A huge bear poked his big head out of the brush and smelled my bait pile.  I recognized his chocolate head and legs and cinnamon body. He was in no hurry to go to the bait. We both waited for half an hour. 

Finally he moved on top of the bait pile--a nineteen yard shot. I let him settle down and slowly drew my bow. I put my pin on his lungs and held rock steady. I released. Perfect. 

CRACK. 

My arrow went to the florescent yellow fletching in his ribs, four inches behind his left shoulder. A lethal hit. 

The bear jumped over the bait, turned hard right.  My brightly crested arrow snapped and made a flash of florescent yellow as it popped up into the air. The bear charged up the Colorado mountain.  I heard him crash to a stop, close-by, about forty yards uphill. I hung my bow on my bow hanger and listened intently for the death moan. I clicked my wrist watch into the stop watch mode. I figured I'd give him an hour and go after him. 

ROOOAAARRRRR. 

This was not a bear's death moan! Instead I heard a ferocious. . .blaring. . .earsplitting. . .savage. . .raging. . .growl. He was furious and screamed bloody murder as he popped his jaws loudly and recklessly broke limbs off the trees and thrashed out at the under growth. . . and headed downhill in my direction. 

Every inch of my skin turned to solid goose bumps.  

I was seven feet up in a cedar tree--at the foot of the steep mountain the bear was savaging. I could see him through the cedar sprigs on my tree. 

He was on a narrow mountain trail. I was in my treestand. But he was eye to eye with me--twelve yards away. My hair felt like it was standing straight up. 

My throat constricted. My breath got short. My mouth turned dry. 

His jaws snapped loudly. He growled wildly. 

I had to cough! 
 
The bear turned down hill, louder, even more enraged. . .and even closer to my position. 

I struggled to contain the cough in my chest and throat, but there was no stopping it. 

At that moment, something truly unusual happened to me. It was as though a separate part of my thinking process broke away from me and spoke out--to my ears only. 

"Stop it," it ordered. "Wet your lips. Get some saliva in your mouth and swallow it, right now. THINK. Do not cough. THINK. If you don't GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF. . .you are going to get Killed." 

The bear circled me. In seconds he would cross my approach trail and its spore would lead him to my tree. That was trouble in the making. 

"THINK." 

Suddenly, the urge to cough was gone and I started thinking. My bow still hung on its hook. Should I get it? No, not a solution. There were too many limbs below me to ever get a shot at the bear if he came below me or climbed my tree. 

Could I get higher in the tree? No, again. The tree was thick, but short. I could almost touch the top of the tree.  I had no where to go. 

If the bear came up the tree, I couldn't stop him, period. In face if it wasn't for all the branches in the way he could have stood up and yanked me out of the tree. 

I did have a machete that I brought to trim some branches with. I silently eased it out of the scabbard. The bear stopped and sniffed at my approach trail and turned toward my tree, moving slowly, nose almost on the ground. 

I gripped the machete in both hands and raised it above my shoulder--to get all the power I could muster in my swing. 

I'll never forget that hunt. I've told a few people about it--in a general sense, but I've never told it all. It was too intense to re-experience every time scary bear hunt stories became the subject at hand. Even right now, writing this, it gives me goose bumps to put words to the truth about it. 

The hunt was in the mid 80's with Judd Cooney in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. My quest for this particular bear began three days before I shot him, when he slipped in unseen and a couple of minutes rubbing his sides on the tree I was in. The floor of my treestand and the thick cedar limbs limited my view of him, until he moved toward the bait. So much bear come into view that I first thought it was two bears. But all the bear parts were connected. He was one big bruin. 

His legs and head were chocolate brown. His body was cinnamon. My prior bear hunts had all been in Maine where the bears are black.  I had never seen a bear this color. He walked clear of the limbs, stopped, and turned broadside. A perfect shot opportunity. As I drew I heard a squeak. He did too. . .and he left at break-neck speed. 

Later I drew my bow several times until Judd and I located the source of the squeak. Cedar sap got on my camo glove and shooting tab when I climbed the tree. It wouldn't wash off, either.  I cut three fingers off my glove and drew bare fingered. It made my draw whisper quiet so I decided to hunt with no glove and shoot with bare fingers. 

My bear returned three days after its first siting. I shot him and he came looking for me, which is where we left the story. 

When the big bear stopped on my approach trail he ceased roaring and smelled the ground. Then, with his nose close to the ground, he slowly followed my trail...straight toward the tree I was in. 

He was bringing it to me! 

I inched to the edge of my stand and leaned forward so I could put a good cut on him. If at all possible, I had to keep him out of the stand with me. 

Sniffing the ground as he came the bear stepped closer. I could clearly see that he was bleeding from the nose. 

About five yards from my tree he became confused and lost the trail. He circled for my spore. Then he abruptly threw another fit and resumed roaring and thrashing the underbrush. I watched, dead quiet and still as stone. 

He thrashed his way past me and returned to the mountain, still only 15 yards from me. 

During his search he was all too close, but  there was never a chance of a shot. My tree was too thick in every direction except toward the bait. 

No doubt about it, the bear's loosing my scent trail saved my life. 

So far! 

The bear stayed in the brush and circled behind the bait. I stuck my machete in the back of my belt and slipped my bow off its hook. With the immediate pressure off, the "voice in my head" barked out an analysis of my situation. 

What kind of hit did I have? Was it lethal? I had seen my florescent crest tuck in behind his shoulder. I saw it again as he ran and snapped the arrow. The bear was definitely mortally wounded. But apparently it was a one lung hit instead of a double lunger. 

How long would the bear continue his rampage? I didn't know.  But I was confident he was a dead bear. I just didn't know when he would give it up. 

I was sure of something else. Right now he was a dangerous bear. 

He walked back down the mountain and into a small clear area near the base of the mountain and looked around. He was about 40 plus yards away, straight ahead of me. Clear, and broadside. 

My bow had one pin--my favorite Whitetail setup--a twenty yard pin. Without a sight pin for the longer distance, chances were good that I would miss him or hit him poorly. In either case, he would surely hear my shot. 

I would give away my location. Not good. I decided not to take the shot. The bear headed into the thick brush in front of me. 

I noticed a small herd of range cattle walking into the area. Incredibly, they paid no attention to the bears' vocalizations and antics. 

The bear changed directions in the thick brush and roared, thrashed and stumbled his way. . .toward me again. Suddenly his growling lost velocity and I heard him stumbling. 

In a moment I heard his death moan. 

I waited in my treestand. It got pitch black dark. 

The dark shadows of the cows were all around me. Spooky. Judd's guide drove right to my tree. 

The young mans father was visiting him and they were both in the truck. "Don't let your dad get out of the car," I said, as I climbed down. 

I took him to the spot where the bear had been in the clear and pointed at the thick brush. "He is somewhere in here," I said. 

"Lets get Judd," he said. 

Judd prepared for the worst and brought his dogs. Judd and his daughter Lisa were pumped at the possibility of a bear chase. I knew there wouldn't be a chase. 

The dogs scented the trail at the bait and we went to the clear spot. The hounds sped up the mountain and raced back down. They circled my stand and returned to the mountain. They blew by us and stopped. They had my bear. I started in the brush. Judd stopped me. 

"No," Judd said. "If the bear gets anyone, he gets me. Not you." 

The bear lay dead thirty yards from my tree. He was huge. My arrow shaft had passed through his left lung and lodged in his right hip. A one lung shot. 

His official P&Y score is 19 10/16. I don't know what he weighed, but he weighed good. Four of us couldn't get him up from the ground to the tail gate. It took five and it might not have happened if the 5th wasn't Judd. 

Do I still bear hunt? Yea, I do. I can't get it out of my system. 

Was I scarred? No, I believe the more appropriate term would be "terrified." But something happened to me out there, alone, a cough itching in my throat, with all the chips down. Instead of falling apart, I rallied and rose to the occasion and completely tuned in to the situation, kinda like the bear and I were in the zone together. The hunter and the hunter. I learned a lot about myself that afternoon. I don't want to do it again, but it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. 

Am I glad the bear didn't get in the tree with me? I am more than glad. But when he located my trail and started following it toward me I was certain that he would be in my tree in seconds, there was no doubt in my mind. I just got ready. And I'll tell you, my machete was close to razor sharp, he would have had a fight.