Post by sideswipe on Oct 9, 2020 19:13:46 GMT -7
The Bear I Never Saw
I don't know about you but a lot, even a majority, of my hunting experiences that I still enjoy revisiting to this day are those days in the woods that did not result in taking the animal that I was seeking. I don't even know why my mind decides to select or bring up these past experiences but I find myself enjoying them & thought I'd share one w/you.
I think one sign of a hunter maturing is when he or she comes home w/the tag still in their pocket & realizes it wasn't a total waste of time, in fact they had a little fun or a thrill (fun or not). Sure at the end of a long & frustratating season & still facing the prospect of tag soup for supper has its moments. But after some rest & some reflection you have to admit there were still moments during those days in the woods where something happened that hatched a memory or lesson learned worth keeping...maybe even one that came to be a “little highlight” of that season. Miserable is the hunter that never comes to that point.
So this evening I'm going to share a small, almost insignificant experience, that continues to replay in my mind over the years & brings me pleasure. I would hope you too would take the time to share one of yours w/me as well.
Seven miles up the Smith River Gorge from our home was the settlement of Gasquet. Haven't been there for a few years but I doubt that it has changed a lot. A small grocery store, a US Forest Service outpost, several homes, a small apartment building. No gas station & seven miles from the nearest espresso machine. Traveling north from Gasquet, the highway snakes along the gorge as the forested hills begin to grow into more mountainous terrain. The highway summits at the old Collier Tunnel where it starts its winding downhill run to the Oregon border & the towns of Cave Junction & Grants Pass...both names revealing their history, but that's another story. Now that I have put the location of this story on the map, I better get to it before you nod off.
Some friends and acquainces still live in Gasquet in preference to the small town of Crescent City, California where you count the number of stoplights on the fingers of one hand. My friend and hunt'in podner of several years built his retirement home (cabin) there with his wraparound porch overlooking the river. I lived seven miles down gorge w/the river and some redwood trees in our backyard that rose 40' above the river. My family called it home for twenty four years. We shared our property with a few black bears and Blacktail deer that came & went as they liked to eat what grew there each year.
The Jedediah Smith River actually goes right past Horace Gasquet's town. The town, including my hunt'in Podner Robert's dwelling sit on one side of the river. Looking NW from Bob's back porch, across the river, is Pappas Flat the home of many hunting memories & lessons still etched in my heart (they don't seem to fade as fast as those in my mind). Yup, the flats were homesteaded by the Greek sounding Pappas family. Gotta be careful what I write as his descendents still can be found in the small Crescent City phone book. To this day (I'm pretty sure) there are some old gnarled appletrees & feral grapevines that are holding out against the onslaught of the forest progression at the now-gone homestead site.
I became acquainted w/the flats from its owner during the 1980s. My wife used to work for the owner who had sold his sawmill & logging equipment & was involved in land development in keeping up w/the times. Moving into this area in '79 from the populous Southern California, I was excited w/the new lifestyle & had a lot to learn...including big game hunting! I had grown up learning small game hunting from my dad & owned my own 22 rifle since I was 9 although dad was pretty strict & rightfully so. During those early years I hunted rabbit, dove, pigeon, & quail in the miles of citrus orchards near our suburban home in So Cal. Pellet guns were safer to use near our home; I even got my 2d rabbit w/a 30# recurve that Santa brought me (I regret to this day I didn't stay w/bow hunt'in). Getting off the school bus & running home to change into my hunt'in clothes. It took several months before I was able to see those sly rabbits before they saw me! Hunting w/”real guns” was limited to the times dad was able to drive out to the high desert outside the populated area. Outside of those experiences I pretty well taught myself how to hunt but that was part of the fun.
Back to Pappas flat! My 1st introduction was when my wife's employer gave me permission to cut some firewood w/which we heated our home. He sent his forester out w/me to point out what I could cut & what was off limits. Fortunately, another friend took me out to the woods & taught me how to use a chainsaw to fall trees & use a snatch block & pulleys to get the logs up to the road w/o killing myself. My friend, as it ended up, also knew my wife's employer & had hunting permission there at Pappas flat. So! My newfound mentor traded the chainsaw for a rifle & my education began. By this time I had passed my 40th birthday. I envy those of you who got a head start on me but really have no regrets.
So my education began. Woodcutting in the summer & deer hunt'in in the fall. I loved these experiences & didn't miss Southern California at all. Just as it had been in the citrus groves of Southern California, it took me quite awhile before I could see a deer before it burst out of its hiding place & scaring me half to death. I also learned that a cougar's scream really did sound like a woman's scream. John, my mentor, showed me many different signs of deer activity that I had previously just walked past. One day he showed me a big pile of what he called bear scat. A soft spot in the soil nearby revealed a paw print. John didn't hunt bear & had little to share about it. At that point I was interested mostly as the thought of meeting a bear on the same trails made me nervous rather than becoming interested in hunting, much less eating one.
John's help was greatly appreciated & he always patiently answered my questions whenever I cornered him. For a couple of seasons he took me out several times. Near the end of every October when the Blacktail rut is on in the Pacific Northwest he would wish me luck & go hunting w/his son at a ranch where he had the owner's persmission. I was left to my own devices but I kind of enjoyed still hunting slowly through the woods solo. I could be as slow & quiet as I wanted to be. I would watch & listen to the wildlife around me. I learned that some species of bee made their nest in the ground & they had quite a temper if you stepped on their entrance. Soon I was ranging far & wide & learning a lot of the trails & stumbled upon a major bedding area of the deer. After a morning of walking I would find myself high up on the ridge overlooking the flats, the river, & the settlement of Gasquet. Once the night before opening season I decided to spend the night up on the side of the ridge to be there there at first light. Equipped w/my old Army poncho, poncho liner, a sandwich & thermos of coffee I settled down where I thought I found a comfortable spot to spend the night. I hadn't realized it got colder & a little windy up there at night. That plus the occasional crunch of a dry leaf or snap of a twig made for a restless night...but its part of the experience eh? This was not the only time I was to try this.
It was a season or two later when I learned that even a dead deer could wrap its arms around the underbrush as you attempted to drag it downhill....miles from my old Cherokee. I determined to hunt only areas where I could drag my prize to the road leading to the rig parked at the gate. No game cart, no husky partner...but I was learning & loving every minute. I began to see a disparity between the “school of the woods” & the Nimrods who wrote for the hunting magazines. I was learning Pappas Flat like my own backyard & while it lacked the habitat for trophy deer & bear, I enjoyed the hometown advantage & the convenience of it being 15 min from home.
A year later I FINALLY got my 1st deer, a nice 3X3 Blacktail. I was w/Larry who took me down by the Klamath River where we parked the truck way up the Terwer Valley. Larry worked for an independent (“gyppo”) logging contractor who had won the bid to log a block of timber up the valley. He had a gate key which was a piece of gold in that country. We spotted the buck standing in the middle of a skid road facing us at 125 yards. It wasn't the 1st shot but my 7X57mm hit him in the left shoulder & shattered the shoulder bone. Bone splinters then made a mess of his lungs before the bullet exited only to imbed itself under the buck's hide at the left hip. During field dressing I was amazed at the carnage that had taken place inside the deer's lung cavity. Hollywood had been lying to me all my life...how did my hero continue shooting at the bad guys after a 44 cal slug had smashed his shoulder?! Well, I learned about field dressing & developed a lifelong taste for venison...esp one I rarely got myself.
It was shortly after this season that during my woodcutting exploits at the flats that I became more aware that a bunch of scrubby oak trees there were an attractant for both deer & bear, probably the acorns. Walking through there I found scraps of rusty barbed wire that had been ingested by the growing tree trunks. Was it part of an old Pappas corral?
The river takes a bend here & forms a boundry where the old Pappas homestead had been. Before crossing the creek where the old road turns north, I would often move to the right & w/gun in hand mosey slowly out onto the flats to check out the old apple trees & grape vines. Occasionally I had spooked a deer out of there plus I noticed bears had left their calling cards there as well. I thought the spawned-out salmon carcasses might also attract the bears. I wondered what it would be like to hunt an animal that was not only very smart but could be dangerous?
It would be a couple of years of hands-on learning before I shot my 1st bear. Yes it was at the flats & she was walking toward some grapevines for a midmorning breadfast. We spotted each other at the same time & she stood still long enough for me to pull the trigger. It was a 9 year-old sow that was a little under 200#. After field dressing I hauled it home & skinned it. Next morning we went to the meat processor in Cave Junction that also had a wild game section portioned off from the domesticated butchering area. We ate every scrap of that bear. I was hooked!
But I'm getting ahead of myself as this “short” story is supposed to be about The Bear I Never Saw. Enter Will, another friend from Crescent City. He was a pleasant & quiet sort of guy who loved to hunt bear. He wasn't a big talker & sometimes it felt as though I had to pull his exploits out of him. He also was different in that he liked the older design firearms...Single Action Army revolver & both Winchester & Marlin leveraction rifles that shot what I thought were huge bullets. He took me through his reloading room where he manufactured his own ammunition. It also had a half-body mount of a large bear coming out of the wall. The mount was of a mature boar...it seemed to be all business w/bared teeth & claws! I didn't want to go home...poor Will. Learned enough from him to try my hand at this new adventure (this was a year before I finally got my 1st bear).
California bear season comes over a month before deer season so it was a no-brainer. Bought both tags. Figured while I was wandering around the woods trying to learn to hunt bear, I could be scouting for Bambi. I know the stats reveal that many Black Bear are taken on opening day of deer season when a majority of deer hunters (their orange vests earned them the name of “The Pumpkin Army”). Many deer hunters carry a bear tag in their pocket hoping for a chance encounter while really looking for deer. Their hope has proven to work as bear season does partly overlap deer season. In fact almost half of the few bear I have taken ended up that way. One time I had a big week where I got both (but most time, to be honest it was bears 1-Sideswipe 0).
On this one particular morning I set out to find my first bear. Walked past the flat & started north up the old logging road that skirted the base of the ridge. The road finally dead-ended well above the river where I could look down, across the field & imagine I could see Bob's house (he didn't hunt bear). It was still early in the morning & I decided to walk up & across the face of the ridge.
I would begin by angling up & westward across the base of the ridge on an overgrown skid road. It was eroded by years of weather but it provided the rough, brushy habitat that Blacktails loved to hide in. It wasn't deer season yet but wanted to check it out as in a previous year I had jumped a couple deer on that road. Perhaps this would be the year for me. More than one friend had shared w/me stories of a large buck that hung out where the road ended & connected w/the skid road that angled up & across the ridge. It had been logged the first time back in the early part of the 20th century. Old growth stumps, some over 6' in diameter dotted the area. Down near the water they could have been cedars while higher up & to the ridge they were probably fir. The trees were cut before the powersaw era so notches made by axes were made high above the butt of the tree. Springboards were cantilevered into those notches to allow a place for two loggers to stand & operate a saw above the wide butt. Interspersed among the old monarchs were smaller stumps representing the 2d cut probably in the late 50s & early 60s. At the start of the century it wasn't common practice for timber companys to replant the logged areas. They cut & moved on. The 2d cut had been natural regeneration & now I was hunting through the 2d regeneration. The young cedar & fir trees were competing w/mesquite, oak brush, poison oak, and stuff I didn't know but was challenging to get through w/o a lot of noise. Great wildlife habitat.
There wasn't much of a breeze blowing & it was quiet...making a quiet hunt a challenge. But I wasn't in a hurry. Sometime later & about halfway up the ridge, I had stopped to catch my breath when I heard a slight noise ahead in the brush. My imagination went into overdrive which turned on the adrenalin pump.The wind wasn't blowing that much, something had to have made that noise. The slight breeze was gusting back & forth, as you know, isn't cool hunting bear that can smell a winter kill miles away. I tippy-toed a few short steps to where I could peek between two bushes into a clearing. It was bare w/one of those old growth stumps facing me directly across the clearing.
So far I was more excited than scared. I waited....suddenly two Black bear cubs rolled/bounded into the clearing traveling downhill. They were like two 30-40# puppies playing (if you can imagine that). They were biting each other, cuffing w/their little paws, jumping on each other as gravity was carrying them down the hill. They were having a heckofa good time & oblivious to me. How could they not know I was there? I was less than 10' away! This all took place in just seconds...finally my brain registered, where's mama? Now my excitement really went into gear, I didn't tell my hands but somehow they knew to increase their grip on the rifle. My right index finger found the trigger all by itself while my thumb was working the safety. Years of training was telling me not to finger the trigger until I was about to shoot....but I didn't know how much of an “about” I was going to get!
In a few seconds the cubs had disappeared downhill & I couldn't hear them anymore. I didn't hear anything for that matter...where was mama? She had to have scented me, is she watching me at this moment...I sure wished I had eyes in the back of my head. I was still as stone. Finally I slowly glanced about me....nothing! I stepped out into the clearing & didn't waste any time jamming my back up against the old growth trunk. OK if its a showdown at least I'll get a moment to see her. Fortunately that moment never came. She had to have known my presence if fear gives off a different body odor then she has smelled me for sure. After a few minutes passed I began to regain some composure & to this day I wonder why she remained out of sight. I can only imagine she saw her cubs were safe & it was prudent not to attack.
After several minutes I walked away, going in the opposite direction of the cubs. I sent up a very sincere prayer of thanksgiving. I hunted back to the car about an hour or two away. I suddenly had gotten worn out for some reason. By the time I returned home I had regained my composure & now the experience went from fear & dread to a cool memory that I rank up there w/the times I experienced hunting success w/either deer or bear.
Kinda anticlimatic but fast fwd a week. I'm back at Pappas flat walking the road before getting to the creek. Half way across the flat, about where the oak grove is on my right when...you guessed it.
The left side of the road is brush & tree lined as the downward slope from the ridge ends at this road where the flats begin. Here come the cubs again! Bouncing down out of the tree line about 20' in front of me onto the road. Oh Me! I backed myself into the treeline while my hands repeated their drill w/my rifle. OK, this was cool after the 1st time but this is getting too much. I didn't sign up for this much excitement!
Suddenly the cubs stopped, looked around (they didn't see me) & immediately dove back into the treeline. I learned from years later watching a huge sow w/3 cubs as she vocalized commands to her kiddos. Some very audible & some I couldn't hear while I was trying to hide behind a skinny fir tree. Again conjecture, but mama must have said “get back here NOW!” Again, glad this mama bear kept her head & a confrontation avoided.
That was probably over 25 years ago & I still enjoy the mental reruns. I hope you share a story or two w/the rest of us. Speaking for me, It doesn't take a lot to entertain me. Today I'm going up to have dinner w/my two grandsons Liam & Gavin. I'm asking them to proof read this before I put it in Bear Quest Obsessions. Their Uncle Josh has turned out to be quite a hunter. I believe we may have done the Pappas thing together at least once among other places we hunted together. I do know Josh has harvested both deer & bear from the Pappas Flats. Glad to see the tradition continue. Sideswipe
I don't know about you but a lot, even a majority, of my hunting experiences that I still enjoy revisiting to this day are those days in the woods that did not result in taking the animal that I was seeking. I don't even know why my mind decides to select or bring up these past experiences but I find myself enjoying them & thought I'd share one w/you.
I think one sign of a hunter maturing is when he or she comes home w/the tag still in their pocket & realizes it wasn't a total waste of time, in fact they had a little fun or a thrill (fun or not). Sure at the end of a long & frustratating season & still facing the prospect of tag soup for supper has its moments. But after some rest & some reflection you have to admit there were still moments during those days in the woods where something happened that hatched a memory or lesson learned worth keeping...maybe even one that came to be a “little highlight” of that season. Miserable is the hunter that never comes to that point.
So this evening I'm going to share a small, almost insignificant experience, that continues to replay in my mind over the years & brings me pleasure. I would hope you too would take the time to share one of yours w/me as well.
Seven miles up the Smith River Gorge from our home was the settlement of Gasquet. Haven't been there for a few years but I doubt that it has changed a lot. A small grocery store, a US Forest Service outpost, several homes, a small apartment building. No gas station & seven miles from the nearest espresso machine. Traveling north from Gasquet, the highway snakes along the gorge as the forested hills begin to grow into more mountainous terrain. The highway summits at the old Collier Tunnel where it starts its winding downhill run to the Oregon border & the towns of Cave Junction & Grants Pass...both names revealing their history, but that's another story. Now that I have put the location of this story on the map, I better get to it before you nod off.
Some friends and acquainces still live in Gasquet in preference to the small town of Crescent City, California where you count the number of stoplights on the fingers of one hand. My friend and hunt'in podner of several years built his retirement home (cabin) there with his wraparound porch overlooking the river. I lived seven miles down gorge w/the river and some redwood trees in our backyard that rose 40' above the river. My family called it home for twenty four years. We shared our property with a few black bears and Blacktail deer that came & went as they liked to eat what grew there each year.
The Jedediah Smith River actually goes right past Horace Gasquet's town. The town, including my hunt'in Podner Robert's dwelling sit on one side of the river. Looking NW from Bob's back porch, across the river, is Pappas Flat the home of many hunting memories & lessons still etched in my heart (they don't seem to fade as fast as those in my mind). Yup, the flats were homesteaded by the Greek sounding Pappas family. Gotta be careful what I write as his descendents still can be found in the small Crescent City phone book. To this day (I'm pretty sure) there are some old gnarled appletrees & feral grapevines that are holding out against the onslaught of the forest progression at the now-gone homestead site.
I became acquainted w/the flats from its owner during the 1980s. My wife used to work for the owner who had sold his sawmill & logging equipment & was involved in land development in keeping up w/the times. Moving into this area in '79 from the populous Southern California, I was excited w/the new lifestyle & had a lot to learn...including big game hunting! I had grown up learning small game hunting from my dad & owned my own 22 rifle since I was 9 although dad was pretty strict & rightfully so. During those early years I hunted rabbit, dove, pigeon, & quail in the miles of citrus orchards near our suburban home in So Cal. Pellet guns were safer to use near our home; I even got my 2d rabbit w/a 30# recurve that Santa brought me (I regret to this day I didn't stay w/bow hunt'in). Getting off the school bus & running home to change into my hunt'in clothes. It took several months before I was able to see those sly rabbits before they saw me! Hunting w/”real guns” was limited to the times dad was able to drive out to the high desert outside the populated area. Outside of those experiences I pretty well taught myself how to hunt but that was part of the fun.
Back to Pappas flat! My 1st introduction was when my wife's employer gave me permission to cut some firewood w/which we heated our home. He sent his forester out w/me to point out what I could cut & what was off limits. Fortunately, another friend took me out to the woods & taught me how to use a chainsaw to fall trees & use a snatch block & pulleys to get the logs up to the road w/o killing myself. My friend, as it ended up, also knew my wife's employer & had hunting permission there at Pappas flat. So! My newfound mentor traded the chainsaw for a rifle & my education began. By this time I had passed my 40th birthday. I envy those of you who got a head start on me but really have no regrets.
So my education began. Woodcutting in the summer & deer hunt'in in the fall. I loved these experiences & didn't miss Southern California at all. Just as it had been in the citrus groves of Southern California, it took me quite awhile before I could see a deer before it burst out of its hiding place & scaring me half to death. I also learned that a cougar's scream really did sound like a woman's scream. John, my mentor, showed me many different signs of deer activity that I had previously just walked past. One day he showed me a big pile of what he called bear scat. A soft spot in the soil nearby revealed a paw print. John didn't hunt bear & had little to share about it. At that point I was interested mostly as the thought of meeting a bear on the same trails made me nervous rather than becoming interested in hunting, much less eating one.
John's help was greatly appreciated & he always patiently answered my questions whenever I cornered him. For a couple of seasons he took me out several times. Near the end of every October when the Blacktail rut is on in the Pacific Northwest he would wish me luck & go hunting w/his son at a ranch where he had the owner's persmission. I was left to my own devices but I kind of enjoyed still hunting slowly through the woods solo. I could be as slow & quiet as I wanted to be. I would watch & listen to the wildlife around me. I learned that some species of bee made their nest in the ground & they had quite a temper if you stepped on their entrance. Soon I was ranging far & wide & learning a lot of the trails & stumbled upon a major bedding area of the deer. After a morning of walking I would find myself high up on the ridge overlooking the flats, the river, & the settlement of Gasquet. Once the night before opening season I decided to spend the night up on the side of the ridge to be there there at first light. Equipped w/my old Army poncho, poncho liner, a sandwich & thermos of coffee I settled down where I thought I found a comfortable spot to spend the night. I hadn't realized it got colder & a little windy up there at night. That plus the occasional crunch of a dry leaf or snap of a twig made for a restless night...but its part of the experience eh? This was not the only time I was to try this.
It was a season or two later when I learned that even a dead deer could wrap its arms around the underbrush as you attempted to drag it downhill....miles from my old Cherokee. I determined to hunt only areas where I could drag my prize to the road leading to the rig parked at the gate. No game cart, no husky partner...but I was learning & loving every minute. I began to see a disparity between the “school of the woods” & the Nimrods who wrote for the hunting magazines. I was learning Pappas Flat like my own backyard & while it lacked the habitat for trophy deer & bear, I enjoyed the hometown advantage & the convenience of it being 15 min from home.
A year later I FINALLY got my 1st deer, a nice 3X3 Blacktail. I was w/Larry who took me down by the Klamath River where we parked the truck way up the Terwer Valley. Larry worked for an independent (“gyppo”) logging contractor who had won the bid to log a block of timber up the valley. He had a gate key which was a piece of gold in that country. We spotted the buck standing in the middle of a skid road facing us at 125 yards. It wasn't the 1st shot but my 7X57mm hit him in the left shoulder & shattered the shoulder bone. Bone splinters then made a mess of his lungs before the bullet exited only to imbed itself under the buck's hide at the left hip. During field dressing I was amazed at the carnage that had taken place inside the deer's lung cavity. Hollywood had been lying to me all my life...how did my hero continue shooting at the bad guys after a 44 cal slug had smashed his shoulder?! Well, I learned about field dressing & developed a lifelong taste for venison...esp one I rarely got myself.
It was shortly after this season that during my woodcutting exploits at the flats that I became more aware that a bunch of scrubby oak trees there were an attractant for both deer & bear, probably the acorns. Walking through there I found scraps of rusty barbed wire that had been ingested by the growing tree trunks. Was it part of an old Pappas corral?
The river takes a bend here & forms a boundry where the old Pappas homestead had been. Before crossing the creek where the old road turns north, I would often move to the right & w/gun in hand mosey slowly out onto the flats to check out the old apple trees & grape vines. Occasionally I had spooked a deer out of there plus I noticed bears had left their calling cards there as well. I thought the spawned-out salmon carcasses might also attract the bears. I wondered what it would be like to hunt an animal that was not only very smart but could be dangerous?
It would be a couple of years of hands-on learning before I shot my 1st bear. Yes it was at the flats & she was walking toward some grapevines for a midmorning breadfast. We spotted each other at the same time & she stood still long enough for me to pull the trigger. It was a 9 year-old sow that was a little under 200#. After field dressing I hauled it home & skinned it. Next morning we went to the meat processor in Cave Junction that also had a wild game section portioned off from the domesticated butchering area. We ate every scrap of that bear. I was hooked!
But I'm getting ahead of myself as this “short” story is supposed to be about The Bear I Never Saw. Enter Will, another friend from Crescent City. He was a pleasant & quiet sort of guy who loved to hunt bear. He wasn't a big talker & sometimes it felt as though I had to pull his exploits out of him. He also was different in that he liked the older design firearms...Single Action Army revolver & both Winchester & Marlin leveraction rifles that shot what I thought were huge bullets. He took me through his reloading room where he manufactured his own ammunition. It also had a half-body mount of a large bear coming out of the wall. The mount was of a mature boar...it seemed to be all business w/bared teeth & claws! I didn't want to go home...poor Will. Learned enough from him to try my hand at this new adventure (this was a year before I finally got my 1st bear).
California bear season comes over a month before deer season so it was a no-brainer. Bought both tags. Figured while I was wandering around the woods trying to learn to hunt bear, I could be scouting for Bambi. I know the stats reveal that many Black Bear are taken on opening day of deer season when a majority of deer hunters (their orange vests earned them the name of “The Pumpkin Army”). Many deer hunters carry a bear tag in their pocket hoping for a chance encounter while really looking for deer. Their hope has proven to work as bear season does partly overlap deer season. In fact almost half of the few bear I have taken ended up that way. One time I had a big week where I got both (but most time, to be honest it was bears 1-Sideswipe 0).
On this one particular morning I set out to find my first bear. Walked past the flat & started north up the old logging road that skirted the base of the ridge. The road finally dead-ended well above the river where I could look down, across the field & imagine I could see Bob's house (he didn't hunt bear). It was still early in the morning & I decided to walk up & across the face of the ridge.
I would begin by angling up & westward across the base of the ridge on an overgrown skid road. It was eroded by years of weather but it provided the rough, brushy habitat that Blacktails loved to hide in. It wasn't deer season yet but wanted to check it out as in a previous year I had jumped a couple deer on that road. Perhaps this would be the year for me. More than one friend had shared w/me stories of a large buck that hung out where the road ended & connected w/the skid road that angled up & across the ridge. It had been logged the first time back in the early part of the 20th century. Old growth stumps, some over 6' in diameter dotted the area. Down near the water they could have been cedars while higher up & to the ridge they were probably fir. The trees were cut before the powersaw era so notches made by axes were made high above the butt of the tree. Springboards were cantilevered into those notches to allow a place for two loggers to stand & operate a saw above the wide butt. Interspersed among the old monarchs were smaller stumps representing the 2d cut probably in the late 50s & early 60s. At the start of the century it wasn't common practice for timber companys to replant the logged areas. They cut & moved on. The 2d cut had been natural regeneration & now I was hunting through the 2d regeneration. The young cedar & fir trees were competing w/mesquite, oak brush, poison oak, and stuff I didn't know but was challenging to get through w/o a lot of noise. Great wildlife habitat.
There wasn't much of a breeze blowing & it was quiet...making a quiet hunt a challenge. But I wasn't in a hurry. Sometime later & about halfway up the ridge, I had stopped to catch my breath when I heard a slight noise ahead in the brush. My imagination went into overdrive which turned on the adrenalin pump.The wind wasn't blowing that much, something had to have made that noise. The slight breeze was gusting back & forth, as you know, isn't cool hunting bear that can smell a winter kill miles away. I tippy-toed a few short steps to where I could peek between two bushes into a clearing. It was bare w/one of those old growth stumps facing me directly across the clearing.
So far I was more excited than scared. I waited....suddenly two Black bear cubs rolled/bounded into the clearing traveling downhill. They were like two 30-40# puppies playing (if you can imagine that). They were biting each other, cuffing w/their little paws, jumping on each other as gravity was carrying them down the hill. They were having a heckofa good time & oblivious to me. How could they not know I was there? I was less than 10' away! This all took place in just seconds...finally my brain registered, where's mama? Now my excitement really went into gear, I didn't tell my hands but somehow they knew to increase their grip on the rifle. My right index finger found the trigger all by itself while my thumb was working the safety. Years of training was telling me not to finger the trigger until I was about to shoot....but I didn't know how much of an “about” I was going to get!
In a few seconds the cubs had disappeared downhill & I couldn't hear them anymore. I didn't hear anything for that matter...where was mama? She had to have scented me, is she watching me at this moment...I sure wished I had eyes in the back of my head. I was still as stone. Finally I slowly glanced about me....nothing! I stepped out into the clearing & didn't waste any time jamming my back up against the old growth trunk. OK if its a showdown at least I'll get a moment to see her. Fortunately that moment never came. She had to have known my presence if fear gives off a different body odor then she has smelled me for sure. After a few minutes passed I began to regain some composure & to this day I wonder why she remained out of sight. I can only imagine she saw her cubs were safe & it was prudent not to attack.
After several minutes I walked away, going in the opposite direction of the cubs. I sent up a very sincere prayer of thanksgiving. I hunted back to the car about an hour or two away. I suddenly had gotten worn out for some reason. By the time I returned home I had regained my composure & now the experience went from fear & dread to a cool memory that I rank up there w/the times I experienced hunting success w/either deer or bear.
Kinda anticlimatic but fast fwd a week. I'm back at Pappas flat walking the road before getting to the creek. Half way across the flat, about where the oak grove is on my right when...you guessed it.
The left side of the road is brush & tree lined as the downward slope from the ridge ends at this road where the flats begin. Here come the cubs again! Bouncing down out of the tree line about 20' in front of me onto the road. Oh Me! I backed myself into the treeline while my hands repeated their drill w/my rifle. OK, this was cool after the 1st time but this is getting too much. I didn't sign up for this much excitement!
Suddenly the cubs stopped, looked around (they didn't see me) & immediately dove back into the treeline. I learned from years later watching a huge sow w/3 cubs as she vocalized commands to her kiddos. Some very audible & some I couldn't hear while I was trying to hide behind a skinny fir tree. Again conjecture, but mama must have said “get back here NOW!” Again, glad this mama bear kept her head & a confrontation avoided.
That was probably over 25 years ago & I still enjoy the mental reruns. I hope you share a story or two w/the rest of us. Speaking for me, It doesn't take a lot to entertain me. Today I'm going up to have dinner w/my two grandsons Liam & Gavin. I'm asking them to proof read this before I put it in Bear Quest Obsessions. Their Uncle Josh has turned out to be quite a hunter. I believe we may have done the Pappas thing together at least once among other places we hunted together. I do know Josh has harvested both deer & bear from the Pappas Flats. Glad to see the tradition continue. Sideswipe
