It has been decided that I will hunt with Greg.
We will scour the nearby beaches and bays of Prince William Sound, searching for a black bear.
To do this, we will take a small boat that we haven't used yet. Its engine is a little bigger and its body more streamlined, so we can get around faster in it. Before leaving, we fill up the huge gas tank - we don't want to have to swim home. Randy warns me to put on all the warm clothes I've got, as the boat is very fast and the wind will be very cold. Accordingly, I dress up like the Michelin man and get into the boat looking decidedly bloated. Greg switches on the ignition and we leave the mother ship behind.
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We soon reach the icy bays of the Sound. The sea here is always full of icebergs, large and small. Greg slaloms between them; I feel as if I'm sitting in a motorboat simulator. There is a lot of ice around, and we can see many seals and sea-otters.
Yes, sea-otters!
It is so good to see how this creature, almost driven to extinction, has started to return to the area. Before the arrival of the white man the population was estimated to be between 150,000 -
300,000; but, by 1911, only 1000 - 2000 remained. Today they are completely protected and have no fear of us. We can get within 15ft. and they still don't swim away. Lying on their backs in the water, they stare at us with curiosity. There are large colonies of them: I can see at least 100.
They have taken back almost 2/3 of their original habitat. Nowadays, the main danger for them comes from oil-tanker accidents, and certain fishermen and shell-fish farmers, who drive them from their protected waters, and sometimes kill them, ignoring the law.
The motorboat is perfect for exploring the vicinity. It is fast enough for us to get round a lot of places quickly, but not so fast that we don't feel close to nature. I just wish it wasn't so cold on board.
One after the other we investigate the bays where the bears are supposed to be, but we don't see any. Twice Greg even gets out to go into the forest and look for fish in the rivers. Because whoever is looking for bears, must find the fish first. Where there are fish, there are bears.
But there aren't any fish anywhere.
That's what's worrying us.
Nobody knows where the fish have gone.
At this time, in a normal year, they should be swarming at the river mouths but, right now, we can't see one. The fish are the only thing that will tempt the bears out of the forest. If there are no fish, then they'll stay in the mountains, nibbling on the blueberries instead. We do spot a couple of grazing bears, but they are too far away, and too high up. We both get out of the boat. The river we're on is very shallow, so for the last couple of feet Greg has to drag the motorboat by hand.
We begin our stalk by going a couple of hundred feet into the forest, but, even though we can see for quite a long way, there's nothing moving at all. Greg says that, by now, we should have seen at least 10 - 12 bears.
But there hasn't been one.
We sit down to discuss the situation.
My guide explains that this method of hunting is never a question of luck. If the bears have come down, then virtually anyone should be capable of shooting one; the only problem would be picking one the right size. But if the baribals stay up in the mountains, we can sail around, or sit
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about, all day, every day, until next summer, and we still won't see one. I'll be very lucky if I get a bear here this year.
That's the way it is.
And even if I do shoot a bear, it's almost certain to be malnourished after subsisting on a meagre plant diet, and has probably only come down to the river out of sheer desperation. The two hunters who were here before me also had a tough search before they found any; but they did at least manage to see one or two a day. But the situation is even worse than it was then. Of course, we can stay and give it a try, but our chances are lower than ever.
I must decide.
My main reason for coming here was for the goat: the bear that I have already bagged, if all has gone according to plan, should be waiting to be shipped home. R. doesn't even have a permit for a bear: basically, this is a goat hunt. Greg offers me a refund for the bear - that's very fair. I say that I'll decide tomorrow, and think it over in the meantime.
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Greg suddenly develops a bit of a health problem and we have to rush back to the mother ship.
After 1/2hr. warming up on the boat - my feet, frozen in the rubber boots I borrowed from Bob, are starting to defrost - Randy and I sail over to an island 1200ft. away. We stay there stalking until dusk has gone. We have an interesting conversation about the best bullets for bear; he also tells me many entertaining stories about his life as a guide, and the hunters he has guided. He can't understand why people pay "a ton of money" , his very words, and then turn up for a brown bear hunt incapable of shooting accurately. This spring one of his clients, comfortably set up for the shot, which was just 150ft. could only manage to hit a bear the size of a tractor in its paw. These are not pleasant situations for Greg and Randy, as it is they who have to go into the undergrowth after it. Randy's back-up gun is a .375 caliber Ruger. This is the one he has brought with him today. He is using an open sight, best for any spur-of-the-moment shots. The front sight has been fitted with a phosphorescent green prism, as, at dusk in a rainy forest, it will show a target more clearly.
But there are no bears to be seen.
On Board the Ruffinit