Some of the world's largest black bears call this Canadian island home.
By J. Scott Rupp
And then there's the time factor. Limited visibility means more moving than looking, and when you do spot a bear, the guide has to be able to make a split-second decision--and anyone who's hunted bears knows how hard it can be to tell a so-so bear from a really good one.
For a guy like me who's new to bear hunting, I wouldn't have it any other way. I've always loved to sneak along logging roads anyway, and when you add in the tense excitement of having the realistic chance of coming face to face with a bear at each bend in the road, well, I can't imagine how you could have much more fun.
Darren, Harry and I got back to the truck about lunchtime and stripped down to camo T-shirts before Darren drove us to the next area, and the next, and the next, without a glimpse of a bear. I didn't mind the tour. Vancouver Island's spectacular scenery--its high, snowy peaks, deep green forests and beckoning trout/salmon rivers--held my attention between hunting spots as I hoped for sightings of the island's other native big game: Roosevelt elk, blacktail deer, cougars and wolves.
Bears aren't known for being big on daylight activity, so it came as no surprise that we didn't spot the first bear until the sunlight began slanting at a shallower angle. A sow dashed across the road in front of us, barreled uphill through thick cover with amazing speed, and then went back to feeding when she figured she'd put enough distance between us. We watched her through Zeiss binoculars, fascinated, as she eased her considerable bulk over, around and across rocks and downed treetops--disappearing for long minutes then reappearing in unexpected places.
The day was getting on, though, and we couldn't watch her forever. Darren put the big Ford F-250 in four-wheel low and took us up a incredibly steep and narrow road, the bank dropping quickly away on the driver's side to reveal a tiny stream that cascaded down in a series of little waterfalls. I tried not to think about how quickly we could be in that stream, or about what an experience it was going to be when Darren backed the truck down.
"OK, we're going to walk from here," he said after a while, and I quickly made to get out of the truck. "Hold on--I want to turn around first."
By this time, I'd learned that Darren has a quick wit and a great sense of humor, so I laughed with disbelief. But somehow he did it, and with a grin and a wink said, "Easier to load the bear if the truck's facing downhill, you know."
We set out again, Darren and I walking abreast, Harry right behind, and pushed steadily up the road. Immediately we began seeing fresh bear sign, and we hadn't gone but a quarter of a mile when Darren motioned, palm down, for us to slow the pace, whispering, "Go real careful around this bend."
I was on the outside of this particular turn, and two steps later I spied two black ears bobbing quickly out of sight just around the bend. I dropped to one knee, whispering, "Bear, bear!" Well, I'm not sure I actually whispered anything, but when Darren saw me go into a crouch and look over at him with eyes wide in amazement, he sidestepped quickly over to me and got behind my shoulder.
We eased forward carefully, and when the road ahead came into full view, we spotted the bear walking away from us. Darren quickly sized him up.
"When you get a shot, kill him."
I dropped to one knee, wrapping the sling around my arm and bringing the Remington 700 CDL to bear, as it were. The position felt solid, and I put the crosshairs of the scope on the steadily walking bruin.
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BOWHUNTER