Posted By: cmnash
My first bear, a long story - 11/18/2012 11:01 AM
On November 17, 2012 I finally connected on my first bear. I say finally because this story starts way back, many years back. It's a long story. Bear with me.
I live in northeast Georgia and there has been a huntable population of bears as long as I have been hunting. I kinda wanted to shoot a bear when I began hunting and then about 15 years ago I got serious. I climbed countless ridges, I scouted in the summer, I went to the mountain WMAs, and I burnt a lot of boot leather.
In 2003 my wife shot a bear. I watched over her shoulder and it was an awesome thing; but it only raised the question" Where's my bear?".
For the following 9 years I made it my number one, underlying goal to shoot a bear.
I saw bears, 22 different bears by my count, over those 15 years of hunting and for every reason you can imagine I never pulled the trigger. Out of season, too early, too late, too small, too fast, too slow, or sow with cubs. In 2011 Georgia had a surge in the bear population and bears were being killed by a lot of folks. It seemed like anybody could kill a bear. The pressure I put on myself was getting heavy.
The second Sunday of the 2012 season found me in one of my regular deer stands. There was the possibility of a bear but I wasn't really expecting one. Early afternoon I hear shuffle of feet in the leaves. BEAR! The bear is wise to my presence, cautiously creeps through the thick, and then runs through any openings. At the last possible shooting oppurtunity, I bleat like I would to stop a deer. The bear pauses with its vitals barely exposed by a small window through the woods. 55 yards; I've got this! I drop the hammer with my TC 35 and the bear rolls then regains it feet and scrambles away. I was confident the bear was dead. A short blood trail turned into a long blood trail and a late night that led to a long tracking job the next morning. There was plenty of blood but it became apparent the bear wasn't fading but was going strong, climbing steep hills and crossing a creek and a river. I found where the bullet hit a vine in route.
I stopped searching. I was sick. I was angry. I was empty on the inside.I figure I am cursed and my bear hunting days are over.
Three weeks later I am headed to a different stand to deer hunt. As I walk to the stand, there is a bear in the food plot. I gather my wits and prepare for a shot but the bear just disappears.???? Dejected I get in the stand anyway and not 5 minutes later the bear reappears. I thumb back the hammer on the 35 and remind myself this is the most important shot of my life. 117 yards. I take my time and BOOM! The bear balls up, spins and bites at itself and then scampers toward the river that runs beside the foodplot. I was confident in the shot but I was confident before.
I grab my Super Blackhawk and go after the bear. Rather than follow the bears trail into the thick laurels, I go 30 yards upstream to a footpath where I can get to the river and look down it. Halfway down the path on the river bank the chest high laurels rustle. The bear is 3 feet away! I didn't see it and nearly stepped on it. The bear lifts its head toward me and I raise the .44 high just pointing it downward at the bear burrowed in the thick laurel. At the shot the bear explodes into the river in one tremendous leap, falling dead in the river paws up.
This was the same bear from three weeks before as evidenced by a wound on its back. I had redemption.
The bear weighed 142 field dressed but is far and away my biggest trophy that can't be measured in pounds or inches.
I live in northeast Georgia and there has been a huntable population of bears as long as I have been hunting. I kinda wanted to shoot a bear when I began hunting and then about 15 years ago I got serious. I climbed countless ridges, I scouted in the summer, I went to the mountain WMAs, and I burnt a lot of boot leather.
In 2003 my wife shot a bear. I watched over her shoulder and it was an awesome thing; but it only raised the question" Where's my bear?".
For the following 9 years I made it my number one, underlying goal to shoot a bear.
I saw bears, 22 different bears by my count, over those 15 years of hunting and for every reason you can imagine I never pulled the trigger. Out of season, too early, too late, too small, too fast, too slow, or sow with cubs. In 2011 Georgia had a surge in the bear population and bears were being killed by a lot of folks. It seemed like anybody could kill a bear. The pressure I put on myself was getting heavy.
The second Sunday of the 2012 season found me in one of my regular deer stands. There was the possibility of a bear but I wasn't really expecting one. Early afternoon I hear shuffle of feet in the leaves. BEAR! The bear is wise to my presence, cautiously creeps through the thick, and then runs through any openings. At the last possible shooting oppurtunity, I bleat like I would to stop a deer. The bear pauses with its vitals barely exposed by a small window through the woods. 55 yards; I've got this! I drop the hammer with my TC 35 and the bear rolls then regains it feet and scrambles away. I was confident the bear was dead. A short blood trail turned into a long blood trail and a late night that led to a long tracking job the next morning. There was plenty of blood but it became apparent the bear wasn't fading but was going strong, climbing steep hills and crossing a creek and a river. I found where the bullet hit a vine in route.
I stopped searching. I was sick. I was angry. I was empty on the inside.I figure I am cursed and my bear hunting days are over.
Three weeks later I am headed to a different stand to deer hunt. As I walk to the stand, there is a bear in the food plot. I gather my wits and prepare for a shot but the bear just disappears.???? Dejected I get in the stand anyway and not 5 minutes later the bear reappears. I thumb back the hammer on the 35 and remind myself this is the most important shot of my life. 117 yards. I take my time and BOOM! The bear balls up, spins and bites at itself and then scampers toward the river that runs beside the foodplot. I was confident in the shot but I was confident before.
I grab my Super Blackhawk and go after the bear. Rather than follow the bears trail into the thick laurels, I go 30 yards upstream to a footpath where I can get to the river and look down it. Halfway down the path on the river bank the chest high laurels rustle. The bear is 3 feet away! I didn't see it and nearly stepped on it. The bear lifts its head toward me and I raise the .44 high just pointing it downward at the bear burrowed in the thick laurel. At the shot the bear explodes into the river in one tremendous leap, falling dead in the river paws up.
This was the same bear from three weeks before as evidenced by a wound on its back. I had redemption.
The bear weighed 142 field dressed but is far and away my biggest trophy that can't be measured in pounds or inches.
