Back in the late '80s I switched over to a recurve. I was shooting a 90+# compound so I figured a 72# recurve should be just right. Obviously, I was (maybe still am) a lot stronger than I was smart. I succeeded in missing every animal that I shot at. My high dollar custom recurve riser split at the lamination and the bowyer offered to replace it or refund a portion of my money. It was a take-down, so I sold the limbs and took the riser refund in cash.
In 1990 I was working an overtime job and started setting money aside for a new recurve. I am competitive by nature, and I wasn't going to let a recurve whip my butt! I ordered a Black Widow MAIII that was 57#. I shot that bow a lot over the next 3 years and I could actually hit stuff...and it was stuff that I was looking at!
In 1994 two good friends and I planned a Spring Bear hunt in Quebec Canada. I had been to this camp before when I shot wheels and had always enjoyed it, even killed a couple of Bears! First night on stand I had a nice bear come in. He would come into the bait, grab a bite and back off into the bush to eat. This went on for about 45 minutes and I was getting a bad case of "Bear Fever". Finally, I decided to shoot him as he walked in at about 20 yards. Big mistake! Either I didn't time my shot right or he slowed down, but I hit the shoulder blade at a slightly quartering away angle. Mad bear, bent broadhead, bent arrow and a totally disgusted bowhunter that was sick to his stomach. Next morning the outfitter and I looked for blood. Found very little, so he went into the village and borrowed a tracking dog. The dog was half Black and Tan coonhound and half Lab. We put the dog on the blood and after about 20 minutes he'd given up. Now we have a really sick and disgusted bowhunter!
I was mad at myself for taking a shot at a moving bear. I knew better but let my desire to kill a bear overcome my better judgement. I didn't hunt that second night and really had no intention of hunting the rest of the trip. I wanted to punish myself for being stupid, I guess. Bear hunting at this camp and most others I think is an afternoon and evening affair. The third morning my buddies talked me into shooting some practice shots and an impromptu competition broke out. The outfitter (who shoots a longbow) joined in, and I shot well...really well!
The fourth night found me in a new stand with renewed confidence. Shortly after climbing into the stand, I heard a beaver slap its tail on the water of a nearby pond. I hoped a bear had startled it and was maybe going to work its way toward me. After about 20 minutes I spotted movement on the hill above me. It was a bear, and it was the biggest bear I'd ever seen! He lay down on the hilltop above my stand and started gnawing on something. I could hear his teeth grinding on something hard and with every grinding sound he'd let out a moan. Finally, he got up and worked his way down to the bait site. when we committed to the bait, I raised my recurve and hit anchor. Crap! My bug masked folded over and distorted my vision! I let off my draw and to my surprise, he was just standing there eating. In the past most bears, especially the bigger ones, would grab a bite and then leave. Once I realized he wasn't going anywhere, I eased off my facemask, picked my spot and took the shot, being careful not to crowd the shoulder. The arrow hit, but I thought too far back! He ran up the hill and I set down, shaking like a leaf. I heard sticks breaking for what seemed like a long time, the I hear the death moan!
I climbed down and went back to camp to get my buddy and the outfittter. On the way back I realized I had a busted brake line! Thank God for a manual transmission. I would've crash for sure without it. Once I got to camp, we loaded up in the outfitter's truck and went to find my bear. To make a long story short, he didn't go far. The sticks i heard breaking were from my bear trying to jump a downed pine tree. His back legs kept pumping and he broke off the limbs as he slid lengthways down the pine.
Dressing his showed that even though I felt I was too far back, I hit both lungs. We weighed him before dressing and he bottomed out a 300# scale. After dressing, he still bottomed out the scale. We guesstimated his dressed weight at 330#-350#. The outfitter sent off a tooth from the bear to the Ministry of Natural Resources (or whatever they call it) to be aged. Several months later I received a card from Canada saying they had aged the bear at 19 years old! I had his skull measured and if memory serves me correctly, the skull measured 19 5/16". Oh yeah, the bear's teeth were mostly broken off and some were rotten. That explained the moaning I heard when he was above me. It turned out that he was chewing on an old beaver skull. I wish that I would've picked up the beaver skull, but didn't think about it at the time.
Sorry for the long drawn out story. There is another story about getting that bear out of the bush, but I'll save it for another time!
Topic: An old story-failure and success! (Read 939 times)
