Some of the world's largest black bears call this Canadian island home.
By J. Scott Rupp
Darren DeLuca's truck coasted to a stop. With a gesture, he cautioned us to be quiet as we got out. We pushed the doors shut against the frame with subtle clicks, slipped into our daypacks and silently loaded our rifles--easing bolts closed on empty chambers. Before us was a logging road covered with chalky white stones. Tall cedars and firs towered on both sides, and the pale green of new grass showed along the road's edges and in its middle.
"Now we walk," Darren said quietly, and we set off down the road like soldiers on patrol, on edge and alert. At each bend that obscured the view ahead, we fell single file behind Darren and eased carefully forward, straining to catch sight of a bear.
The morning was sunny and warm, and through the tall conifers we could see glimpses of snow-capped peaks of the Mackenzie Range in the distance. Occasionally the sound of the river rapids to our left would reach our ears, and warblers and other unseen birds chirped in the underbrush and overhead in the canopy.
After half an hour or so--the hike uneventful save the discovery of a few fresh bear droppings and chewed and broken saplings--Darren veered off the logging road and plunged into the brush. Now, the need for silence gone, he moved with quick agility through dense stands of alder and pole timber. I struggled to keep the pace and quickly worked up a good sweat, as did Harry Hindman, the third member of our party, but eventually we emerged from the tangles onto another, fainter logging road.
Darren indicated that a big bear frequented the area, so we checked a few vantage points, but morning was turning to midday, and with the sun now high, the chances of catching the bear out and about were slim.
Vancouver Island--a 33,000-square-mile island off the coast of British Columbia--is legendary black bear country. Because of the island's expansive forests, many of which have been timbered extensively, and the strong runs of salmon and steelhead that fill its rivers several times a year, the black bears here grow big--on average, they are probably the biggest in the world. In fact, these bears are so large that Safari Club International has even established a separate scoring category for them.
A typical spring finds the bears, fresh out of hibernation and hungry as hell, prowling the clearcuts to feed on the grasses and forbs that grow profusely once the overstory is gone and sunlight reaches the forest floor. Because of that, spring hunting usually involves pulling up a comfortable stump and glassing acres and acres of downed timber and brush for foraging bears. Then you judge them for size, figure out a stalk if they're big enough, and go after them.
Primedia and Ford bring you the Ultimate Fishing Trip, a trip for two you'll never forget. DETAILS >
That's how it's usually done. But last spring Vancouver Island--which sees 300 inches of rainfall a year--was in the grip of the same drought that has plagued much of the western United States over the past several years. As a result the best grass was found on the edges of the logging roads rather than in the clearcuts.
On the plus side, it meant that if we did our jobs right, getting a bear out might not involve as much of a grunt-and-curse, fall-and-swear retrieval job. On the downside, the odds of spotting bears in the narrow confines of grown-over logging roads are pretty long--especially considering that if they hear or wind you, they vanish in a black flash.
The new 2007 Expedition and all-new Expedition EL.
Bigger, with 130% more cargo space behind the third row* in the EL.
Bolder, with a newly redesigned exterior featuring the F-series
inspired chrome grille and power dome hood. Better, as it is the quietest, safest** and most capable Expedition
ever.
BOWHUNTER