RACING THE DAWN

The black bears descent was halted as he crashed into some alders. As we skinned the black bear, we watched the spruces for the silver-tipped grizzly until dark. The grizzly never appeared, but the black bear was a good consolation trophy. We got back to camp late that night exhausted and disappointed at not having bagged the huge grizzly.

The next day was spent in camp resting and salting down the moose and black bear hides. Len and Jim spent another miserable day hunting in the rain without rain gear. During the night, it snowed lightly and the temperature dropped to zero.

Sid and I started out early on the eighth day of the hunt. We were about three miles from camp when Sid froze in his tracks. He said he had spotted a blonde grizzly in the high mountain basin opposite us. He said that both he and Wayne had made several unsuccessful attempts at stalking this bear in past years. At first, I could not make out the bear on the fall colored mountain, then I spotted the golden creature swaggering along near the top of the basin.

Adrenaline was pumping as we raced up the steep ridge opposite the basin. The wind direction was in our favor and the basin was relatively open, but as I topped over the ridge to shoot, the Grizzly was gone! Sid and I were both reminded of the big silvertips escape two days before. It is hard to describe how depressed I felt after again being so close to achieving a lifelong goal. We side hilled to the spot where we had last seen him and followed his huge tracks. For over three hours, we tracked the grizzly, hoping he would pause to feed on the lush berry patches so we could catch up.

When we came to a huge bowl shaped basin, we knew it was as far as we could go. The grizzly’s tracks led straight downhill into thick alders. We decided to wait there the rest of the day and glass for other bears. We had all but given up on finding the elusive blonde grizzly. As we sat down for lunch Sid whispered, “There he is!” I saw the grizzly we had been tracking, towering over the brush less than fifty yards away! He had heard us and stood up to investigate who was on his mountain.

The grizzly’s chest filled the scope as I placed the cross hairs on target and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened! I lowered the rifle and stared at it in disbelief; then I realized the safety was on! Sid caught my “bear fever” and ejected a chambered .350 round and bolted in another. A grizzly at fifty yards can be a traumatic experience. Just as I was sighting on his chest again, he dropped down on all fours into the brush.

I had a sick feeling he was getting away and Sid thought the grizzly was coming our way. We ran uphill to get a better angle. This is the scene I described in the beginning of the story. The grizzly bounded out of the brush and had covered two hundred yards when I sat back against the hillside and fired. I saw the impact just behind the front shoulder as a solid thud echoed back. The grizzly lurched sideways as the bullet struck, but continued his ground eating stride toward the top of the snow lined basin. I fired a second shot that flew high, kicking up dirt just over his back. As I chambered a third round, Sid yelled, “He’s rolling! You got him!” All of the self-imposed pressure was suddenly off.