TROPHY
BLACK BEAR AND CARIBOU HUNTING
Newfoundland
Sportsman Magazine Article:
'Up
close and personal'
By Gord Follett
Whether
your quarry barely reaches the one-pound mark in weight
or pushes the scales past the 1,200-pound level, there’s
an element of excitement in each and every hunt. For many,
the pursuit of small game is more exhilarating because there’s
more action over a longer period of time, while those who
favour the larger animals will tell you that firing one
shot for an entire season carries enough anticipation to
last from one steadying of the crosshairs to the next.
Dwight
Blackwood and I have hunted virtually every game animal
in this province, from grouse to moose, with each adventure
bringing its own rewards and anticipation. In each case,
the oft-used phrase, “adrenaline rush,” comes into play,
but there have been very few such rushes that can compare
to a recent bear hunt we experienced in Black River, Management
Area 28, near Clarenville.
Dean
Crocker of Beaulieu’s Trophy Woodland Caribou and Black
Bear Hunts was our guide, and if our hopes of getting a
bruin weren’t high before we got there, his promise to put
us within shooting range of an animal certainly heightened
our expectations.
He
has personally harvested about 50 black bears in his career,
including a 600-plus-pound spring bruin with a 21-inch skull
a few years back, which qualified him for the all-time Boone
and Crockett record book; thus, the reason for our confidence.
“Whether
you hit him or not is another thing,” he said with his wide,
amicable smile, “but you will see bears. Definitely. The
rest is up to you.” With that comment constantly in the
back of our minds, Dwight and I took Dean up on his offer
to tag along on his baiting duties Sunday, a non-hunting
day until after the end of October in Newfoundland and Labrador.
After
a 10-minute walk along a pole line, we branched off slightly
to check the first bait. “Hit again,” he whispered, pointing
to the 45-gallon drum which had been ripped from its cable
mooring and dragged inside the woods. “And that’s a big,
powerful animal to tear the cable through the thick barrel.”
“We
aren’t necessarily after big, trophy animals, Dean,” I said.
“We just want a bear; a couple of 200-pounders will do.
Maybe next year we’ll go after something larger.”
Dean,
whose operation also boasts some of the top woodland caribou
heads in the world, and his father Dave had been baiting
several sites in the weeks leading up to our arrival, and
of the seven we checked Sunday morning, every single one
had to be rebaited with bakery scraps of donuts and cookies.
“Seven
out of seven,” Dwight commented. “I believe you now, Dean;
if we have patience to stay in the stand long enough, we’re
definitely gonna see bears.” Our goal on this trip, as usual,
was to get enough film and material for a television show
and magazine feature article, so we decided to take our
video camera to a stand Sunday evening and hope for some
pre-hunt footage of a bear at the bait. And boy, did we
ever get footage - from less than 30 metres!
We
replayed it over and over that night on the camera monitor.
After just 40 minutes in the stand, a bruin of about 250
pounds cautiously made its way into the small clearing,
eventually poking its head into the barrel, which had already
been cleaned out since it was baited hours earlier. The
animal wasn’t happy with the empty plate. He/she (it’s difficult
to tell) showed its displeasure by pushing the barrel around,
clawing a nearby tree and lunging at a smaller animal; a
squirrel, we believe. The animal then walked directly under
the stand, scraping its side against the ladder as he went.
Now that’s close! A short time later, another bear sauntered
in for a feed, but he, too, found the restaurant to be temporarily
out of service.
We
were hours, perhaps minutes, behind bears that hit the various
baits on Monday, so we decided to stick around for at least
four hours in two of the more promising stands Tuesday morning,
with Dean manning the camera in my stand and friend/cameraman
John Dyke following Dwight to his perch a couple of kilometres
away.
For
those who may not be familiar with bear hunting from a stand,
the one thing you have to be is quiet. Very quiet. You cannot
talk, clear your throat or move around. In most cases, the
slightest noise will send the bear scurrying; that’s if
you get to see him at all. The same goes for any scent you
may be carrying. Deodorant, cologne, etc. are no-no’s. We
actually put our hunting clothes in garbage bags filled
with spruce and fir boughs three or four days before the
hunt. As Dean pointed out, a bear could spend a long time
in nearby woods checking for potential danger, and if he
spots movement or picks up unfamiliar scent, chances are
the animal will be long gone before you ever knew it was
there. With a few ounces of molasses or vanilla in and around
the barrel to complement the menu of baked goods, we settled
into our respective stands and waited. And waited.
I
almost fell into a trance watching dozens of squirrels fight
for scraps and chase one another around the barrel for about
two hours, until Dean tapped on my left shoulder and pointed
to a narrow trail leading away from the bait.
A
bear which we estimated to be 300 pounds glanced back in
our general direction as he slowly walked out the trail.
I had an opportunity for a quick shot, but we wanted as
much footage of bears as possible, so I held off in hopes
it would circle through the woods and head back very shortly.
That
particular animal didn’t return while we were there, but
40 minutes later, two smaller bears - one slightly more
than 200 pounds and the second in the 150-pound range -
walked directly underneath us and towards the barrel. My
heart rate doubled as we watched the larger of the two sniff
the barrel. Never had I been this close to a live, wild
black bear, an animal that can snap a caribou’s neck with
one swipe of its paw.
From
30 yards away I raised my rifle ever-so-slowly, still watching
the partly-hidden animal lick molasses from the top of the
barrel. When he poked his head and neck to lick the side
of the barrel facing me, I gently thumbed off the safety
and put the crosshairs on his neck.
I
turned my head slightly to let Dean know I was ready to
shoot, then took a couple of deep breaths, steadied myself
once more and fired. The
animal fell back and rolled over, its entire body trembling
like a paint-shaking machine.
“He’s
finished,” I said to myself as, much to our surprise, the
smaller bear took advantage of the opportunity to check
out the barrel. While looking at that animal, the one I
hit got back on all fours and busted through the thick alders
and bushes faster than I ever thought a bear could move.
The
second one followed shortly after, so we waited for 30 minutes
before beginning our search. Little did we know what was
happening at the other stand less than two minutes after
I fired my shot.
“Dwight
and John will be here soon because we agreed to meet on
the trail at noon,” I said to Dean, “so we’ll wait for them
to help us search; better to have two guns than one while
tracking a bear.” We met as planned, with Dwight asking,
“You got one, did you?”
“Yeah,” I said, “how did you know?”
“We heard the shot from our stand,” he said, obviously busting
to tell me his news:
“I got one, too. A dandy!”
“Are you serious? Did you find him?”
“No searching necessary; he dropped right at the barrel.”
And drop the bruin certainly did.
We
watched the incredible video back at camp that evening,
after searching for several hours without success for the
animal I hit. Dwight’s bruin, which weighed close to 300
pounds, approached from the right as the boys waited for
it to stop at the barrel. Before doing so, however, the
bear walked under the stand and at one point appeared to
be looking up at the motionless duo.
Satisfied
there was no danger, the animal approached the barrel, hauled
off the plastic lid and reached inside. Boom!
With
a shot to the base of the skull, the animal was dead before
it hit the ground a split second later. Actually, we’ve
shot moose that have dropped “like a tonne of bricks,” but
none as quickly as this big bruin.
Remnants
of a hurricane kept us camp-bound on Wednesday, so by Thursday
morning we were well rested and eager to get me a bear that
I could actually touch, preferably without the animal breathing.
Dwight
grabbed the camera as we headed to a smaller, one-man stand
inside a pole line. I was more comfortable standing on the
ladder, so Dwight sat atop the stand to film.
I
was three steps off the ground, staring straight across
at the bait barrel 30 minutes later, when I felt Dwight
tap the ladder above me. I looked up to see him pointing
down at the trees and alders to my right. At first I couldn’t
believe my eyes as the furry black object slowly made its
way towards me.
“What
the ...” Even as I turned around on the stand and raised
my 30-06, the animal, which was no more than 16-18 feet
away (yeah, that’s feet, not metres) kept coming.
“Oh
my ...” After blurting out a few more unprintables, I pushed
off the safety and, still standing on the ladder a few feet
from the ground, tried to find the animal’s head and neck
through the leaves and branches. As soon as I did, Boom!
The animal dropped with a shot to the neck, but kept crawling
on its side until I placed another to the head, directly
behind its ear.
Trembling
slightly and still finding it difficult to believe what
had just transpired, I leaned back against the ladder and
shook my head. My buddy was now laughing so hard he could
barely hold the camera steady.
Although
only about half as large as the animal Dwight harvested
earlier - and one I would not have fired at had it been
at the bait 50 metres away - I considered this more of a
self-defence move. “No matter what size,” I said to Dwight
after catching my breath, “I’m not fussy about a black bear
sniffin’ my boots.” “Are you ever going to get down and
haul it out to the trail,” he asked 20 minutes later. “Yeah,”
I answered, “in another hour’s time.”
Eventually,
we did get down and drag the bear - very quickly - to the
old railway bed where Dean was on his way in the truck.
While waiting, I made a point of discussing the other, larger
bears in the immediate vicinity, and when Dwight turned
his attention to the dead bear laying near his feet, I picked
up a fist-size rock and tossed in among the alders just
a couple of feet behind him.
Even
the professionals on Dancing With the Stars wouldn’t have
kept up with him as he jumped, twisted around and kicked
up hundreds of tiny rocks as he ran, until he glanced back
and saw me falling to my knees in a fit of laughter. Oh,
to have had a second camera right then and there. Top prize
on Funniest Home Videos would most certainly have been ours.
For
now, though, we’re quite satisfied with our award of an
absolutely thrilling hunt; one we’ll be doing a great deal
more of in the years to come... just as long as our hearts
can handle it. (For more information, visit www.biggamehuntingnewfoundland.ca
or email deancrocker@nf.sympatico.ca).
Caribou
- Black Bear
- Bow Hunting - Meals
- Transportation
- Camps - Cost/Payments
- Hunting Guides - Photos/Trophies
- Whats New? - Weather
- Hunting Links - Maps
- Home
