It's Time for another Bear Hunt

[just_a_hunter]

Can't wait.

Todd

[beachbowhunter]

Ok, have your fun but remember, I still killed two Javies before that manicure even dried...er....healed.       Carry on gents!

[Charlie Lamb]

Norb... it did improve your release.  

[Kip]

Charlie them coveralls sure do last a long time.Gotta get me some.Kip

[IB]

How long after these Photos were BATTRIES and Flashlights invented

I had no Idea that Russ was ever that young    

Keep a feedin us BOYS!!

[Charlie Lamb]

Yeah Kip! When I find something I like.    At the time I thought it was pretty cool because most young guys wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of bibs.
Now it's just because they are so dang comfortable and have enough pockets to carry all the stuff that I don't seem to be able to make it through the day without.

[Charlie Lamb]

Not sure Vance! Mostly we'd walk around at night bangin two flint rocks together over our heads. Should have patented that concept... guess you could say I invented the disco ball.
  :rolleyes:

[Charlie Lamb]

This story comes at a time when most bowhunters start thinking of spring activities and for most, bear hunting happens in the as the mushrooms spring forth from hidden lairs, the woods have come alive with the heady scent of flowers and fish begin their annual shallow water rituals.

But this is a fall bear hunting story.

I'm not sure what the rules are now, but at the time it was very legal, though somewhat overlooked, to bait bears.

It was very effective too. With a good lead man like Clyde you could have your baits in the woods in early August and have the bruins conditioned to find food at your bait stations by hunt time in September.

Bear hunting of any sort is never a cinch, but this tactic certainly increased the odds of having multiple bears working a location and for my luck with bears and hunting them, it was as good a plan as any.

[Charlie Lamb]

That far northern country of Minnesota was as different as any I've ever hunted. On the edge of what is called "The Great Swamp" it was vast and intimidating in it's sameness.

You could walk off into that country and never come out if you weren't careful and it could be ever so dark and forboding.

We'd quickly established camp, setting up tents for sleeping and reserving the little cabin for cooking and mornings over a hot cup of coffee.

Grouse staked their claim on stretches of trail through birch and conifers. Occasionally you'd catch a glimpse of a white tail disapearing into cover along the edge of a small clearing.

Like most bear hunting over bait, the hunting happened in the afternoon, so often I'd find myself easing through the grassy meadows and dark forest sanctuaries with bow in hand and a judo tipped arrow ready on the string.

Often I reflected on pictures I'd seen of Fred Bear and this country reminded me a lot of those I'd seen of him hunting his beloved northern Michigan. I'm sure he'd have been right at home there.

[Charlie Lamb]

I fully expected my time in the woods on stand to be long and uneventful. By this time in my life I'd logged a ton of hours in pursuit of black bears with those very results.

I always kept a positive attitude, but it just never seemed that I was fated to be a world famous bear hunter by any stretch of the imagination.

At that point, I'd spent too much money hunting with outfitters and had nothing to show for it except a collection of adventures with the local insect population wherever I'd hunted.

I'd had success, no doubt and one of my bears had been at the top of the heap for size in the state of Wyoming, but I'd done those hunts on my own. It did make it that much sweeter, no doubt, but I had more ass time in a tree over rotten animal parts than I cared to remember for the few sightings I'd had.

Of course it's always better sitting on a western mountainside or tucked away in some northern swamp than stuck in an asphalt jungle somewhere. Trust me! I've spent my share of time in both.

[Charlie Lamb]

My stand was pretty much like every other bear stand I'd been in... only the scenery changes.

I seem to recall that it was about 10 feet from the ground to platform and that it had a seat that was much closer to being a surgical instrument than an object of comfort. At least it kept me alert!

The brush around the stand/bait site was tight and there'd be little warning of an approaching bear. I'd come to expect that of bear stands. That'll keep you alert as well.

Beyond the bait the timber grew dark and ominous. Great forest monarchs fought each other for light and heavy green moss spread up their trunks threatening to drag them back down into the darkness.

[Charlie Lamb]

It was early in the hunt... first or second night... that my opportunity came. I doubt it was the first night. Nothing ever happens for me on the first night!

Russ and Clyde had other fish to fry. They'd driven me to my drop off point and then walked me into the stand.
It was a bear hunters trick. Three walk in to the bait making a little racket along the way. Freshen the bait with some scraps and bang on the bucket to let the bears know what was going on.... Clyde had followed this very procedure each and every time he'd baited all the baits.
It's a Pavlov's dogs thing.

Then with no attempt at being quiet they'd wished me luck and headed back to the truck. Three in and two out... bears can't count that well.

They intended to head back to camp and change clothes for a trip to town.
The sound of the truck had barely faded in the distance when a flash of black in the brush nearby caught my attention.

In disbelief I watched as a smallish bear eased out of the cover and strode boldly over to the bait pile.
He wasted no time cleaning up the big sheet cake I'd topped it with while I assessed his trophy potential.

Too small! I'd let him eat and go about his business.

Soon he'd finished the sweets and took a chunk of meat from the pile. He would retreat to cover to savor this morsel.

He didn't go far and I could just make out his black hide 30 yards out in the brush. Soon he finished that snack and returned for another.

He repeated that twice, but I lost sight of him those times. I was starting to be convinced it was a larger bear than had originally come in... but I knew it wasn't.

I was beginning to want this bear and each trip to the bait go harder to take.

Finally my greed got the better of me and I stood up when I saw him coming back for even more yummy stuff.

I had "Yellow Girl" firmly in hand and a cedar arrow lay across the leather rest. The edge of the Magnus I gleamed from recent honing back at camp. It fairly talked to me. "Shoot the bear, shoot the bear".
I listened intently!

The bait was very close so when the bear reached it he was as much under me as he was out in front of me.

I waited for him to turn broadside and drew the 70 pound osage longbow into a long arc.

I learned a long time ago not to fight the feeling, so when my middle finger touched the corner of my mouth that little man in my head made my fingers open and let the arrows slip away.

In a flash I saw it bury to mid shaft and the bear bolted out of the clearing toward the deepest, darkest, most moss covered part of the forest.
The arrow, which I'd so confidently released, now banged on brush and flagged like some weird, feathered periscope for the instant or two the bear remained in sight.

Then all was quiet and I was left alone with my insecurities.

I had no idea what had happened, but I didn't like the looks of what I'd seen. That arrow should have stuck in the ground on the other side of the bear.
Now my imagination had it barely poking through is black hide. I hate the feeling.

[Charlie Lamb]

With nothing else to do but wait, I climbed from my perch and headed out to the road.

Russ and Clyde were scheduled to pick me up after dark, so I might just as well head back to camp. It would be a long walk, but the bear needed time.

I'd no sooner stepped out into the road than I could hear a vehicle approaching. Turned out to be Russ and Clyde heading for town.

I don't know what they thought I was doing, but I'm sure they didn't think I'd shot a bear already.
When I told them what had happened they were all about going in to look for the bruin.

They were both dressed way too nice for tracking wounded bears, but I figured that was up to them. We made the short walk to the bait.

I'd looked for a blood trail before I left the woods and had found one. We went immediately to it.

Much more than what I would have expected from a high hit with no exit, the trail led off into the spooky places in great crimson splashes. There was no problem seeing the trail from 5 or even 10 yards in some places.

We'd barely gotten out of sight of the stand when there in the moss at the base of a huge fallen tree lay my bear. He'd been dead in seconds after the hit.

A post mortem exam would reveal that the big broadhead had sliced down alongside the spine, shearing away bone and lodging in the heart but missing the spinal chord.... or he'd have dropped on the spot.

There was much laughing and backslapping with several finger crunching handshakes from both my excited duddies. We live for moments like those, don't we?

About the time we were calming down, Clyde's testosterone levels must have been spiking. He declared he'd carry the bear out on his back, whole with innards in tact.

I questioned the wisdom of that, but let what was gonna happen, happen. I knew these guys and there would be no denying an expression of there vitality and maleness.

So I watched as Clyde, with a little help from Russ and respendant in his best jeans, clean shirt and a spanking new satin windbreaker, hoisted the bear over a brawny shoulder.

The only way to manage a dead bear like that is to put his back on your shoulder. As the bear settled in place the gaping hole made by the big Magnus released the contents of a blood filled chest cavity and drenched Clyde from head to toe.

Nothing was said at the time, but it was obvious Clyde was having a "hears your sign" moment.
Like a trooper, Clyde carried the bear all the way to the truck without uttering a single complaint.

 

[JC]

Originally posted by Charlie Lamb:
Beyond the bait the timber grew dark and ominous. Great forest monarchs fought each other for light and heavy green moss spread up their trunks threatening to drag them back down into the darkness.

And that right there ladies and gents, is the way a story is TOLD....    

Truly wonderful writing Charlie, fantastic imagery.

[PV]

You turn a fine phrase Charlie!
 

[IB]

"And that right there ladies and gents, is the way a story is TOLD.... "

JC.....It's TOLT.......Where's yer bringin up at?  

[Kip]

J.C. you beat me to it.Always loved Charlies writing,don't know why he doesn't do it for a living.Good job Charlie keep it up.Kip

[GregD]

Charlie, Great story, how long is that bow? Do you ever shoot the longbows any more?  Greg

[Gary Norris]

I can see it's about time to start my evening story telling.
Charlie was right, it was thick in those woods.  I thought Canada timber was dark.  Clyde made sure that we were aware that Grouse hunters are lost and never found every year in there.  
I'm going to start my part of the hunt and then take a break so Lamb can get the pictures ready.  My first day on the stand wasn't much.  I didn't see anything except a 10' by 10' clearing that looked like it had been the center of a Bull Fight.  Charlie mentioned that Griz had been baiting for about 5-6 weeks and the bears had torn the place up.  It was so close in there that I could'nt see anything past the clearing.  
Truth Is,  I left early !  No body knew that until now.  I got back to camp and Lamb already had a bear.  
Russ and Clyde had scoped out another bait and said I was moving tomorrow.
I'll be back with my hunt later with plenty of pics.

[Gary Norris]

I just read through some of the posts and it a pleasure to read some of the comments.  Charlie does have a way with words and he does put you there with him.  He does tell a story the way it should be told and for those of you that don't know Charlie and me and the guys we hunt with.
It is enough just to be there.