero at 100 yards, and about an inch low at 50. Perfect. I never cracked the seal on the Hornady bullets.

The Savage and a Model 70 in 270 WSM were locked up in my hardshell Pelican rifle travel case and I flew north. I flew in to Edmonton, where I did my medical residency nearly 30 years ago. I stayed with my sister and her husband, and had a real nice visit, then the next morning got in my rental car and drove North to the Peace River Country.

If you've never been to the Peace, you've missed something. This is the farthest north you'll find farming country in North America. Vast rich black earth fields stretch to the horizon, interspersed with thousand-acre stands of black spruce, Douglas fir, and white poplar. The land is flat as a billiard table, except when it drops into one of the deep valleys carved by the great rivers of the North, which flow northwards into the Mackenzie River drainage, which flows into the Arctic Ocean... just wrapping your brain around the fact that when you take a leak at the side of the road, it's gonna eventually end up at the North Pole rather than the Atlantic or the Pacific, or the Gulf... well, it's food for thought.

Here's a pic of a typical Peace River country farm field...

[Linked Image]


On the way North, I drove through the little town on the Athabasca River where I used to teach school back in the 70's... Fort Assiniboine.

[Linked Image]


... and here's the mouth of the Freeman River. I used to flyfish for grayling in the Freeman. With a Winchester Model 12 loaded with rifled slugs slung over my shoulder. It messes with your backcast, but in the 70's, bears (grizzly and blacks) killed people regularly in the Swan Hills, the low mountain range that the Freeman flows out of.

[Linked Image]

Here's another view of the Athabasca, where if flows past the little school I used to teach at. The river bank here is at the edge of the soccer field where I used to coach the girls' soccer team.

[Linked Image]

The town of Peace River is about 250 miles north of Ft. Assiniboine, which makes it about 350 miles north of Edmonton, the northernmost major city in North America. The hunting camp at Bearpaw Outfitters is about 30 miles northeast of the town of Peace River. So I was gettin' up there by the time I arrived at 6:30 pm. You might imagine my surprise when the guides asked me if I wanted to go hunting right away, but of course I said I did, and I was shortly in a treestand built of 2x4's between 3 lodgepole pine trees, looking at a dead beaver bait.

The outfit runs about 60 bear baits, at least 6-8 miles apart. It takes a lot of work to maintain that many baits, so by Week 4 of the season, when I was there, they've narrowed it down to about 30 bait stands where the game cameras show good bears are hanging out. Most baits will hold up to a half dozen bears in the area. The baits consist of 2 items: a steel 55 gallon oil drum loaded up with pastry leavings (rejects from those bakeries that make those pasty, nasty "Danish" that they sell in convenience stores... Lord knows I never thought that they rejected anything from those factory-bakeries, but they do, apparently). Bearpaw buys this stuff by the ton. They stuff 40-50 pounds of this crap into a 6-inch hole in the top of the drum, and it will keep the bears interested. But to really draw in the boars, they hang dead beaver from a pole near the drum. They buy the beaver carcasses from trappers.

Here's a pic of the bottom-end of a ton of pastry leavin's...

[Linked Image]


... and here's a pic of a beaver bait. Yes, they are very fragrant.

[Linked Image]









Last edited by DocRocket; 06/08/17. Reason: too many pics

"I'm gonna have to science the schit out of this." Mark Watney, Sol 59, Mars
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And here's a pic of my guide, Barry, with his four-wheeler (they call them quads up there), having just hung a beaver bait and stuffed a barrel full of pastry leavin's.

[Linked Image]

As you might guess, there wasn't a whole lot of time for me to quiz Barry about what kind of guidelines I should be looking for in judging a bear's shootability. He told me, "A good bear will stand as tall as the barrel. If you see a bear that tall, shoot him, he'll be a 7-foot bear. If he's not that tall, but he looks fatter than the barrel, he's probably a shooter, too."

"What about sows?" I asked.

"Oh, well, sows with cubs are a bad deal," he opined. Don't get down out of the tree stand if there's a sow with cubs. We had a guy a couple years ago do that and he got mauled pretty bad."

I mulled that over. "I think I'll stay in the tree stand til you get back, ol' buddy," I said.

"Yeah, that's probably best," he agreed, in his usual quiet deadpan voice. "But if the sow gets your wind, be careful she doesn't sent her cubs up your treestand tree. That can get pretty sporty."

"Right," I agreed, wondering exactly how I would stop a bear cub that was climbing up my tree.

"If you have to, shoot the sow," he suggested. "They're legal, either sex. But if you shoot a sow her cubs are gonna die, so..." He looked kind of sad at that. "Oh, and keep your eyes open right after I leave. The bears associate the sound of the bike engine [they call 4-wheelers bikes, sometimes] with fresh food, so don't be surprised if a shooter comes in right away."

That was about the sum total of my instruction on dealing with bears in the North woods before Barry gunned the quad and took off, leaving me to swat mosquitos and try not to smell like a man who'd been eating Cheeto's and drinking Doctor Peppers in a rental car for the past 6 hours. I fed 4 rounds of 250 grain 0.358 caliber bear medicine into my vintage Savage, and settled back to wait.

And sonofabitch if a bear didn't show up. He was skinny, but nearly as tall as the barrel. But I was bound and determined not to shoot a piddlin' bear, so I just watched him.

Here's a pic of him trying to get at the beaver bait.

[Linked Image]

Knowing what I know now, I would say he's probably a 6-and-a-half-foot bear. Pretty respectable for the Lower 48, but not a shooter in the North woods of Alberta.

A little while later a second bear came in, and he was MUCH bigger. I don't have a pic of him because my heart was pounding so hard at the sight of him, waddling in in that rolling, toe-in, fat-bear gait, silent as a ghost, that I thought I'd drop my phone if I tried to take a pic of him while still holding my rifle, which I by God was NOT going lean against the tree in my stand! But as I watched the big bear, I saw that he wasn't as tall as the barrel, so I guessed I'd get scoffed at by the guides if he shot him, so I held my fire. After a while he buggered off with the beaver bait, but then the "little" bear came back and fed some more.

Then the little bear decided that something up my tree smelled interesting, so he wandered over and started to climb up to my stand.

[Linked Image]

I didn't take a pic of him when he got higher up the tree, because I was busy throwing a water bottle at him. He seemed to think that was bad manners on my part, but otherwise wasn't too perturbed. He bit the water bottle a bit, licked up some of the water, then went back to the bait barrel and ate some more. Then the big bear came back, and the litle bear started making little moaning grunts that clearly said he was feeling sorry for himself for getting pushed off the feed pile by the big bear, but that he knew if he didn't he was gonna be in for an ass-kickin', so he vamoosed. I did get one pic of the bigger bear, but it seems I deleted it from my phone a few days ago so I can't show you here.

Eventually Barry came back and we rode home. Shooting light ends at about 10:40 pm up there. When we got back to the lodge, there was a big pot of delicious stew waiting, and home-baked bread, and all sorts of beverages. We ate a midnight supper. I told them about the bears I'd seen, and they laughed at my story of the little guy trying to climb up to see what the hell I was, stinkin' up his woods like that, but when I showed them the pic of the bigger bear, their eyes bugged out.

"You mean you didn't shoot him?" Cody asked, incredulous.

"Well, no," I explained. "Barry said they had to be taller than the barrel to be big enough to shoot."

"No," Barry laughed. "I said if you saw a bear as tall as the barrel, that would be a real shooter. Anything that comes more than halfway above the second line and the top of the barrel is probably shootable, if he's big enough around."

Well, we decided we'd keep this bear in our back pocket in case the bear they really had in mind for my first shooter didn't pan out. We'll get to that in the next isntallment of this here story.

TO BE CONTINUED


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Well, that was the end of the first day of the hunt.

I tucked into my bed to the sound of frogs singin' in the crick, and slept like a baby. I woke up at dawn (about 0330), pulled the blankets over my head, and slept through until about 0800 when the smell of bacon frying woke me up. I went downstairs and met the cook, Amanda, who is Sheila's adult daughter and a fine cook. Any woman who can bake bread as good as she bakes is a worthy camp cook. Cody and Barry came in about 0900, and we ate a hearty breakfast. Cody explained the routine.

"We eat our main meal about 2 in the afternoon," he explained, in his lilting Northwoods Canadian accent. It sounds funny to an American ear, but I knew it to be infectious and expected I'd have more than a bit of the same accent by the time my week was up. "Then we take a nap, and about four o'clock we'll head out to the bait. Then you'll sit on the stand until dark, like last night."

I did the mental math. I'd be sitting in a treestand for the better part of 6 hours each night, assuming I didn't shoot a bear.

"What about in the morning?" I asked.

"We don't hunt the mornings," he said. "We've learned that it's about all a guy can do to sit still for six hours every night, never mind getting up early to hunt the morning. Besides, you'd only get about an hour's sleep if we were to get you out there for first light."

Made sense. So we ate a big meal about 2, and had a nap, and at about 1600 Barry and I got into his Ford pickup and we headed to the night's chosen bait. They'd shown me pics from the game cameras. There were several good bears on this bait, but one was huge: a big, heavy dark black bear with what looked like almost a complete white chevron on his brisket. In the pictures he looked to be as tall at the shoulder as the bait barrel.

"He'll probably go seven foot," Barry said laconically.

We drove about forty miles north of the lodge, and unloaded the quad. I climbed on the back and we rode for about 20 minutes into the dark timber. This is thick stuff, guys. The black spruce and poplar eventually gave way to larch and alder, and the ground got wetter and wetter. Eventually I had to get off the quad, and Barry rode it solo through the deep stuff.

[Linked Image]


Eventually it got so deep that he had to walk beside the 4-wheeler while he gunned it through the deep muck. But by 1730 or so we were at the bait. We took the memory card out of the game camera, and saw that the big chevron bear had been on the bait most of the day. The beaver was gone, so Barry hung a new stinkbait up, filled the drum, and then buggered off, leaving me in my stand.

Here's a pic of my stand:

[Linked Image]


[Linked Image]



Well, it turned out to be a Charlie Foxtrot, boys.

I should mention that I'd caught a bit of a cold on the airplane on the way up to Alberta. So I was tormented by a dry cough, which I tried in manly fashion to suppress. I was mostly successful, until I dozed off. Then I woke myself up with an explosive single KOFF. I froze, and scanned with my eyes left and right. Sonofabitch if there, 30 feet to my right, was a huge black spot in the woods.

Black bears are, well, black. I don't mean dark brown, like a moose or wolf. I mean black. Those of y'all who've hunted them know what I mean. So anyways, this old fellow was motionless there, blacker'n the ace of spades, and sniffing the air. I watched his head move from side to side, catching the nonexistent breeze, then his great head swung up and he looked straight at me, sniffing. I swear he could tell where I was by my smell! Bears don't see well, but they make up for it with their noses. He clearly couldn't see me, motionless and wearing camo 12 feet off the ground, but his nose by God told him exactly where I was. Then he turned and vanished, silent as a ghost. How anything that huge can walk so silently is beyond description.

It was still early, so I figured I still had a chance to get him. But then a couple smaller bears (which really weren't all that small) came in to the bait, and got in a fight over it, and then the smaller of the two decided he'd better run up a tree to safety.

Yep, you guessed it. He decided to run up MY tree. He came up the back of it, so I didn't realize he was climbing my tree until he was well above me and his claws were shedding bits of bark and pine needles on my head. I looked up, and twenty feet above me, was a 200-pound black bear. His eyes were big as dinner plates as he caught my scent, and when I looked at him and he realized what I was, he let out a little moan of fear as he realized he'd just jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. And he began to climb up even higher. This was a big tree, a good 100 feet tall. I swear he climbed up to about the 96 foot level, making his little moaning sounds the whole time, and swaying back and forth in 15-foot arcs above my head.

Well, at that point I figured the jig was up. I didn't want to be in my stand should he decide he need to come down. And judging by the way the treetop was oscillating wildly, I thought the odds were pretty good he might end up coming down involuntarily, in which case he might be in a position to pay me a visit on his way down. So I climbed down and walked back out to the road, cussing the little black bear for spoiling my hunt. On the way back out I happened to cross a patch of floating muskeg, which is not my most favorite thing to do in the North woods. I broke one foot through a floating muskeg once back in the 70's, and that was an experience I will never forget. It's sort of like breaking through the ice on a lake... you have to find the hole you fell through if you don't want to drown. But muskeg isn't clear, like ice is, so when you go through, your chances of finding the hole are nonexistent. Nobody survives falling through floating muskeg unless it's real shallow water underneath. But these moss-covered lakes tend to be real deep.

I got back to the road, found I had cellular phone signal, and called Barry for a ride back. And that was the end of Day 2.

Last edited by DocRocket; 06/08/17.

"I'm gonna have to science the schit out of this." Mark Watney, Sol 59, Mars
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Okay. So the next day I did 2 things differently. First thing, after breakfast I got in my rental car and drove to Peace River, where I purchased a [bleep] of cough and cold remedies, including the Canadian equivalent of Mucinex DM and a big bag of Ricola cough drops. Then, before we went into the stand, I drank a [bleep] of coffee so I wouldn't fall asleep in my tree stand and start coughing as I had done the day before.

Bears don't see very well, but they hear really well, and they smell REALLY well. The biologists I used to hang with said that they figured bears could differentiate smells better than dogs can, and can smell things farther away than any other carnivore can. That could be true. So I decided to make sure I didn't stink like I had the previous two days. I stripped out of my hunting clothes on the 2nd floor balcony of the hunting lodge, and left my clothes outside. I showered with scentless soap before we left for the evening hunt, and hoped that would make a difference.

I believe both things helped. First thing, I wasn't tormented by the cough reflex all evening, which was a huge relief. Second thing, the bears didn't seem to be sniffing in my direction that evening. And there were a LOT of bears. First, there was a fat little cinnamon color phase bear.

[Linked Image]


As you can see, he was just barely taller than the barrel when it was lying on its side. Not a big bear. But cute as hell, and in 4 or 5 years when he grows up, that beautiful coat is gonna make a bee-OOtiful bearskin rug.

But there were other bears. The two little black bears who had squabbled the night before were back, but one of them was nervous as a whore in church as he came in to the bait, constantly looking at my treestand, which I took as evidence that he was the fella that had run up the back of my tree and got a snootful of American stink which still had him quivering with fear. He approached the bait several times, but slunk away each time as if he was too skeert to actually eat.

Finally, at about 2100, the big honcho shuffled in, with that slow, rolling pigeon-toed gait. I should have taken a pic of him, just so I'd be able to show how much BIGGER a truly good bear is than the littler guys. But I didn't dare make a sudden move or sound... as they say, the big guys don't get big by being anything but real cautious, and this guy was really cautious. I found that if I breathed through my nose he would turn his head toward me and try to catch my scent, sniffing the air and turning his head this way and that, so I stayed motionless and breathed through my mouth for a good 10 minutes while he nosed around the bait barrel and finally settled down to eat. I didn't move until his head was out of sight, then I raised the old Savage. The roar of the rifle was deafening in the close and quiet woods.

The bear hit the ground with an impossibly loud thud. He bit at his shoulder, as if to find and kill the bullet that had hit him, then spun and bit his other shoulder, where the bullet had already left his body. He whuffed and snorted and rolled, then got up and started to try to run directly away from me. I had jacked a second round into the 358's chamber, and I put the top of the post on the top of his back and fired on him again before he had completed his second stride. The bullet bowled him over, and he lay with his head on a log. He lifted his snout and let out a long, low, moaning cry; my guides had told me a mortally wounded bear would let out a death moan like a cape buffalo, but it was still a surprise to actually hear it. He gave a second death moan that lasted a good ten or fifteen seconds, then his head fell back and he was still.

I decided to stay put in my stand for a few minutes to give his old heart time to really quit, so I took out a cigar, cut the end, and lit it to enjoy a few fragrant Dominican puffs before climbing out of the stand.

[Linked Image]

You can see the pair of deer's-head tacks on the side of the stock of the old Model 99 in this pic. After a bit I lowered my pack and climbed down. I approached the old bear from behind, and touched my rifle's muzzle to his eye. Nothing. He was dead. He seemed impossibly big. His bulk dwarfed the rifle, which I laid on him to illustrate his size.

[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]

His front paws were enormous, a good 8 inches across, and the claws were almost 4 inches long, thick, curved, and surprisingly sharp. His back paws reminded me of my L.L. Bean bedroom slippers for size and scale, but again with those long, sharp claws. His forearms were massive: I could not span them with my two hands, and his shoulders were as big a Wisconsin whitetails hams. Just a massive beast.

The bear and I waited over an hour for Barry to show up with the quad. I had no signal in those deep woods, and I wasn't going to leave the bear unattended to go find signal. I smoked my big old cigar down to nothing before Barry showed up. The old boar was too big to lift onto the 4-wheeler, but Barry showed me an ingenious way of loading him using the winch to stand the ATV straight up in the air, then we strapped the bear to the rear rack with tarp straps; then we lowered the ATV back down onto its wheels, using the leverage of the axle and the weight of the ATV to lift the bear up. Then we rode back out.


"I'm gonna have to science the schit out of this." Mark Watney, Sol 59, Mars
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Getting back to camp, Cody estimated the bear to be at least 15 or 16 years old, based on tooth wear, and well over 400 pounds. The scales we had in the skinning shed only went to 400, and he bottomed it out easily.

[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]


You can kind of get an idea of the shape of his skull, being kind of dished-out behind the eyes and between the ears. This is a sign of a truly mature old boar.


Next morning, the guides skinned him out for me. These guys are good with a skinning knife, I must say!

[Linked Image]

Once they had the ears and lips turned and the paws fleshed out, we laid him down flat and measured him. He squared out at and honest 6 feet 11 inches: 7 foot 4 inches paw-to-paw, and 6 foot 7 inches nose-to-tail. His skull measured 19 inches even, which when dry will probably come down to about 18 inches, they tell me. Beautiful big old teeth on this guy. Cody said this was the second biggest bear they've taken in their camp this season, the other boar squaring 7 foot 1 inch. They took a 7 foot 3 inch last year, but this bear of mine is still the 3rd biggest bear in their camp over the past 2 years. I'm pretty happy with that.

With a truly big black bear in the salt, I then started hunting for a color phase bear. I hunted a different stand for the next 2 nights, and on the second night I connected on a beautiful cinnamon color phase bear:

[Linked Image]

As with the first bear, I aimed halfway up the body. His leg was forward, so I aimed behind the shoulder. The bullet exited the off side. At the shot, the bear spun and dropped, biting at his sides, puffing and blowing and popping his teeth, then he took off at a dead run. I figured he was dead on his feet but didn't want to take a chance. I put the post on the front of his shoulder and the Savage roared a second time. The boar pitched forward and rolled, piling up between a couple of fallen lodgepole pines. He grunted and tried to roll, but he was done for. He lifted his muzzle and for the second time I heard the long, mournful death moan of a Northern bear.

This bear was MUCH smaller than the big black... Barry and I were (just barely) able to wrestle him up onto the quad without resorting to the winch. He tipped the scales at 275 pounds, and squared out to 6 feet 5 inches. I was impressed by doing the math, comparing the two bears: the big black was nearly 200 pounds heavier to gain another 6 inches of square measurement. No wonder 7 foot bears are such a prize! They must be truly enormous creatures!


"I'm gonna have to science the schit out of this." Mark Watney, Sol 59, Mars
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Well, that's about it, boys. I went out to take a stand over the bear carcasses the next 2 nights in hope of getting a shot at a coyote or a wolf, but they were apparently doing their work by moonlight. And they worked pretty efficiently, too. This is all that was left of my big black bear's carcass 36 hours after we dumped him at the edge of the woods:

[Linked Image]

The wolves had dragged his carcass about 60 yards back into the woods, too. This tells me quite a bit about the size and power of those Northern timberwolves, which may weigh up to 175 pounds. Massive beasts! Wish I'd seen one, I'd love to have a North woods wolf pelt to hang with my bear rugs.

The old Model 99 did its work well and truly for me. I like to think that Bob Sears would be pleased by the work that it did for me, and that it vindicated his opinion of it as the ultimate North woods rifle.


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Brother, your making me miss home so much right now!


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Doc a good read and you bring many memories from my time in that north country. Thanks NC

Last edited by northcountry; 06/07/17. Reason: in compelete word

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Way to go, Doc! Thanks for the story and the pictures--love seeing you score with that classic .358 Model 99!


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Absolutely awesome 😊Thanks for a terrific hunt & great gun story 😀Loved it !


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Glad you enjoyed the story, boys. Nothing makes a hunting trip worthwhile like telling the story of it for friends after you get home.


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Very nice, great write up!!! Alberta is a very cool place!!


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Great job Doc awesome!!!


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James, that is one heck of a good read. I want to thank you for posting this. It's probably as close as I'll ever come to a Canadian bear hunt, but in many ways, I felt I was up there with you on this one.


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Excellent story, Doc! Whilst reading it, I felt like I was there with you! Love the rifle! Hope you can make it to DSC this year and the drinks (and cigars) on me!
J


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Congrats Doc! smile

That big bear is nice,but I like the cinnamon colored one better.


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Very very cool Doc. I just sent a check up to that country to reserve a pike fishing spot in August,your pics made me miss that country!


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Doc, congrats on a beautiful black bear! Your 358 Win sounds absolutely awesome as well. Not sure you could dream of a better close range thumper. It looks like a P64 with the color phase bear. Cool to see you spread the love.

Congrats on the hunt and awesome write up!


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thank you for your post you took me to a place i would never have been able to go very much enjoyed you sharing your hunt!!!

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Congratulations doc! Your black one was a pig! Backed it up with a color phase to boot. Three years ago I hunted near Ft Assiniboine with Swanspoint outfitters. It was a spot and stalk hunt due to the grizzlies in the area.


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GREAT write-up and hunt. I do love hunting Black Bears!


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Great story! You should write this up for publication.

BTW: nice bears....... 😎


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Wow Doc, what a great write up and a fantastic hunt. Congrats, and thanks for taking the time to write such a great account. Beautiful bears there sir.


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Great hunt. I like that color phase bear.

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Doc, great story and congrats. Sounds like a hunt of a lifetime. I'm glad you ended up with a good outfitter. I just added this to my bucket list. Maybe some day.


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Great story, Doc.

I love that country. Hunted near Spirit River last year and this year and headed back for the next two years.

I can't get enough of that bear hunting.

Some people tell me they think it would be boring but it's entertaining as hell seeing all those north country bears.

Excellent write-up and pics. Love the stogie ones!

Congrats, Sir.

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Originally Posted by sambo3006
Congratulations doc! Your black one was a pig! Backed it up with a color phase to boot. Three years ago I hunted near Ft Assiniboine with Swanspoint outfitters. It was a spot and stalk hunt due to the grizzlies in the area.



Now, that would be cool! I know there are a lot of big blacks in the Swan Hills, as I have had more than a couple encounters with them in the past. I consider myself fortunate to not have encountered any grizzlies in that area, as they are reputed to be quite aggressive, unlike the Rocky Mountain bears I've had dealings with.


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Guys, thanks for the kind words. I don't believe it's publishable work, but I do enjoy writing these hunts up for all y'all here on the 'Fire.


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Awesome story, Thanks for taking the time to write it out for us!


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Doc;
Thanks so much sir for taking the time to share the photos and tell us in very expressive word pictures how your spring bear hunt progressed.

Congratulations on both bears - the big one is indeed a toad anywhere and kudos on the writing - I felt like I was there in the stand with you. cool

Thanks again and all the best to you and yours this summer.

Dwayne


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Great read! I really enjoyed it.

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Most excellent in all regards, Doc.


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great write up, thanks.

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Congratulations, Doc, on a great hunt in the Far North. You wrote a very interesting story and wrote it well. Enjoyed the pictures, too.

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Doc enjoyed the story! Congrads on 2 Great bears! done with a Class. rifle, got to love them 99s!


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Great story Sir, thanks for sharing your adventure. I've made a few trips to that country for work, never had a chance to hunt it though.


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Congrats Doc,
Truly one of the best stories I 've read here on the "Fire"in some time.
Sounds like a fantastic adventure,

thanks for sharing that with us.

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Awesome report on a great hunt!

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Great read, story and pics, Doc. Thanks.

I've heard that death moan three times, twice after dropping the string on my bow but I never hunted them over a bait or with a guide. In fact, one was shot in self defense. Since then when travelling on foot back to camp in the dark on mountain hunts, though the trail can be followed in open areas without a light if the stars are out, i scan ahead with a light looking for the glow of eyes.

Id sure like to do a hunt like that and now know why you did, with respect to our previous discussion before you went.

I also didnt know you had also been a school teacher.

A most interesting man for sure.

Last edited by jaguartx; 06/11/17.

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Sir, thank you for such a well written and entertaining hunt. Reading it was almost as good as being there, and as close as I will ever likely get. Well done sir.


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Congratulations!


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Great post I love all the detail you included. Thanks for posting.

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Great story and photos Doc. I'm glad Peace country treated you well.

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Excellent story and pics Doc, congratulations.

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Loved the story. Thanks

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Excellent account - thanks for sharing!
And congrats on a couple of gorgeous bears.

I recently booked a wolf hunt for that neck of the woods in late January.


[Linked Image from i.imgur.com]

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Excellent write-up, made me miss my spring bear hunting adventures. Those big ones around 7' are few and far between, cherish the memory.


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Great read and pics. Thanks for posting it.

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Good stuff Doc, congrats on two fine bears and thanks also for taking us all along on your adventure smile


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Veddy nice writing and shooting.
Enjoyed the tale immensely.

I went goose hunting out of McLennen not long ago.....
Great country.


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Great write up, it made me feel as if I was sitting next to you in the stand!

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That was a good one. Unfortunately, the PB pics don't show up now.

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Okay, folks... looks like I need to reload the images. I just joined imgur and I'm gonna try this first test image of the Peace River Country farmland...

[Linked Image]


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All righty, then! Looks like we've got us a pic hosting site again!

So, I'll repost the pics that were in the original post. If/when I get enough time, I'll copy and paste the text from the OP into this window so it all hangs together again.

[Linked Image]
[Linked Image]
[Linked Image]
[Linked Image]
[Linked Image]


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Yours truly celebrating my first black bear in nearly 40 years, with a fine cigar. Note the fine deer-head furniture tacks on the Savage 99's stock.
[Linked Image]


Recently deceased "chevron chested" black bear with rifle for scale. Bear squared out less than an inch under 7 feet.
[Linked Image]


Morning after shot. Note the "dished-out" appearance of the top of the skull. The eyes appear small and close together, the ears far apart. Marks of a big bear.
[Linked Image]


Color phase bear.
[Linked Image]


Note that rifle looks a lot bigger next to this bear than it did on the big black boar. This cinnamon bear was much smaller than the first brute.
[Linked Image]


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Juvenile color phase bear photographed the same night as the big chevron bear succumbed to my 250-gr bullet. I watched this little guy working the bait for a good 30 minutes, and when he sauntered off he seemed so pleased with himself I swear he should have been whistling, or perhaps humming a Pooh-bear hum...
[Linked Image]


Barry works the quad up a submerged trail to get to the bait stand. The bottoms of these submerged areas are solid ice, which doesn't thaw out until July. The muskeg I walked over as described in the OP is immediately to the right of this photo.
[Linked Image]


This is the tree stand I shot the big black boar from. It's also the tree that the juvenile black bear scampered up behind me the night before.
[Linked Image]


Barry and Cody skinning out my cinnamon phase bear. We dumped the carcass at about noon at the edge of a large woodlot.
[Linked Image]


Carcass of the cinnamon bear that same evening, after the wolves had started on him.
[Linked Image]


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This is all that remained of the carcass the following morning, and it had been dragged a good 40 yards into the woods. Northern wolves make short work of a carcass.
[Linked Image]


Barry and Cody skinning out the big black boar.
[Linked Image]


The "little" bear I saw on my first evening of the hunt.
[Linked Image]


A closer look at the old Savage, the Weaver K-series scope, and the tacky deerhead tacks that I intend to leave just as they are.
[Linked Image]


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I just ran across this thread. Special thanks for taking the time and trouble to re-post all those pictures. They added a lot to the story.

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Well done and well told!

Having had the unforgettable experience of dropping through a hole in floating muskeg, I don't ever want to do that again! Few things in this world scare me, but walking across that stuff is right near the top of the list.

I wish all of the folks on the 'Fire could hunt bears in that environment. The sights, sounds, and smells of the Far North woods are unique and unforgettable.

Ed


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