My heart pounds, the adrenaline starts to flow, and I have more energy than I know what to do with. "Wooo hooo!" We’re going hunting! Now it’s August, and I haven’t hunted big game since elk season in November right before my son was born, and that’s way too long for me.
The wheels on our F250 finally stop rolling after a five-hour drive to Grants Pass. We hook up with the rest of the gang at Wapiti Archery Outfitters early in the afternoon. Dan Syfert, the owner, will be guiding us, and his assistant will take the other guys, a bow hunter from Bend and two other guys Portland. We have a couple more hours to drive on some narrow logging roads winding their way into some huge country, and eventually to our small camp. We stop to glass a few times on the way. At most of the stops, we get out of the truck just to peak over the next ridge or into a clear-cut and then hop back in. I notice we are all still dressed for the hot weather, not exactly very practical hunting attire for the conditions.
You probably already guessed, we are about to get our first lesson. It shouldn’t be one that we have to learn at this point, but everybody can use a reminder once in a while, and everyone on this hunt gets one. At the next stop, the guys hike about 75 yards from the truck. I choose to hang back for a minute to see how far they go and decide if I want to take my gun and pack. I peak over the edge of the ridge next to me with my binoculars when I hear a loud whisper, "We’ve got a bear, get your guns!"
Everyone hustles back to the rigs to grab their rifles that they should have already had with them. My mind quickly works through the logistics of four anxious hunters preparing to shoot at one bear, but I get my gun anyway and quickly follow. Dan points out where they are, and I instantly spot both of them through my loyal Nikons. There are two, a small one, and one that my husband, Matt, and I frequently refer to as "a shooter". The other two guys from Portland look in their direction, but don’t say anything. Matt asks if either one of them wants to shoot it, but they both shake their heads. I figure they must not want to shoot because its the first one we see. Since they are first-time bear hunters, they are urged to take the shot for a second time, and again they both decline. I’ve been told by many avid, experienced hunters, and I quote, "Take the easy ones twice!" So, I immediately pipe up, "Well, if no one else wants this one, I’ll shoot." Bears don’t wait around in the open forever, and I’ve never been a girl who hesitates very long.
Matt was the Director of Ballistics at Nosler Bullets, where we both worked for several years. He has fired more bullets through more rifles than anyone else I know. He also successfully guides many hunters to their first and subsequent deer and elk each year. We’ve hunted together for nearly 7 years, and I’ve almost always trusted him implicitly. Because we are both much more confident in a very different type of terrain, this brushy country is deceiving to our desert eyes. Matt looks over at me, and measures off about an inch with his fingers and says, "You’ll want to aim about this high over his back." Hmm, that doesn’t seem quite right, I remember thinking, but I steady my .300 Winchester Short Mag on a log in front of us and find the bear in my scope. He’s a beauty with black hair and a brown nose, the one I have my heart set on. I aim exactly where my husband said I should. Then, I lower my cross hairs a little bit and steady my stock again.
He is downhill from me and doesn’t appear to be much farther away than the 329 yards that my last bear was, although in the thick brush, he does look different. Last time I aimed just below the top of that blonde bear’s back and shot him through the top of his shoulder, and due to the angle, the single bullet passed through his shoulder, neck, and head. That one died where he stood. Now I pause and readjust again, and then squeeze the trigger. Everyone congratulates me with high-fives. I am so excited, I barely remember that I am still wearing my sandals and shorts, but soon regret that I didn’t have a rangefinder with me!
After confirming the bear is dead, and changing into our long pants and boots, we make our way down the treacherous, tree fallen, wasp infested, coastal terrain to find the bear. The whole time, I am whispering to Matt that I don’t think I shot the bear. I think he did, but our guide insisted he saw the dust fly off his back when the bullet hit. Matt and I often back each other up whenever it’s legal, and especially when we’re hunting bears in the brush in the afternoon! This time, there wasn’t much of an opportunity for a second shot as the bear was mere feet from heavy vegetation that was about to hide him completely. Another shot boomed an instant after mine, right before the bear fell dead in its path. My shot hit exactly where I was aiming, right over his back and into the log behind him.
It was when we found the remnants of a 338 caliber Nosler Accubond bullet in his hide instead of my 30 caliber Nosler Solidbase bullet, that I find out for sure it isn’t mine. The other guys all want to tell me that it is, but I see the look on Matt’s face, and I know better. That same look also indicated to me how bad he felt. I knew he really wanted that bear to be mine, too. That was that. It wasn’t my bear. I’ve already learned some valuable lessons on this hunt, and we haven’t even made it to camp yet!.
The rest of the hunt is wonderful. We have a great time getting to know Dan. He is a lot of fun and a very interesting, funny, extremely tough, respectable, and knowledgeable guide. He comes from a family tree full of loggers from the Grants Pass area, where he has also worked as a firefighter and smoke jumper in his younger years. It was a riot listening to his hilarious stories about the government funding the forest fires, meanwhile our knuckles are turning white and buttocks are tightly squeezing the seat of his older F250 as it races up those steep, winding, old, gravel logging roads. It becomes abundantly clear to us that he has been driving those same roads for a long, long time, probably before he was old enough to legally drive.
We spot a few more bears, and see a lot of tracks and sign, more literally referred to as ‘poop’. The thick berry bushes also show obvious signs of bears munching. We see a few hair balls barrel off into the brush as soon as they catch wind of us. No matter how you say it, it’s tough duty trying to sneak up on bear in the berry bushes.
On the last day, I am finally given another chance. Dan takes me separately from the other guys. I think he still feels a little bad for me about the first bear and really wants me to get one. As the day rapidly transforms into late afternoon, Dan finally points towards a burly, reddish colored bear with dark legs. There are a couple of smaller bears behind him, not shooters, but this big daddy is starting to walk towards us. I quietly sneak as close as possible into a position where I can manage a fairly decent rest and find him in my scope. The light is quickly fading, and he keeps turning around to look back at the smaller bears romping around behind him.
I am using a spare scope of Matt’s, a Leupold 4.5-14x with an adjustable objective lens, currently set on 12x. This is usually a good setting for me since we are forced to take farther shots in the sagebrush where we normally hunt. I keep wondering why I can see the bear perfectly through my binoculars, but he looks tiny through my scope, and he’s getting smaller by the minute as he continues his saunter toward us. I later learn from a friend at Leupold that an adjustable objective lens is a good choice for long distance target shooting on a bench in sufficient light, but my setup is a poor configuration for low light.
Dan is patiently waiting behind me, encouraging me to shoot whenever I am ready. I can see Mr. Bear in my scope, but I can’t tell which direction he is turning, and I have yet to witness a live bear hold still for more than a few seconds! I am starting to get nervous and flustered, so I look at Dan and say, "I’m so sorry, I’m not going to shoot." I feel bad that he finally finds me a perfect bear, the biggest bear he said he’s seen around here, and his client won’t shoot it. Instantly, his hand raises for a high-five, but he hugs me instead. He excitedly tells me never to apologize to my guide for not taking a risky shot at a bear in the brush right before dark, and then we both laugh. This time, I followed my gut. I knew I was right for not taking the shot, and I was relieved.
I have made successful shots on several decent mule deer, a couple of elk, a coyote, a huge wild boar, and a black bear a couple years before this, all in sufficient light, and I’m proud to say that I haven’t injured or lost anything. Dan was impressed with Matt. He’s an excellent shot and a great hunter, quite possibly one of the best according to many friends, fellow hunters, guides, and associates in the industry. Hell, most everyone is impressed with Matt! That day though, Dan said he was more impressed with me because he knew how much I wanted that bear. He said we can come back and hunt with him again anytime. I know Matt was proud, too, and that means a lot to me.
Those bears taught me some very important lessons about hunting and about myself. Among them were 1) to always have all of my gear ready and with me no matter what the circumstances; 2) to follow my own instincts; 3) to "hold on hair" unless you are certain the distance requires holdover; 4) to use proper optics and adjust the power levels as they pertain to the current light conditions; 5) that it’s always okay to forfeit a shot you aren’t completely comfortable with; and 6) that shooting methods that work for my husband, or others, don’t necessarily work for me.
These lessons were my ticket to building more confidence in myself as a hunter and a shooter. Since then, I’ve tagged two wild pigs and a nice bull elk in low light conditions, and a beautiful 28-inch wide, 6x6 mule deer, all with my beloved custom .300 WSM and a new Leupold Vari-X III 3.5-10x, without the adjustable objective. Matt was with me on those hunts, but he didn’t say very much...except of course, "Woooo Hoooo!"
