Manspeak

I was dropped off on Hinchinbrook Island in the heart of Prince William Sound by an air taxi on a cool, rainy Oct. 14 morning.

Hinchinbrook is a 165-square-mile island near Cordova, Alaska with an estimated population of about 100 brown bears, giving it the distinction of harboring the highest density of bears of any island in the Sound, according to Dave Crowley, Cordova area wildlife biologist for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. Four to six bears are killed by hunters on the island every year, though rarely one of more
than 400 pounds.

I wasn’t there to hunt bear. Instead, I had packed for a week of hunting for Sitka blacktail deer on the remote,wooded island. I did, however, pick up a permit to shoot a bear, just in case.

On day two of the group’s hunt, the skies cleared at 8:30 a.m. I set out to follow a creek bed
upstream looking for deer. I was carrying a .300-caliber
Winchester Magnum, and a significantly more powerful
.338-caliber Winchester Magnum in case a bear crossed my path.

In the creek, I spotted a deep pool with 20 salmon circling.

By this time, the run was over and the salmon were looking
pretty nasty. I started thinking that I was
looking at a bear’s dinner plate.

That got me in what I like to call ”bear mode.”

I continued following the creek upstream until they came to
a small island ringed with thick brush. Some end-of-season blueberries
clung to the surrounding brush. In the middle of the island was a
spruce tree larger than I could fit my arm around. At the
base of the tree were signs that an animal had tried to dig a hole.

About 9:30 a.m., I glanced upstream.

Forty yards away was a big brown bear with all four paws in the creek,
flipping over logs looking for salmon.

“He’s a shooter,” I said under my breath.

So I started getting in the zone. When I am going to
take an animal, I am really concentrating. I racked shells into my
gun and took off my pack and left it by the tree.

I moved a few feet upstream. About halfway between me and
the bear was a large fallen tree.

I thought when the bear crawls over that log, he will present his
vital areas and I’ll take him. I brought the rifle up to take a shot, but the bear moved over the log like it
wasn’t there.

I thought, ‘Oh crap.’ I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to get a shot off there.

As the bear kept coming along the creek, I momentarily
lost sight of him in a thicket, so I retreated back to the big
spruce.

I was sitting there concentrating when, a few seconds later, he
pops up right in front of me, about 10 yards away and he was coming
toward me. I don’t know if the wind was in my favor. I was dressed in camouflage. He might not have seen me.

I put the scope on him. I wanted to hit him in the chest, but all I could
see was his massive head.

I thought I had to take the kill soon or die from this beast. As I aimed for his left
eye I pulled the trigger. The bullet took an arc and I hit it about two inches low in the
side of his muzzle and into his brain.

He buckled backwards and raised his head like he was going to howl at
the moon, but nothing came out. I put two more rounds
in the vital area, then three more after that. Six total.

It was amazing

I watched for a few minutes, I reloaded and brought my other gun up
on him. I approached from the rear and poked him in the
butt to see if he was going to jump, but he didn’t move… He was dead.

I picked up the paw and Thought ‘good gracious…’ The paw was as
wide as my chest!

My bear was 12 feet 6 inches high at the shoulder, and weighing in at over one thousand six hundred pounds.

After the kill, I spent six hours skinning the bear —
and trying to drag its hide and skull back to my camp

As you may know, I am really not a bear killer, and in fact I have never killed anything but bugs and roadkill.
-Doc