A Hunt from the Past and A Dream Fulfilled by Stephen Turkel

Fond memories are a wonderful thing. They bring joy and happiness years after the actual events….

The big jumbo jet reached cruising altitude in the early May morning hour.  I was on my way to north west Montana near the Idaho border . I was going on a classic one on one  spot and stalk hunt for the majestic black bear.

My outfitter, Rick Vander Meyden met me and two other client hunters at the Spokane Washington airport for the long ride to his lodge.

The Bear Gods Strike Early

When I went to retrieve my luggage , I discovered that my rifle case was missing! I was dismayed! After a frantic search, I was eventually informed that my case missed my connecting flight . It was to be delivered to the outfitter’s lodge hopefully sometime the next day.

This was to be my fifth attempt to harvest a bear. So far It had been an uphill battle to seek a trophy boar . Three hunts in Maine over bait resulted in a score of zero!   A journey to Butte Montana with famed outfitter and guide Billy Stockton unfortunately ended in  a rushedmissed shot. I have, as far back as I can remember, I have been fascinated andaddicted to the pursuit of the majestic black bear. I believe that it is a great privilege to me able to hunt such a magnificent game animal.

In fact, if there is such a disease called “ bearitis” , I surely must suffer from it.

Nevertheless, I considered all these hunts a success. I visited new places, met new fellow hunters, and enjoyed participating in wonderful hunting adventures . I believe that the money and time invested was well spent.

Somber News

As we drove toward the lodge, Rick told us some somber news. It had been a late winter and most of the bears were still in hibernation high on the snow capped mountains. Hopefully, as each day passed, more and more bear would be coming out seeking the sprouting spring grass and vegetation.

I awoke the next morning refreshed and relaxed. I wasn’t scheduled to start my hunt until the next day. My rifle arrived later that morning.  I was hunting with one of my favorites, a Winchester model 70 Featherweight chambered in 7MM Mauser( 7x57 caliber). It was topped off with a Leupold  2x7 variable scope. My hand loads were topped off with Sierra 160 grain Spitzer boat tail bullets. This load had proven very accurate in my rifle.

My guide Jod , a graduate of Rick’s guide school, set up a target and I confirmed my rifle’s zero. I was ready! Over breakfast the next morning, Rick and his guides held a powwow as to what areas each would be hunting. After this was decided, we headed out into the cool, crisp mountain air. Jod and I covered a great of territory, often stopping to scan the mountain slopes with our binoculars.

Late morning , Jod spotted fresh bear droppings. Bear sign at last! Since bears normally lay up during the midday hours , we returned to the lodge to eat, relax, and perhaps take a nap. Late afternoon found us back where the scat was found. I removed 4  cartridges from my leather cartridge carrier and feed 3 rounds into the magazine of my rifle and loaded one into  the chamber.  I set the safety in the on position. Jod loaded his 30-06 as backup in case of anemergency.

We were hunting on a game  habitat closed road where vehicles were prohibited.  We started on the switchback trails that followed a zigzag course up steep grades on the side of the mountain. We constantly scanned the trail ahead for bear feeding on or at the edge of the trail as well as on the slopes above.

An hour later found us resting on a log eating sandwiches. As we ate, I gazed at the awesome snowcapped mountains nearby. The view alone had been worth the climb up. A short time later, as we came around a slight bend in the trail , Jod stopped abruptly. He pointed up the side of the mountain.

A  Bear At Last

A bear! My heart raced with anticipation. I instinctively released the safety on the Winchester and waited until the bear offered me a lethal heart lung shot. I began a slow and deliberate trigger squeeze. In a period of time measured in milliseconds the final ounce of pressure was applied to the trigger. The absolute stillness of the early evening air was shattered by the thunderous roar from my rifle. The recoil and muzzle blast rocked my shoulder back. The bear took off in a blindsprint. Just as I worked the bolt to chamber a fresh round, the bear dropped.

Jod led the way up the steep hill. The going was slow as we struggled for handholds. We cautiously checked for any signs of life - there were none.

I was elated, my dream had been realized.

I had shot a big black, a boar, that had scars on his face and head.  Later we would find that he measured 6 feet, 1 inch from the tip of his nose to his tail .

As Jod prepared to field dress him , he stated “ now the work begins.”  Shortly, we would discover that truer words had never been spoken. The guides normally pack out bears over their back. It didn’t work out that easy with this big bruin. Too big and too heavy.!  We had but one choice - I would stay with the downed bear to protect it from other bears that might be attracted to the scent of the freshly killed animal. Jod would return to the truck and go to the lodge to seek assistance.

The Wait

8:15 P.M. I sat on a rotting leg next to the bear and settled in for the long wait. In the cold evening air, I zipped up my jacket and pulled my cap down snugly. I stared at the scarred warrior , stroked my hand thru his long thick coat of fur and examined the scars on his face.

As I did this , I reflected on a passage I had read years before in Lawrence R. Koller’s hunting classic ,  “Shots at Whitetails”- “ Paradoxical thought it might seem, a sportsman, to enjoy his sport, must kill that which he admires. He must possess it, fondle it , show it tofriends; and to possess he must kill.”

Around 10 P.M., as dusk turned into night, I closed my tired eyes. Crack!! The sound of a downed limb breaking under the weight of some  heavy animal startled me. I grabbed my rifle.  I had waited too long and worked too hard to give up my bear now.!   I listened intensely; minutes past; nothing.

About 30 minutes later I heard Jod calling , seeking my location. I  answered back. He had left a note back at the lodge, for neither Rick or the guides were there. A little while later , we heard something below us. It was Rick. He was climbing straight up the slopes instead of walking the switchbacks to save time. Upon locating us, he looked over the bear and gave us heart warming congratulations. Together, Rick and Jod were able to lift the bear, but only for a short distance. It was too dark to precisely skin the bear properly.

Rick made the following decision in the late night hour. Jod would remain with the bear. I would return with him to the lodge where we would work out a plan to retrieve the big bruin. We had but two flashlights between us. Leaving one with Jod, we started back down the trail. As we advanced, the unforeseen happened. The flashlight began to flicker and eventually died!  Rick led the way in the utter darkness. It was slow rough going as we attempted to navigate the dark descending trail. Finally, at long last , Rick spotted our goal. I was one happy hunter as we reached the trucks .

As we traveled back to the lodge, we discussed the subject at hand. Even with the other guides helping, it would be sheer torture carrying the cumbersome weight all the way down the steepgrades. I mentioned that if we only had something Like a carrier, a cart, a wheelbarrow… “That’s it”, Rick interjected, we’ll use a Wheelbarrow!” I wanted to return with Rick and the others to retrieve my bear. Rick wouldn’t have it. He felt that I had done my job - now they would perform the difficult task of bringing down my trophy.

I didn’t complain. I was beat. It had been a long, exciting and thrilling day, one that I would never forget as long as I lived. That night I slept contentedly, for at long last I realized my dream of harvesting a trophy black bear and had finally won my battle with the “bear gods“.

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