After a two hour nap we had hot soup for dinner, with a generous portion of sausage. I sliced up two sausages, each the length of my lower arm, into it. My mood has improved considerably, as have my hopes. I manage to sort out the misunderstanding about the bear with John. It arose because he didn't trust my knowledge of English, and couldn't understand what I was saying.
When I turned and said the bear was running, he couldn't see the creature, and thought it was just walking. That's why he was so keen on me firing. When he stood beside me and saw that the baribal was really running fast, into the bushes, he admitted he wouldn't have fired either. I'm just glad that we see it the same way. The harmonious relationship between a hunter and his guide, which sets the mood of the hunt, is very important, at least, it is to me, anyway. Mutual trust is the bedrock of success. If it is missing, then we'd better just stay in our tents. At 6.00pm, after an exhausting day, I climb into my sleeping bag. I need to relax for a while. I intend to laze around for the evening. As a mountaineering friend of mine has said: the clever mountaineer spends as much time in his sleeping bag, and as little outside, as possible. I am settling down on my wobbly, unstable bed when John's shadow appears on the side of my tent.
- Gábor, come out quickly and quietly!
I don't know what he has seen, but I hurriedly get dressed and grab the three most important things - my gun, my ear-defenders and my binoculars - and go out in the open air. John is sitting by the tent's entrance, looking towards the floor of the valley with his high-powered binoculars.
The valley is broken by two hills, one pointed, the other flat-topped. There, on the flat one, a brown dot is moving: grizzly!
It's not much more than a mile, and the way there is not difficult. We can get there before dark.
One of the features of this valley, and also its curse, is the constant, gusting wind. It is pointless relying on a favorable wind direction; by the time we've gone a couple of hundred feet, it will change and carry our scent to the bear; at least, that's what John says. We must wait. Down in the valley is a moose carcass. We must wait for the bear to find it. Then he will be so preoccupied, and his sense of smell will be so overwhelmed by the odor of the moose, that we will stand a much better chance. To get a better view we climb up to the highest place on the ridge, which I call the Gallery. We follow events below from there. The bear's raised nose shows he has detected the moose. We don't wait any longer, and begin our approach under cover of the pointed hill. I don't bother with my rucksack as we're not going far. After a couple of steps John reminds me: bring your gun!
In all the excitement of watching the bear I had left it behind on the ridge.
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We get to within 2500ft. of the bear. It's standing in long grass; it is easy to see from above, but could be invisible when we are on the same level. John is not happy about it, and tries to memorise the bear's exact position. We go on careful y… but the bear turns around, and then disappears forever into the bushes.
The wind!- signals John.
Like others before us, we also could not escape the Curse of the Valley.
I'm just settling into my tent once again, when John, outside, asks - as if en passant - what about a black bear?
What a question! Let's go!
On the other side of our ridge, where the valley splits, there is a baribal grazing! It's picking blueberries. It is 1428ft. away, not that close. We must get closer. Once more we must take advantage of the terrain, watching through binoculars whenever we can, and using them to measure the distance. At 900ft. we start to feel optimistic. Now we are on the same level as the bear; we have a perfect view of it. We have time to study it.
And guess what? It's the same bear we saw earlier, says John.
I was a bit sceptical myself; but it's unusual to come across two such large bears living so close to each other. Because this is definitely a big bear. John estimates it must be nearly 6ft. Just like a small grizzly. This would be a beautiful bag! There are a lot of bushes between us and the baribal, and this time, miraculously, the wind is good. We get closer to ensure the shot will be on target. John puts down the rucksack; my gun rest is perfect. It is 654ft away, standing in the middle of my crosshairs. I wait a moment for it to move slightly, as, just in my field of vision, I can dimly see some grass beyond my gunsight. And then it steps forward, and is now a clear target.
One shot, one kill.
The sound of the SST as it hits is quite audible. The baribal collapses, and - just like in a hunting video - starts rolling down the steep hillside. I'm still watching it, but I don't fire again. Sliding down the hill, and from this range, the bear makes a very awkward target; but the sound of the impact and the collapse of the bear are evidence enough of a hit.
I give a huge sigh of relief.
I've got my first bear!
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John congratulates me, and I get up. He remains on the spot and directs me to the bear. I'm busily searching for it, but I can't find it. I start to get worried. Could it just have been a surface wound? And is it happily running around somewhere at this very moment? But the noise the bullet's impact made doesn't suggest this. So where is it? I call John over. It is slowly getting darker. We search for blood: nothing. We scour the area, but can't find a drop. My worry is turning to desperation… but then… John unhitches his gun from his rucksack… stares at something in the undergrowth… beckons me over, and points at something beneath a bush…
There lies my black beast!
It has slid a long way.
John has traced its long slide through the grass. The heavy body just pushed aside all the bushes in its path. I'm lucky, as it could have been lost forever. I prod it with my gun, but there's no sign of life. We do not dare to try and move it; with every touch it slips a couple of feet further down the
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hill. We take our photographs right there, in the bushes. It is indeed a large specimen! John has never seen one so big. My first bear! We don't have a lot of time. It's getting very dusky. My guide starts to skin it on the spot, as the meat will be left here. We find the bullet; it mushroomed as expected, and the lead core has remained intact. It was a perfect shoulder shot; the bullet passed almost straight through its body, stopping on the other side. It expanded immediately, expending its full force, making a first-class impact. The ammunition and bullet are specifically designed for shots over 600ft. In the case of a closer shot from just a few feet - as with my Canadian caribou -
it probably isn't the bullet's fault if the lead core disintegrates. I must continue to study SST
bullets.
The skinning is finished under the bluish glare of our head-flashlights, though, for John, the toughest part is still ahead. He has to carry the sack containing the bear skin up an almost vertical slope. He produces ski poles to help with the climb, but a steep slope is still a steep slope. We arrive back at camp panting heavily.
Eventually, even the longest day must come to an end. And on 15th September 2009 it finally did.
It has been such an eventful day! Going from disappointment to joy, from fatigue to even greater fatigue, and from failure to success! Diana, the goddess of the hunt, has finally given me my due.
She allowed me that second chance today. She sent back the bear that I failed to shoot this afternoon. I seized the opportunity, and have increased my expedition's trophy list with yet another species.
It is past midnight by the time we crawl back into our tents.
Second Bearhunting Spike Camp