Russell’s huge bear skin dwarfs his guide and cameraman in front of their spike tent camp.
Off
to my right, at the edge of the ravine, I heard a twig snap. From my
perch in the pine tree, 25 feet above the ground, I craned my neck in
the direction of the sound. What I saw stunned me. It was the largest
black bear I had ever seen. He was chocolate brown with a wide, yellow
chevron emblazoned across his massive chest. This was not the bear I
was expecting, but he would certainly fill the bill!
Shuffling
along slowly, he stopped every few feet as if he were thinking things
over. His massive head bobbed up and down like one of those toy dogs
you see in the rear windows of cars. His lower jaw hung open in a
silly looking grin. He was right on the trail leading from the ravine
to the edge of the winter wheat field that passed within a few feet of
my treestand. My heart was doing a tap dance in my chest as I watched
the huge bruin inch his way toward me. If he stayed on the trail, he
would walk a mere nine yards from my tree.
Still
at a distance of approximately 25 yards, the bear did something totally
unexpected. He flopped down on his belly like a big dog, facing the
wheat field through the timber. He was within easy bow range except
for one problem: There was a small pine tree between us and, naturally,
it was blocking a clear shot at his vitals.
“So close and yet so far,” I thought as I watched his huge form laying there below me.
Meanwhile,
100 yards away on the far side of the winter wheat field, nestled
behind a large boulder and a small bushy pine tree, my guide John
Blackwell, and my camera crew, Bill Skok and Ray Jackson, were
wondering what on earth was going on. We were there to try to film a
bowhunt for black bears for a video project entitled “Bowhunting the Monarchs of the North.”
We had seen a medium-sized black bear feeding in the field the evening
before, and now we were set up to film my taking of the bear if he
returned. I had climbed into my stand at 5 p.m. and it was now 8:00.
I was supposed to signal the camera crew if I saw a bear approaching so
Bill could power up the video camera. I had waved to them as soon as
the big chocolate bear rolled into my view. Now they were on red alert
and wondering why they couldn’t see the bear. I could see them
hunkered in hiding, peeking out between the boulder and the tree,
obviously wondering what was happening. I had no signal to describe
what the bear was doing, so all I could do was point silently and hope
they would understand.
Time
dragged on and the bear just lay there studying the winter wheat
field. I began to fidget internally, wondering if this bear was indeed
going to come past me, or if he had just happened along and decided to
stop here for a rest. What if he didn’t follow the trail past my
tree? Would this episode end in a coincidental peek at such a monster,
with no opportunity for a shot? All these unanswered questions
tormented me, but there was nothing I could do but wait for him to make
his move.
The
more I watched the massive bruin, the more impressed I became with his
size. For years I had guided black bear hunters up on the Peace and
Smoky Rivers in northern Alberta, and some of them bagged bears in
excess of 400 pounds. But this animal was in a class of his own. I
“guestimated” him at well over 500 pounds, perhaps as high as 600.
Blackwell had told me that a friend of his reported seeing a huge,
brown-colored black bear in that area. He said it was as large as a
good-sized grizzly. But bear stories, as a rule, lean toward
exaggeration, so Blackwell hadn’t taken the story very seriously.
There was no doubt in my mind that this had to be the same bear. At a
glance he could easily be mistaken for a grizzly!
Over
half an hour passed and I spent my time watching both the patient bruin
and my comrades across the field, waiting and wondering what was
happening.
The
wind was perfect, blowing in their faces. The bear, if he ever decided
to cooperate, would never know of their presence. I kept pointing at
the bear to assure them that it was not over yet. In the meantime, a
rainstorm blew in and fell in torrents upon Blackwell and the camera
crew. The old pine tree in which I was sitting acted as a natural
umbrella, so I sat in relative comfort while the others bit the bullet
and got soaked. I believed the bear was waiting for dark before he
came out to feed. In British Columbia, daylight hangs on until 10:30
at night during the month of May.
My
emotions ran the gamut while the wait dragged on. I would find myself
beginning to shudder and shake uncontrollably, and it wasn’t because it
was cold. I’d literally have to talk myself back down. I vacillated
between relative calm and internal hysteria for what seemed like a
lifetime, and finally the bear stood up. My heart and my breath
stopped in unison.
I
glanced at my watch; it was 9:10 p.m. At first he just stood there,
lower jaws still agape and head bobbing. For all the world it appeared
as if he were trying to decide what to do next. I held my breath as I
waited for his decision. Finally, he turned toward me, grunted and
began walking toward the field. In seconds, he was right beneath my
stand, but there was one misplaced branch that prevented me from taking
a shot. The bear stopped and again seemed to be thinking matters
over. I glanced nervously over my shoulder at the crew and I could see
Bill’s face glued to the camera. I knew he was already filming.
“He
must be wondering what I’m waiting for,” I thought as I looked back at
the giant bear. After an agonizing wait of probably no more than a
minute, the bear took another calculated step forward and began
sniffing the ground where I had walked to my stand. I knew he was on
to the fact that a man had been there. I had an arow on the string and
waited in electrifying suspense for his next move.
After
a long examination of my tracks, he swung his huge head away from me
and stood still, offering me a broadside view of his ribs. That was
what I had been waiting for. I quickly drew and placed the top pin in
the center of his ribs, behind his left shoulder, and let the bow
string slip through my fingers.
The
bear bellowed and instantly bolted sideways at the sting of the arrow.
The shot was perfect, as well it should have been at a mere nine
paces! The broadhead penetrated his left lung and passed through his
heart as it angled downward. The big bear made a sudden dash into the
winter wheat field and then looped back toward the timber from which he
came. His legs were buckling as he hit the tree line and he piled up
about 20 yards from my tree, not more than five or six seconds from the
time the arrow found its mark.
I
sat there, stunned that it was all over and that the huge bear was now
mine. Blackwell and the camera crew arrived just as my feet hit the
ground. We stood in silent awe over the bear, each man knowing that
this was no run-of-the-mill black bear. I was congratulated for being
the luckiest bowhunter in British Columbia, a fact that I could not
deny. But that’s the way hunting goes. So often the greatest trophies
are simply gifts and have no bearing on the hunter’s ingenuity.
The
four of us did our best to lift the bear into the back of my truck, but
we couldn’t even get his head as high as the tailgate. He was indeed
an awesome creature. His hide was as prime as could be, without so
much as a single rub. It had been unusually warm in the Quesnel area
and we were worried that the bears might be rubbing early as a result.
But not this one. He was perfect. After the skinning was done, we
measured the hide. From nose to tail he measured eight feet and seven
inches. Across the back, from front claws to front claws, he measured
an even eight feet. Blackwell, who is well known for the huge
grizzlies he had produced for his hunters, estimated the live weight of
the bear at 600 pounds, plus. After the required 60-day drying period,
the skull was officially at 20 11/16 inches, 2 11/16 above the minimum
score for the Pope and Young Club (only 5/16 of an inch short of the
B&C minimum). According to the Big Game Records of British
Columbia, my bear was the number one bow and arrow kill in the
province, surpassing Peter Halbig’s 20 8/16 black bear taken on the
Queen Charlotte Islands in 1960. It ranked number 12 in the British
Columbia book among all black bears, most of which were killed with
firearms. Oddly enough, it is the only black bear on record in the
B.C. book from the Quesnel area. According to the third edition of the
Pope & Young records, my bear tied four other black bears at the
number 69 position.
I must add one intriguing comment as a footnote. The same man who told John Blackwell about my huge chocolate-colored black bear also told him of a black-colored black bear in the same area, even larger than the one I killed. He was right about my bear, so no telling how big that other bear must have been. If he was appreciably larger than the one I killed, he must have been a true giant.
