Caribou and Grizzly Bear Camp Somewhere Near the Middle of Alaska…
The day had been a long one, matter fact the last five days had been rather long…but much had happened. I had taken two truly impressive western barren ground caribou with my .30-06 Thompson Center Encore handgun, selected from several thousand caribou in the herd. Our first day in camp, two 2-man tents on the top of a knoll overlooking a huge expansive drainage, we estimated at least 20,000 caribou had paraded past our “grand stand”. Some of the bulls would have easily placed high in the Boone & Crockett all-time record book. Unfortunately, we could not hunt and shoot the same day we flew into our “outback camp”. I sat and drooled watching the caribou walk by, some as close as only 20-yards. Never before had I seen such a sight, not even on other caribou hunts in Quebec during the peak of the migration. I hoped and prayed bulls of similar size would come through the second day.
Indeed, the second morning brought more caribou including one extremely long-beamed, many pointed bull. Skirting the major portion of the migrating herd I slipped to within 100-yards of my selected bull and squeezed the trigger on a Hornady round and immediately put the bull down. We spent the rest of the day caping, quartering and packing the meat, cape and then rack back to camp.
About two hours of reasonable daylight remained when we spotted a grizzly walking steadily after a small herd. I immediately grabbed my Thompson Center Encore .375 H&H Mag rifle as well as my .30-06 handgun and took off at a trot in the direction of the grizzly, the wind in our face. The bear slowed and we thought we might be able to catch up with him and cut the distance to about 200-yards, from which I felt comfortable taking a shot with the .375 H&H Mag.
We were within about 400-yards and gaining ground when for whatever reason the wind changed from being in our face to at our back. Three milli-seconds later, the grizzly raised his head got one whiff of human and took off at run. I knew a grizzly bear’s sense of smell was acute, but had not idea. Later that night my guide told me he was convinced a bear could smell something at least eight-miles away.
The following morning we glassed many caribou, but did not find one we wanted to pursue. We did see a couple truly big bulls but they were well over a mile away and walking away. There was no way we could ever catch them. Then just before dark we spotted another grizzly, but he was across the drainage at least two if not three miles away.
The following day started with rain and sleet, and by now the caribou numbers coming thru were decreasing. Sitting in camp we heard an ancient bull breathing loudly before we saw him. When we did I knew he was one I wanted. It took most of the day to care for the meat, cape and get him back to camp where the outfitter could collect it up.
It had been a hard day and we decided to have a leisure-day on the morrow. But then just as gray light was becoming lighter we heard something moving around outside the tent. Peering our we saw three wolverines, the far one was only about 30 steps away and the nearest almost within grabbing distance, which would undoubtedly would have been a wrong decision. I badly wanted a wolverine! Problem was I had stupidly failed to buy a wolverine license. I had used both of my caribou tags and only my grizzly remained. I badly wanted a grizz!
I mentally kicked myself for the next hour about not having bought a wolverine tag. To make matters worse, the three came by following the caribou migration within a distance I could have easily taken them with my handgun… Ugh!
Although we glassed the distant hillsides and valleys all that day we failed to see a grizzly. That is until it was light enough to see the next morning when we again heard what sounded like “woofing” outside our tent. I peered out and there walked four grizzlies, two of which were the most gorgeous silvertip one could ever imagine. A third was a grizzled brown and the fourth a gorgeous blond bodied bear with really dark brown legs and head.
I grabbed my rifle and handgun. All appeared to be big bears, around the 7-foot squared size, pretty big for an inland grizzly! They were less than a hundred yards away. While I was trying to decide which one to take, my guide spoke loudly. “Technically that’s a sow with three cubs, and I can’t let you shoot!” My heart sank. I tried to explain the sow was the smallest of the four, and likely it was sow with three boars following her. My guide wagged his head negatively and I knew he was right, even if I did not want to admit it. I set down my rifle and handgun and watched the bears for over an hour until they finally disappeared over the distant horizon.
Noon the next day the outfitter flew in to our camp. “There’s a horrible storm headed our way. I want to move you this afternoon to a new spot. You and Jerry (my guide) can hunt until about five in the afternoon tomorrow then I’ll fly in to pick y’all up to get you back to Aniak otherwise we will be stuck out here for two weeks before we can again safely fly.
So, we quickly gathered our gear, loaded into to his plane and flew on to another area. Once there we set up camp and immediately started glassing. With darkness approaching we spotted a monstrous bear, walking away at a fast pace.
Next morning extremely early we were up and hunting our way westward in hopes of spotting a bear. We did see a big bodied bear a long way off.Too far to go after, particularly since it was going away. We pressed on continually looking and glassing as we went. It was approaching mid-morning when the rains started. We pushed on knowing within the hour we would have to start heading back to camp, so we could be picked up at 5 o’clock.
The rain increased just as we crossed a ridge, on the other side we found an overhang where we could ride out the current rainstorm, have a sandwich then start heading back to camp.
I peered across a beaver dam and upward to a stand of trees, saw movement, picked up my binocular and confirmed. It was a bear, a grizzly, a gorgeous blond grizzly with dark legs. Immediately I grabbed my .375 H&H Mag. My guide had also seen the bear. Together we took off down slope to try to cut the distance. I ran out of cover about 200-yards from the beaver dam where the bear now stood on top of it. There was not way to get closer. I rested my rifle on a tree limb, and started telling myself to calm down, take several deep breaths, then when the crosshairs steadied, cock the single-shot rifle’s trigger and gently pull the trigger.
When the crosshairs again settled on the bear’s vitals I pulled the trigger. The bear when down and fell into the beaver pond. Without taking my eyes off of the bear or rather what I could see of it, I loaded another Hornady 270-grain pointed soft point and kept my scope trained on where I could see hair in the water.
Once on the beaver dam, and, assured our grizzly was down for good, both the guide and I waded waist deep into the rather cold water to retrieve my grizzly. Frankly it was not until we had photographed and skinned my bear that I realized how cold the water had been!
The walk back to camp several miles away was a wet and cold one. My guide and I took turns carrying the hide and skull.
We got back to our camp just as the plane landed to take us back to base camp and then on into town before the big storm arrived. Late that night back in Aniak I got my bear checked by the local warden. Then I spent a four extra days in town waiting for a flight back to Anchorage.
My grizzly had come in the waning, last moments of the hunt. Little did I know that would be pattern for my next grizzly hunt.
We were hunting just west of the line that divides Alaskan brown coastal bears and inland grizzlies on a river, as did some salmon species and delicious Dolly Varden trout. Guide Roland Ceehorn, my cameraman Blake Barnett and I were camped alongside a narrow stream which meandered into the fast flowing river. We spent several days sitting, glassing the river bottom and the slopes. Bear tracks, grizzly tracks to be exact, were everywhere! No doubt days before our arrival there must have been a grizzly convention. But, once we got into camp it seemed they had moved elsewhere. It rained hard every day.
Oh yeah, there was a narrow creek that flowed out between two steep mountains, an area we really wanted to hunt. However, every day the wind was blowing into the canyon. Every day we approached near the mouth, then turned away fearing if we walked in we would send our scent to areas where there might be a grizzly.
The week dragged by, spending lots of time glassing, fishing, and sleeping when it poured rain both day and night.
The last afternoon of the hunt we were sitting watching a wide area of the river bottom. It started raining, but we stayed where we were. More rain and wind. Then with about 30-minutes of the hunt remaining, suddenly the wind changed. Neither Roland nor I said a word. We both jumped up and ran to the creek bottom knowing the wind would be in our face. We had hardly walked twenty steps when we spotted a bear on the opposite bank. I immediately set up my shooting sticks and readied my .375 Ruger loaded with Hornady’s 300-grain Dangerous Game load.
The bear spotted us and walked in our direction. At 30 paces the bear started in our direction. I readied for a shot should it present itself. At 20 paces I was unsure if the bear was going to charge or turn broadside to walk away. There he stopped, turned slightly, giving me a good shot into his vitals. I pulled the trigger and big bear fell to the ground. Without taking my eyes off of the bear I bolted in a fresh Hornady round and kept my rifle on the now downed bear. He was so close I could see he was no longer breathing. We quickly did several “cutaways” to go with the live-action shot Blake had gotten. Then at the bear’s side I marveled at how big and how handsome he was. A gorgeous bear! Several photos and finishing what we needed for my “Trailing the Hunter’s Moon” television show, we talked about skinning him.
“It’s gonna be real dark before we finish. I forgot my flashlight.” Commented my guide.
“If you want to go back to camp to get it, by the time you get back I will have the bear skinned.” I told Roland and started working on removing the hide. I had scarcely begun the skinning when I looked upstream. From out of the willows strode a big bear, every bit as big as the one I had just taken. It was then I felt the breeze switch once again. It was blowing the scent of fresh blood, the bear’s and our scent right toward him.
I fully expected the bear to turn and run. He did not! He swaggered toward us.
“Blake, you might want to put the camera down and grab my .375!” I told my cameraman.
“Do you want me to shoot him?” asked the truly excited one now holding my rifle, while I held a 3-inch blade hunting knife in my hand.
“No! You can’t shoot him unless he bites me!” Something I hoped we could avoid!
“What do you want me to do?” Said a quivering voice.
“If he comes shoot right in front of him and try to blow gravel in his face! Hopefully that will stop or turn him.” With that I looked down at the now really puny looking knife in my hand. “Shoot in front of him! If he comes!” I repeated.
The bear was still coming now about twenty-five or so steps away. There was no sign of him stopping. At that point I jumped up to look as big as possible and screamed at the top of my voice!
The bear charged! All this happened in slow motion. I heard the rifle shot, saw gravel explode right in front of the on-coming bear throwing rock shards into his face. He slid to a stop a little over ten steps away, glared at us with his ears laid back in a menacing manner, while “popping” his jaws. He quickly looked away then immediately turned back to stare at us. He did this at least four or five times. Each time he looked at us I feared he was going to complete the charge.
Finally…the bear turned and walked away. When I looked back at Blake to tell him how well he had done in shooting right in front of the charging bear, he was wide-eyed and staring at the rifle in his hand. I asked if he was OK, no response. After the third query about his well-being, he screamed “How can you be so calm! The only shell in this rifle was the one I bolted in the barrel, the magazine is empty. You’re (numerous explanative) crazy!”
“Well you done good and it worked! Load another couple rounds into the magazine in case he comes back, something I though you had done when I told you grab it… Then come over here and hold this leg so I can finish skinning!”
A few minutes later Roland ran onto the scene questioning what had happened.
“Oh we had a bear charge us. I told Blake to shoot in front of him should he charge. He did an admirable job in stopping the bear in his tracks. After what seemed like an eternity he turned and walked away.” Before Roland could say anything, I continued “help me roll up the skin. I’m going to leave the skull intact until we get back to camp.”
Roland began shaking his head and started laughing, “Just that simple, eh?”
“Yep!” I responded. “Come on Blake, let’s get back to camp and toast Alaska, grizzly bears, and Hornady ammo, I’ve got a wee dram of safe water left!” He followed without making a comment, carrying his camera but tightly gripping my .375 Ruger!
