As we rode the three hours back to camp, Dave Nowlin asked me, “Did you say a big, blond, three-legged bear?”  I excitedly explained to him this bear was bigger than all the bear photos and trail camera photos he had been showing us in the past few days.  Yes, it looked like he only had three legs.  When we reached the lodge at midnight, Dave quickly examined the trail camera photos he had just retrieved from a bait station three and a half miles from my stand.  There he was: A big, red (not blond), three-legged bear.

I wasn’t even supposed to be along on this “guys only” hunt.  My husband’s friend, Ross, invited my husband, his best friend, Paul, along with seven other buddies to join him for a spring black bear hunt with Manley’s Outdoor Adventures in Love, Saskatchewan.

When I first heard of the invitation for a hunt nearly a year away, I thought the guys would never get it together without the help of my strategic planning.  At least, I knew my husband and Paul wouldn’t since in the past fifteen years, I have done all the logistics, scheduling and bureaucratic planning for our international travels.  Nevertheless, the thought crossed my mind that this hunt would not only be wonderful for my husband, but this hunt would also be one I wouldn’t have to stress out about attending to every detail.  However, I was still shocked that my husband would consider going on a hunt without me, since I am the “Huntaholic” in the family.

About six weeks before the hunt, Ross called me, not my husband, to acquire hunting license information that he needed forwarded to the outfitter, Dave Nowlin. Lo and behold, Paul couldn’t get away for the week of hunting because of a work conflict. I quickly informed Ross, without even checking with my husband, that I was available to fill the gap.  Thus began my journey to Love, Saskatchewan.

Four of us traveled together from LAX via Calgary to Saskatoon.  From there we rented a mini van and drove another three hours to the beautiful lodge Dave had built himself.  Since I had no part in the planning I had held my breath to see what Ross had really gotten us into, but his plans pleasantly surprised me.  This might be one of the cushiest hunting camps outside Africa from which I had hunted.  The rest of the guys arrived around midnight and we would zero rifles, check bows and do the necessary pre-hunt practice necessary in the morning.

First things first...the guys wanted to start a $40 per person pool for the biggest, smallest, closest to the bait bears.  Women don’t do such things, but I was in.

Our daily hunting schedule began with a departure from the lodge at 2:00 P.M.  Everyone climbed aboard two Polaris Rangers and an Argo (this is a part track layer and part boat vehicle we couldn’t have hunted without in Love). Muddy pitfalls filled our three-hour drive, with obstacles consisting of beaver ponds, rivers, and flooded roads, to reach each of our tree stands. The distances weren’t really so far, but we had to allow time for Dave and the Argo to rescue and tow the Rangers from numerous swampy holes that bogged us down each day.  I didn’t expect the terrain to be so flat, and I have never hunted in such thickets of trees.

Day one was rainy all day. Excited about my first bear hunt, the six hours of sitting, shivering and feeling numb in the tree stand, seemed to go by rapidly.  My only visitors were a huge raven and a pair of snow shoe hares.  Then at dusk a black figure moved out of the thickets toward my bait.  I watched in awe not knowing if I was looking at a big bear or small bear. I surely didn’t want to shoot “the smallest bear” in the pool on my first night of the hunt.  The guys would never let me live it down.  So I watched him for 30 minutes and came up with all kinds of questions I would need answered before my next “tour of duty” in the stand.

On days two and three a sow and her two red cubs entertained me.  They came to the bait early and I admired the sow’s devotion to her cubs.  She never fed, but spent the entire time patrolling the vicinity of about a 50-yard diameter around the bait.  She constantly grunted in what seemed like a motherly reassurance.  I could always tell where she was, and I supposed her cubs could too.  At one point on the first day she visited, after her initial patrol she circled my tree stand until it was obvious to both of us that “she found me.”  As a novice and a first time bear hunter, the guys had told me that the only thing I had to worry about was a sow with cubs.  My heart was pounding as she zeroed in on me at the base of my stand.  I didn’t want to unnecessarily provoke her, but in reality I think I was just frozen with fear.  The cubs had sought the security 75 feet up the tree next to the bait.  While pointing the muzzle of my rifle directly down at her, in slow motion I reached for the radio inside my coat pocket and asked Dave to come and get me.  When he arrived, the cubs were still up the tree and the sow secreted herself about 50 yards away behind fallen tree debris.  On the second day of her attendance, she repeated the scenario but apparently decided I was not a threat at all.  She did sit and watch ME for awhile.  Nevertheless, the cubs fed and frolicked at the bait with little regard for me.

By day four of my hunt, I was determined to endure the rain and snow without shivers and numbness.  Dave and his wife, Lesley, recommended I use little packets of hand warmers, which I now intend on investing in stock.  They made all the difference in the world and I was really comfortable despite the nasty elements.  I had already decided that if the medium-sized black bear I had seen the first day returned to the bait, he would be my target.  By dusk, neither a raven nor rabbit had visited the bait station.  Finally breaking the stillness, a lone hare hopped into view.  The disturbance of the still air itself nearly scared me out of the stand.  He relaxed and fed on grain near the bait barrel.  I figured he could be my “canary”… since he was there; there certainly wouldn’t be a bear nearby.

In the far distance I could hear the whine of the Argo en route to pick me up.  At that very moment the bunny below me peeled out in the direction of my stand at 100 miles per hour.  Then, lumbering down the road and into view walked the biggest bear I could imagine.  In the dusk light, he looked blond in color.  He calmly sat and seemed to be looking directly at me about 40 yards away.  My heart was pounding so loudly I knew he would surely hear it.  I slowly raised my rifle off my lap and placed the crosshairs on his shoulder as he quartered toward me.  As I attempted to slide the safety off, it wouldn’t budge.  How could this be happening?!  I slowly lowered my rifle to my lap, raised the bolt on my rifle.  With pressure enough to overcome what must have been some particle of dirt, I slid my safety off and on.  I raised my rifle again.  That did not intimidate the bear at all.  He calmly stared in my direction.  As I reestablished my target, I thought I was losing my mind.  The bear was missing his right foreleg.  The thought that I was misreading his anatomy crossed my mind, but it was the far foreleg and the rest of the bear appeared as it should be.  I fired and he ran off in the opposite direction.  Seconds later I heard brush breaking in the thick trees where he had run.

I stayed in my stand and radioed Dave, which was the rule.  “Dave, I just shot one huge, blond, three-legged bear!” I called to him.  The sound of the Argo was nearer now and he replied that he would be to me momentarily.  By the time he reached my stand it was pitch dark.  I gave him my account of everything and after short recognizance; we agreed to come back in the morning to look for the bear.

After a torturous night, we left the lodge about 9:00 A.M.  Four of the other hunters, Dave, and his helper, Ken, and I went to look for evidence of my shot.  It seemed like forever, but probably more like ten minutes, Dave found my bear.  He was under some brush right where we had heard the branches breaking the night before, not 25 yards from the bait.  The “insurance” shot was paid, reaffirming my credibility. He was a big, red, three-legged bear.  The right foreleg apparently was lost to a snare many years earlier.

I used my favorite hunting rifle, one with which I have taken many hogs, deer, antelope and elk; my Robar .308.  I used Federal 180 grain. Nosler Partition bullets.

© June 2006