Spirit Bear

Firelight dances off the walls of my shelter, the roof of the shelter is made of pine boughs tied together with willow bark and lashed to lodge pole pine logs. The back of the shelter consists of a small cave of sorts, about five feet deep and ten feet long. A small spring bubbles from the ground nearby and the surrounding forest is teeming with wildlife. I have been coming here for years to hunt the elk who inhabit these forests, and have used this exact location as my shelter for years.
Something is moving around in the darkness just outside the firelight. My faithful friend Little Brother lays close in the shelter, a deep growl coming from his chest. I have been watching the darkness for the past fifteen minutes trying to catch a glimpse of the creature moving around out there. After a while the woods return to their normal night sounds, as the fire dies down I somehow find myself drifting away into the dream world and lose myself to dreams of bugling bulls and quiet stalks through the wilderness.
Daybreak comes with the chill only the high lands can bring, even through my elk skin shirt I feel the cold trying to rob me of body heat. I walk into the meadow and whistle for Tiger my trusty steed, through the morning mist he answers in horse talk and I see his black coat materialize twenty feet away. We greet one another I with a stroke of my hand upon his neck and he with a rough nuzzle from his big head. The bulls are bugling at the upper end of this long meadow today and their calls echo down through the pines. We are traveling light today , I shoulder my quiver and war bag, brace my bow and leap upon Tigers back, usually I always ride bareback in the high lands, this way if something were to happen to me, my horse would not be burdened with the task of surviving with the saddle stuck to his back. We have traveled literally thousands of miles together over the years, building a bond and trust with one another that few would understand. Near the end of a long meadow about two miles from our shelter Tiger suddenly stops in his tracks, his ears come up and he stands completely still. From the tree line several elk emerge from the forest and begin feeding away from us. Tiger was not interested in the elk his attention was focused on the tree line to our left, Little Brother ran out in front of Tiger and began staring in the same direction, a deep growl reverberating across this chill morning. I dismount and draw an arrow from my mountain lion skin quiver, and circle in the direction of the hidden danger. Just inside the timber I come across fresh Grizzly bear tracks the rear track is nearly thirteen inches long and as wide as my foot plus half again as wide. the tracks are going deeper into the woods, so I return to my horse and now quivering with excitement dog , and leave the area. For the next week I have several encounters with the bear, but never once do I actually see the bear.
Snow falls from the sky in large slow moving flakes, already the landscape is covered with a foot of the white stuff and looks to be no end in sight. I am riding Tiger through this storm nearly a month after my last encounter with the ghost bear. In this winter wonderland I am certain that all bears have gone into the big sleep. Near the end of the long meadow I dismount and begin making a cold camp at the tree line, Little Brother has stayed home on this trip, age has caught up with my old friend and the cold renders him virtually unable to walk the deep snow. I release Tiger to feed in the meadow and clear the snow from the ground for my bedrole and meager supplies.
Sleep found me easily in the darkness and I slept as one only can while in the quiet solitude of the wilderness. Near daybreak I have a great need to empty my bladder and leave the comfort of my bedrole for the below zero morning chill. After relieving myself I dive back into my wilderness bed and fall back into quiet slumber. I am not sure how long I slept but it could not have been more than a few minutes. I awoke to the still grey dawn of morning but the landscape had changed. The snow still fell slowly from the sky but now the tracks of the ghost bear were literally a foot from my bed! The claw marks on top of my tracks from my early morning bathroom break, the bear had walked up to my bed and stood over me, then turned and walked away through the deep snow. I was literally shaking uncontrollably after it dawned on me how close I had been to North America’s largest carnivore. I told myself at the time that the bear was really a spirit bear sent to me for some reason I still haven’t been able to comprehend. Now so many years later I still feel the hair stand on my neck at the remembrance of the encounter, but the fear is replaced with a humility and respect for the spirit bear, I am glad to have met with him and felt the power on that cold November morning of our meeting. Sometimes the wild places offer up subtle hints in the hopes we will be able to read the sign, other times mother nature is not so subtle with her messages and still we somehow fail to read the massages sent. Some have said that it was just a bear walking through the snow, I say to them, until a bear has touched you while sleeping and your spirits have intertwined on some cold mountain you could not possibly understand the connection we shared. Hawk a/ho

ETHICS and ARROWS

The smell of decaying leaves and other forest smells fill my senses, I am close to the ground in a half crouch moving one careful step at a time through an ice cold stream. Every step in the ice cold water brings me closer to the black bear standing along the southern bank of the stream feeding on an elk winterkill carcass. For the lash hour I have been stalking this bear, the wind is steady from the southwest and keeping my scent from the bears keen nose. My only option for a stalk is down this small creek, although the cold water has turned my feet into what feels like ice balls wearing shoes I am undeterred. Carefully I approach the coal black bruin and prepare for the shot. Two more steps will bring me within ten yards of the bear and offer me a perfect quartering away shot. The bear is busy tearing flesh from the elk and has no idea that death is standing so near, I begin to draw my bow and pick a spot where I want the arrow to enter into the body of the bear. Just before I release the arrow she softly calls, a very quiet mewing sound I have heard many times before. I lower my bow and silently retreat to the other side of the creek, I lower myself to the forest floor and feel the earth embrace me in my newfound hiding place. This hunt has come to an end , but the spectacle soon to follow I am certain will be far better than any harvest I may have made today. My patience is soon rewarded when two small cubs scurry down from a large fir tree and join their mother near the carcass. She rolls onto her back and lets the little balls of fur suckle, I silently thank the creator for the warning that this bear was a mother. There is really no way to tell if a bear is alone in most cases and several cubs die every year because the hunter was not aware that the bear was a female with cubs until after the harvest. Usually the cubs are well hidden in a tree nearby and will not reveal themselves until their mother calls. And females will hide their offspring while they feed, to ensure another bear or predator doesn’t come across them and kill the young. Finally the she bear calls softly once again to her young and they retreat into the forest shadows. I raise myself from the ground and shoulder my bow, this days hunt is done, I walk through the wilderness just enjoying the forest and all the sounds and smells on my way back home from this high place, the memory of a bear family forever locked in my mind and a smile on my face. Knowing I was lucky to have met them in this place and for once blessed to have not released an arrow on the hunt. Hawk a/ho

Tooth and claw v/s stick and string.

The Beartooth Mountains rise behind me, creating a beautiful backdrop to this spring evening. The Wyoming rifle season for bear is in full swing so the bruins are becoming more nocturnal with each passing day, making for a more challenging hunt . Several bears have been working along this creek and I move slowly among the aspen and cottonwood thicket, scanning for any movement. The wind is in my face and seems steady. The afternoon shadows help to conceal my movements. While the whitetail doe feeding at the tree line reassures me that I pass, so far, undetected.
A blur of movement! From out in front of me, a cinnamon colored bear suddenly appears. The bear is at a lope and coming fast. I can’t say when the bow began its arc, or the arrow left the string. It all happened so fast. But I remember picking a spot, where the rapidly approaching front shoulder meets the neck. At five yards the bear and the Magnus tipped cedar arrow became one in a blur of feathers and fur. The bear let out a loud roar of pain and began spinning around biting at the arrow. Not being certain of the effectiveness of my shot at such close quarters, having taken a running facing shot, a shot I would never take but in self defense. The bear was still growling and biting at the arrow sticking from his neck, when I made the decision to try and end this encounter before it becomes even more dangerous. I reached around with my right hand and drew my backup pistol from its holster, took careful aim and fired . The bear expired a few seconds later. I cautiously approached the downed bear and pulled the cedar shaft from his cinnamon coat. After saying my prayers to the bear and the creator for a truly exciting hunt, I tagged the bear and prepared to pack him out ..
My wife, Stacey helped to skin the bear the next morning and I was surprised to find the arrow had in fact killed the bear. The pistol shot had missed at five …yes five yards! I am thankful that it wasn’t a charging grizzly bear. The outcome would have been very different I am certain. I promise myself to practice a lot more with the pistol before going a field again...I will never know if the bear was charging at me, or if he was simply running in my direction. Whatever his motivation, I am truly honored to have met him in those final moments of his life. And, on future hunts ,I will wear the claws of this cinnamon warrior around my neck. In honor of his meeting, on that spring evening, when cinnamon met cedar. When my heart beat faster as his slowed for the last time ……Hawk a/ho