Everyone Has a Bear Story

by: Gary Sorenson

Everyone has a bear story, everybody but me. Up to about five years ago when the conversation turned to bear experiences, I would have to clam up, because I had none, nadda, zippo. Once in awhile I’d look around to see who was present, and if I saw that someone I had heard tell a bear story was not there, I’d venture out and borrow it.

Todd’s bear from this spring.

Now borrowing stories is kind of scary in itself, as it’s plain and simple a mine field. What if someone else has heard it different than you had? What if word of your embellishing someone else’s story got back to them? Worst yet, what if you didn’t tell it good enough?! Yeah, there’s a dozen other “what if mines” that can blow up in your face, but the chances are worth it because you have a story. My favorite to that point was about my cousin, (good chance she wasn’t in hunting camp, so I was able to get away with it often), she calls her husband up at work one day and says, “There are three bear in the yard, the two cubs are up a tree and the sow is worrying the dogs, what do I do?”

Now this was in northern Minnesota and years ago, and those folks don’t play around with predators messing with their kids, animals, or any of their property. Hubby told her two things – shoot ‘em, and I’ll be right home. I don’t know what he was expecting from his new little feminine bride to this point, but I know he saw her through different eyes after that, because when he got home there were three dead bears in his yard. He now had a bear skin rug on his wall and two cubs made into lamps. Asthetically this is great. The problem came in when his buddies come over and complemented him on his hunting poweress. He’d look around and see his sweet little wife standing there smiling at him. Not much he could do but tell them the truth. But then again that had some benefits too.

Like I said earlier, that was before about five years ago. In this short period of time I have accumulated enough bear stories to last me a couple of life times. Since then three things have come together that has changed everything. 1) You need bears to have bear stories. The Idaho game folks have provided them. Somewhere, someone got the bright idea to cut down on the bear taken in certain areas and one of them happens to be the unit I spend a lot of time in. Having numbers is one thing, but allowing the hound hunters to run the bear for practice is another thing. You can imagine the changing personality of a bear after he’s been run by dogs, treed, taken pictures of and then let down to run again. They soon lose their inborn fear of the supposedly dominant species,and thats not saying anything about what it does to his attitude. We all of a sudden are looked at as an agitation, and in temperament measurements that is a hair breath away from being looked at as supper. 2) About this time I became a bow hunter, kind of a radical one at that. I still pick up the ol’ 7mm when its desperation time, but those moments are few and far between. 3) I know we aren’t supposed to make fun or down grade our fellow hunters, but for years I laughed at the Bonanza Boys. You know the type, a side arm in their shoulder holster, one or two on their hip, two or three knives on their belt and enough ammo to take out a herd of elephants. You look over these three things and you can see there is a recipe for some real exciting times.

This bear that my son, Todd, shot this spring came from the unit my bear stories come from now.

The most bear I’ve seen in one day is seven, and keep in mind I’m not hunting them and I don’t even want to see them because I’m hunting elk. The closest I’ve had one is somewhere between one and two feet. I hope you will excuse me but I did not stick around and do any measuring. Somewhere between one and two feet is close enough for me and I hope it is for you too. How all this came together was the first day of Elk season a few years ago. The first day is always the most special cause you haven’t tasted a day of defeat yet and you are so full of optimism that its oozing out of your shoes as you head up the trail. It’s about 3 miles into the wallow that I like to sit at on the first morning, so much of the hike is in the dark. I’ve lost several good hunting buddies to bears on this walk in, not physically, but mentally they go gunny sack on me. If you’re not used to it you can imagine bears every time something stirs in the bushes or ambles off through the trees. Anyway, this first morning I was all by myself and was within a quarter of a mile from my stand when I topped a ridge and down in the brush about 40 yards away and there was something slowly making its way up the hill. I had never seen bear up this high on the mountain before so to me this noise spelled elk, and a single elk meant a bull to this adrenaline pumped mind. Everything was going just right for me, first morning, first light and I was in the best of places as it was going to clear the brush 10 yards from me, broad side. When that elk stepped out, it was black, it had short legs and it had no horns. It was looking down hill and I was at full draw, everything was right but one thing, and in my disappointment I got stupid. I said, “Woof.” Don’t do that if this happens to you. The bear swung around and looked at me, then shot back down hill. At the same time a little black ball of fur came baling out of the brush right towards the “woof” he had heard. I would guess I must have sounded like mom to the little guy. He came by my foot and hit a tree three feet behind me and climbed it. Now nobody had to tell me I shouldn’t be between mom and her cub. My mind was way ahead of my feet as my mind had already sent signals to vacate the premise. As I was waiting for the feet to respond I looked down in my right hand and what do you know, there was a .41 caliber Taurus. Yeah, now you know – I’m the sheriff of the Bonanza Boys.