Springtime Bear Tales

Springtime Bear

Tales

by Jim Ferguson

"His coarse hair rubbed against the nylon tent "

It was the breathing that got to me. At first it was deep and very definite. The closer the breathing got, the quicker my pulse became. I had only been in camp less than 24 hours and already I found myself in peril. I read a book on my way to camp. Camp was on the Pacific side of the Alaska peninsula near Port Heiden , Alaska. The book was entitled Bear Tales. I thought it was a book regarding bear habitat and behavior, as it turned out it was a series of stories about bear attacks. Outside, I could hear the breathing get heavier and much closer now. The picket line we set up began to rattle. When the sound of the tin cans and other noise makers ceased, I knew the bruin was just inches from my tent. It seemed like an eternity passed, then, I could hear the sound of the coarse hair rub up against the nylon dome tent I was in. The pilot that flew me from Port Heiden to camp told of a favorite trick of bear in this part of Alaska, is to lay down on the top of dome tents and bite the first thing that comes up. (Usually your head) He said, "What ever you do don't sit up.

As the clatter of the picket ceased I waited for the tent to collapse. My breathing became shallower. I didn't want the bear to hear. With my heart in my throat, I could feel the bears leg brush up against my cot. It felt like an earthquake as it bumped against it. Then, as if protected by some invisible force, the bear vacated the tent area, without touching a thing. My guide, Dave Ellsworth grabbed my hand as I reached for my .45 Winchester Magnum Grizzly. I couldn't see his face nor did he say anything, but, I sensed that we should remain still and quiet until our visitor left for good. It was nearly two hours before either of us said a word. Then Dave said " this bear has been in camp every night for two weeks. He doesn't do anything but sniff, make a little noise and then leave. And by the way I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about this before we went to bed." "Not a good thing to leave out... I said in a muffled voice. He agreed, but at this point there was nothing left to do but try to get some sleep because in less than three hours we would be out trying to get my first Brown Bear. I thought, if he would have let me go I would have my first bear already.

It's spring time on the peninsula. There are patches of green grass in various places. There are winter kill of caribou carcasses so there is plenty of carrion for the just waking up bear to feed on. According to Dave, the first thing that a bear eats is grass to cleanse his system. As we made our way back to a point about three miles from camp we had to cross a small runoff stream. I was wearing a pair of LaCrosse ankle tight boots and from the looks of the water going into Dave's boots, mine weren't high enough to make it across the stream without getting wet. As I stopped to take off my boots and socks, Dave, wet feet and all began to glass the side of the ridge we had just came from. As I crossed with my boots and socks in one hand and my Winchester .338 Model 70 in the other, Dave motioned me to hold still. You have to remember, I'm in the middle of a stream where the ambient temperature is 33 degrees and my pants are rolled up just above the waterline and the rocks are very slippery. As I stood there nearly motionless, except for my chattering teeth, Dave motions me to go back. Puzzled, I turn and look back. A mere 160 yards above me and slightly to the left was a brown bear, walking at a very quick pace. He wasn't coming toward me he was going up toward the top of the ridge in thick brush. He seemed oblivious to our presence. Dave got across the stream about the same time I did. He said" drop your boots and lets go." All I could think was "aren't you suppose to put your boots on first"? I knew we didn't have enough time to put them on before the bear got out of sight.

Dropping my boots, I picked my way across the gravel bar as quickly as I could. The bear slipped into the alder thicket. It was thick, nearly impossible to get a shot into. I looked ahead, I could see an opening. By the time I got my rifle to my shoulder, the bears vital area had already passed the opening. The only shot left was a hip shot. I knew it wouldn't be a killing shot, but at least it would slow him down. I squeezed off a round. The 250 grain Federal Safari broke his hip severing the femoral artery. Immediately, the bruin flipped on his back and rolled down the ridge. He didn't stop until he reached the bottom. Dave came over and slapped me on the back and said "Looks like you got yourself a big one."

As I stood up, I looked in the direction of the bear. He got up and charged. Dave reached for his rifle, as I lined up the second shot. As I fired the second round, the bear stopped just inches from where he should have been and where my bullet hit. My mind flashed back to a story in Bear Tales. where two men are killed by a wounded bear. Oh great I thought, the bears charging and I don't have any boots on! There was a joke going around the Anchorage airport saying you don't have to out run the bear....only your guide. Fat chance on either one, I thought.

When the bullet struck the tundra in front of the charging bear, the impact distracted the bear and he turned. Not knowing what to do next or where my guide was, I moved parallel to the bear trying to get another bullet into him. As I stepped into a small opening I racked the last round into the chamber. I don't know if the bear saw the movement or heard the bolt slam home, but he turned toward me. I raised my rifle and put the crosshairs on the hollow of his neck, in the place where its not only a killing shot, but a paralyzing one as well. He went down with the crack of the rifle just 20 steps from where I stood. (Bare foot)

I had to hit that spot. If I would have went for a heart shot, he still would have had enough blood pressure to get me. A brown bears heart only beats once every four seconds. It would have taken him less than a second to cover that distance. I may be quick on the draw but I never would have cleared leather with my Grizzly and he would have been on me. Even if I would have got it drawn, most shots with a pistol are usually straight up and my accuracy is not that good even at close range.

The bear squared 10' 6" and his skull measured 27 inches. A respectable bear for the Alaska Peninsula. We checked his stomach contents and there was just a little grass indicating he was only out of hibernation one maybe two days. He had long guard hairs and his claws were 4 3/8 inches long and no rub marks. It was an exciting hunt even if I didn't have shoes on.

I flew back that evening to Port Heiden to catch a flight to Anchorage. I had missed the flight by only twenty minutes and the flight station manager invited me to stay in the terminal until the morning flight. I unrolled my sleeping bag and crawled in. In the back ground I could hear the station manager saying " get in here. I drifted off to sleep.

In a fitful stupor I heard the breathing. I reached for my Grizzly. It was like it was just out of my reach. I fought to control my fear as I reached for it. But as hard as I tried, I couldn't find it. . It's was like dreaming about being in a fight and you couldn't land a punch. Waves of terror hit me hard.. I tried to open my eyes but I couldn't . About the time I woke up I could hear the flight station manager say "don't worry about the dog, he's got a cold and can't breathe through his nose." I didn't sleep well that night....... Dogs breathing hard..... one eye open and all!