RUSHED

September 14^th, 2022, dawned far too early for my liking. Swinging my legs off the bunk, I stared groggily at the floor for several minutes before deciding a big bull elk was not going to be killed in my old camper. Blearily rising out of bed, I slowly dressed and decided to hike in to area I had dubbed “sheep meadow.” The first two weeks of archery elk season had started rough, and the days were slowly turning into a grind.

A large L-shaped clearing, sheep meadow typically held fair numbers of elk when it was not being grazed by flocks of sheep. Seeing no sheep, I settled in behind several pines on the north side of the meadow. A thick blanket of pre-dawn clouds muffled the bright moon. Settling in a little too comfortably, I quickly nodded off. After an unknown amount of time, the sharp snap of a breaking branch finally yanked me from my slumber. Gamely struggling to pull myself out of my post-nap stupor, I opened my eyes and peered around. There, directly in front of me, was a large black blob. The blob was slowly ambling away through the timber. As my vision cleared, the blob eventually turned into a bear. A large bear, by looks of it.

All thoughts of elk hunting vanished as I suddenly remembered the bear tag nestled in my pocket. Slowly, I lifted my bow from the tree limb it was hanging on and pulled out my rangefinder. Sixty-five yards and walking directly away from me. Drawing back, I waited for him to turn. He did, offering a slight quartering-away shot. My seventy-yard pin settled low behind the front shoulder as the hulking brute stopped and looked back. I squeezed the trigger let the arrow fly. The bear spun; snarling and snapping as he swapped ends and thundered into the thick timber.

Excited by the size of the bear, I quickly strode across the meadow to where he had stood. Almost immediately I located the arrow, the white fletches bright red with blood. Overconfident and about to learn a hair-raising lesson, I ducked into the timber and began tracking.

I had no problem locating the blood trail. Large splashes of blood covered the tangled deadfall. The downed trees were so thick I eventually left my bow behind, figuring I would not be needing it based on the blood trail. He had to be dead, I was sure of it. This was a move I would soon regret.

After dropping my bow, I clambered across another fifteen yards or so of crisscrossed logs when I caught sight of a large black mass in the pines ahead of me. There, slouching up on all fours in front of me, was my dead bear. Very much still alive and far too close for comfort, he lurched out of the deadfall, lumbering away as I stumbled back. Scrambling back to my bow, I decided that I needed a follow-up shot as quickly as possible.

Setting back upon the trail, I tracked him from the pines he had just exited, this time with my bow in hand. It was not long before I caught sight of him through a patch of open lodgepole pines, slowly cresting a small rise. Throwing caution and good sense to the wind, I sprinted up the slope just in time to see him disappear into a deadfall thicket no more than twenty yards away. With no clear shot, I doubled down on my previous bad decision and climbed over a tangle of deadfall and dropped into the thicket, landing right in the big bruin’s lap.

Scrambling away from the bear, I drew back and quickly loosed an arrow, hitting the big bear in the hind. Roaring, the bear reached back and grabbed the arrow with his teeth, breaking it off and tossing it away. Snarling, he spun towards me. I let fly with another arrow, this one hitting him square in the chest as he lumbered towards me. With a shudder he abruptly stopped. Groaning, he swayed and slumped over, finally breathing his last. Shaking, I took out my rangefinder. Too close to read. I paced off the yardage. Eight yards. Eight yards of forest floor was all that separated me from the great bruin.

Upon inspection of the bear, I discovered my first arrow had taken him right where I had hoped. It had entered behind his front shoulder, striking the lungs. The fault was mine. Rushing the follow-up, I failed to give this incredible animal enough time to expire. Here was a bear so tough that it took three arrows to finally stop.

A light rain started to drizzle as I caped the bear out. After hiking back to the trailhead, I spread out the hide and laid the tape measure on him. The bruin measured six feet and eight inches from nose to tail. A great mountain black bear.

Lady luck was with me in sheep meadow that morning. Despite my poor judgement, I had somehow escaped harm and ended up with a great trophy besides.