Blackwater Grizzlies
By Russell Thornberry
John Jack dropped his right hand
signaling us to stop. Kneeling, he inspected the scuffed surface of the dried caribou
moss. He looked back at us and silently pointed at the grizzly track, extending his hand
in the direction the bear was traveling. By his expression, we knew the Carrier Indian was
telling us we were very close to the bear. The rest of our procession fell in single file
behind him as he began following the faint tracks. The timber was a thick jungle of pine,
spruce and aspen and everyone was thinking the same thought: when we finally meet this
bear, he's going to be very close.
Behind the 55-year-old native guide was my old friend, Phillip Harrison of Houston, Texas.
It was Harrison's first grizzly hunt as well as his first hunt in British Columbia. Behind
him was John Backwell, our outfitter, followed by Ima Jean Harrison, Phillip's wife, who
often accompanies her husband on his hunting trips. I was bringing up the rear, furnishing
moral support and acting as cameraman. It was the tenth hunt Phillip and I had shared
together. We both wanted grizzlies and he had won the toss for the first try.
The ground before us tilted upward, and the timber suddenly opened up offering us more
visibility, which was a relief. Jack pines grew in stunted clumps and the ground was
mostly rock-covered with various shades of dried moss. It was good to get out of the low
lying muskeg and the slushy remains of winter. John Jack looked back at us and signaled
for silence by holding a finger to his lips. He motioned for us to wait where we were,
while he moved ahead to inspect the situation. Slowly he eased forward to what appeared to
be a sheer drop. We scarcely dared to breathe as we waited for his next signal. As he
reached the edge of the bluff, he craned his neck to see what was below him. Suddenly he
jumped back away from the edge of the bluff and dropped to his knees. We knew he had seen
the bear and instantly he was motioning for Phillip to come quickly but quietly. We let
Phillip go ahead and then Ima Jean, John Blackwell and I eased up behind them. Philip was
sliding in behind a pine snag to steady himself for the shot as I peeked over the bluff.
The bear was there, about 50 yards below us and he looked like a chocolate-brown boxcar. I
was stunned at his size, especially his head, which appeared to be the size of a 45-gallon
barrel. I heard Ima Jean's quiet gasp as she saw the bear. Philips' .375 magnum exploded
and a silent world was instantly filled with the terrifying roaring of the bear. The first
shot into the front shoulders was undoubtedly a killing shot, but the bear was still very
much alive. At first, Philip seemed stunned that the bear would not go down. Instead it
ripped and tore up trees and put on the most awesome display of savage power I have ever
witnessed. I glanced at Ima Jean and she looked as if she were in shock. I grabbed her arm
to assure her we were going to be alright. Blackwell ordered another shot, jarring Phillip
from his trance. He knew that you don't stop shooting a grizzly until the bear is down for
good; but the explosion of fury below had simply mesmerized him. Two more shots flew in
rapid succession and then all was quiet. The huge bear lay still.
For the next few moments, we all stood quietly letting our nerves calm down. Then John
Backwell broke the silence as he extended his hand to Phillip. "Congratulations,
Philip, that's one heck of a bear," he said, and we all joined in agreement. With air
back in our lungs and legs steady beneath us, we climbed down the face of the bluff to the
fallen grizzly. It was indeed one heck of a bear.
The skinning was a monumental job for four men. It was all we could do just to roll the
bear from one side to the other. There was no way to actually weight the bear but we
agreed that it must have been in the neighborhood of 1,000 pounds. Once the hide was
removed and laid out on the ground, we estimated it to square 10 feet. The huge head was
obviously going to be a contender for the Boone and Crockett records. The big bear smelled
like a kelp bed; the smell was so strong, even in the hide, that we were sure it was a
coastal bear. Blackwell explained that we were only 50 miles from salt water and that it
was common, each May, for some of the coastal bears to make the trip over the coast range
into the Upper Blackwell area in his hunting territory. The hide was lashed onto a pack
frame and it took two of us to lift it onto John Jack's shoulders. The amazing Indian
guide shouldered the load, took a couple of short steps to get his balance, and headed
back to camp. Even with the load of the green hide, surely weighing over 150 pounds, John
Jack was waiting for us when we arrived at camp.
There were plenty of bear stories around the campfire that night and I was astounded to
find that John Jack's wife had been mauled by a grizzly a few years previous. In fact, she
may be the only person ever mauled and buried by a grizzly who lived to tell about it! The
horrible account of how the female grizzly attacked Mattie Jack lifted the hair on the
back of my neck. A grizzly makes a practice of burying its kill. I suppose it hastens the
decomposition of the carcass, which makes it all the more palatable from the bear's point
of view. In any case, that's what the bear did to Mattie. It mauled her, biting her on the
back of the neck and down her back until she was unconscious. Then she was buried beneath
a tomb of limbs and dirt. When she regained consciousness, she somehow pried her way out
of the would-be grave and crawled back to the cabin. Her husband actually aimed his rifle
at her when she arrived at the door. He didn't even know what she was, much less who. She
was hospitalized for months and it was seven years before her wounds were fully healed.
The bacteria in the saliva of a grizzly is extremely toxic and bite wounds continue to
weep, sometimes for years, before they dry up completely. Such was the case with Mattie
Jack.
Traditionally, the Carrier Indians feared the grizzly and believed the bears to be
reincarnated chiefs. They believed the chiefs of old, reappearing as grizzly bears, heard
their every thought. To wish the grizzly ill or to harm him would result in death,
according to their superstition. Oddly enough, history bears out the fact that grizzlies
capitalized on superstition and raided Indian villages with reckless abandon, knowing that
they could get away with it. They did not raid the white man's camp with the same
regularity because they learned that he would retaliate. I asked why John Jack, being a
Carrier Indian, had no such fears of the grizzlies. Blackwell explained that both John and
Mattie Jack had been converted to Christianity and therefore were free of tribal
superstition.
The next day was spent fleshing the huge hide. The official measurement of the hide was 10
feet in length and 9 feet across the back, between the front claws. The green measurement
of the skull was slightly larger than the 24-inch minimum necessary to qualify for the
Boone and Crockett records. I was amazed to find that 14 of the top 25 B&C grizzlies
were taken within a 100-mile radius of Blackwell's base camp. Numerous book bears came
from his area, including the Number 17 B&C grizzly. One thing was certain, Phillip
Harrison would hunt long and hard to find a better bear than the one he took on his first
grizzly hunt.
Phillip and Ima Jean headed back to Houston and John Blackwell and I got down to the
serious business of finding a bear for me. I had been out with Blackwell the previous
spring but elected not to take a bear.
The reason sounds a little crazy but it is true. Upon realizing how thick the timber was
in the Upper Blackwell region, and after seeing another hunter bag his grizzly at 17
paces, I realized that this was the perfect place for bagging a grizzly with a bow. That
was my greatest hunting ambition. I did not know John very well then and knowing how most
grizzly outfitters feel about bow and arrows, it took me a while to gather enough nerve to
pop the question. I casually asked him if he'd ever guided a bowhunter. "Yes" he
replied, "I had one bowhunter in my career." somehow the word "one"
sounded like it really meant "one and no more." "Did he get a bear?" I
asked. "He should have," John said thoughtfully, "but he missed him at 10
yards." By now the casual nature of my inquiry was gone. I was dead serious and
wanted to know exactly what happened. John said that he and the bowhunter were perched a
mere 10 feet off the ground in a treestand that he fashioned out of boards. The bear
walked right under them and stopped at 10 yards. The hunter was so shaken that he'd shot
just over the bear's head. The arrow stuck in the ground beyond the bear, and he jumped
back, toward the hunter, passing directly under his dangling feet. The visibly shaken
hunter had difficulty drawing and holding his arrow for the second shot and the arrow
stuck in the ground between the bear's legs. With that, the grizzly left for parts
unknown. The hunter went home with a memory which will haunt him forever.
I could stand no more, so I asked John if I could retire my rifle hunt then and there and
return the following year with a bow and arrow. He thought about it for a few seconds and
agreed. He said "I can get you plenty close enough if you think you can take
him." The deal was on.
Now a long year had passed and the dream was in the making. The key to success for the
bowhunter in Blackwells' area is two-fold. The bears congregate on certain small streams
each spring to feed on the spawning suckers which leave the lakes and enter the streams by
the thousands. It is an inland version of the salmon runs which attract the coastal
grizzlies in the fall. John said that in the fall, in his area, the land-locked salmon
create another important attraction to the bears in his area. The game plan was to locate
a good bear on one of the key steams and then place a treestand in a strategic tree and
wait it out. Nothing could have pleased me more. I was totally convinced that I could kill
a grizzly with my bow if I could get him into range. Although I had taken game out to 50
yards, I vowed that I would take no shot over 20 yards on a grizzly. I knew that with such
a dangerous animal, pin-point accuracy was the bottom line and lives could depend on it.
As the float plane droned above the dense forest floor, my mind was racing with questions.
How close could I get? Would the bear give me a good shot? Will the sucker run last? John
tipped the nose down and soon we were skimming the surface of a small lake; one of
hundreds that exist in his territory. John's son, Justin, was to be my guide and backup
man for the hunt. We tied the plane, unloaded our spike camp, and discussed our game plan
with John. He agreed to come back on two days to see how we were making out. As the float
plane lifted off the lake, Justin and I shouldered our backpacks and started around the
lake shore for the tiny stream that held the key to our hunt. We hiked about two miles up
the creek and found a small grassy meadow where we pitched our spike camp. With a little
over an hour of daylight left, we decided to venture further up the creek and try to
locate some sign of bear activity.
Less than a quarter of a mile from camp, we found what we were hoping to see. There in the
trail beside the creek were grizzly tracks, sunken deep into the earth. The tracks were
fresh and immediately we began watching over our shoulders. A large pine tree beside the
trail was marked as high as I could reach. In the spring, when the grizzlies rut, the
males mark their territory by standing on their hind legs and biting huge chunks our of
the tree trunks. When they do this, they generally rub against the tree, leaving some hair
in the bark. The hair left in the pine bark indicated that its owner's hair was chocolate
brown in color with light golden tips. The size of the tracks and the missing chunk of
tree trunk, eight feet off the ground, left little doubt that this was a big bear.
As it was nearing dusk, the time when bears like to do their fishing, we decided to climb
up and follow the ridge above the creek so that we would not meet Mr. Bear face to face.
As we tiptoed slowly along the tree line at the top of the ridge, I spotted a large dark
object lying beside the creek. We stopped to have a better look through binoculars and
discovered the large object was our bear. He was no more than 50 yards below us, very much
like Philip's bear had been, and he was feeding on the suckers. We eased down, flat on the
ground, to keep the lowest possible profile, and watched the bear feeding until almost
dark. He would herd a school of suckers up the creek until he could trap them against a
log and then throw himself down on top of them, pinning them to the bottom. Then he
reached down and picked them up in his teeth to eat them. What a sight through 10X
binoculars! He was obviously the owner of the hair we found in the pine bark.
"Guesstimating" him as a nine-foot bear, I could hardly believe how things were
falling into place.
Justin squirmed restlessly beside me and when I looked at him, I could see that he was
wishing I was a rifle hunter so we could end the hunt right here.
It was a dream situation for a rifle hunter, but just the beginning for a bowhunter. We
both knew that the bears favored specific fishing spots and if all went according to plan,
he should be back there again tomorrow. I picked out a tree a few yards from the creek
where I felt I could command a perfect view. Justin nodded a nervous approval. Getting too
close was not his idea of fun as he had been in a nose-to-nose shootout with a big griz'
when he was still a teenager. I knew he did not have the confidence in the bow and arrow
that I did, but then only a bowhunter really understands how lethal a well-placed razor
sharp broadhead can be. On the other hand, only one who has shared the land with grizzlies
can fully appreciate how lethal they can be. Suddenly the big bear left the creek bottom
and started walking up the hill toward us. We flattened out against the ground, hoping the
bear would not discover us. He veered off to our left and topped the ridge 35 yards away.
There he stopped and turned toward us.
"Get ready," Justin whispered as he shoved the .375 magnum toward me. I didn't
want to shoot the bear with a rifle, but I was certainly prepared to change my mind if he
started for us. For a spine-tingling moment, the bear sniffed the air and thought some
very private thought while we lay there afraid to breathe. At last, the big boar lowered
his head and walked into the timber. I am not sure to this day whether or not he was aware
of our presence. The way he left would indicate that he had not discovered us, but he did
walk downwind of us. I believe he smelled us, thought about the situation and walked into
the cover.
The following morning at 8:30, after the sun was high, we returned to the spot where we
saw the bear. We wanted to wait until he had plenty of morning to feed again and leave the
creek before we arrived. In the chosen cottonwood, I set my treestand a full 20 feet above
the ground. I climbed into the stand and pulled up my bow and arrows as well as enough
food and water to last the day, The original plans were for Justin to wait on top of the
ridge where we had been the evening before. From there, he could observe me and the bear
and offer a hand in case of unexpected trouble. But since the bear had exited right past
his planned post, we were afraid that he might be discovered and spook the bear. We agreed
that the best bet was for Justin to move farther down the ridge to the west. He could
observe my hunt from there, even if not as closely as he had hoped. I could read his mind.
He had a gnawing fear that he was going to have to track a wounded grizzly through that
jungle. But I knew what he could not know; that I would pass on the bear entirely unless I
had a shot that was perfect.
The 20th of May was a day I shall never forget. It turned unseasonably hot and I am sure
the temperature reached 90 degrees. Leaves were actually popping out all around me in the
cottonwood tree. I sat for hours doing what people do while waiting in treestands, such as
counting ants as they crawled past me on a limb. I tried not to think in terms of hours.
The sun shines from 4:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. in British Columbia in the month of May and
that can make for a long day in a tree!
I glanced at my watch at 4:00 p.m. I was getting a headache from the relentless heat.
There were not enough leaves yet to provide any shade and I felt as if I would eventually
melt. The headache grew worse with each passing minute. Then at 4:30 p.m., I heard the
strange bawling sounds of a bear. I had heard black bears make a similar sound when they
were mating. Then two grizzlies appeared on the narrow trail, heading my way. In the lead
was a medium-sized blond female and right behind her was my big chocolate boar. It was
obvious that they were in love. Suddenly he turned and took off through the timber like a
scalded cat. She stood in the trail less than 20 yards from my tree, offering me a perfect
shot. But I wanted the boar so I waited. Soon the giant male came creeping back to his
beloved, peeking between bushes and trees like a bashful school boy. One thing was certain
in this romance--mama was calling all the shots. For no less than 20 minutes, I had both
unsuspecting bears literally right below me but the boar continued to play his peek-a-boo
game, never giving me a clear shot at his ribs.
The plot thickened as I became aware of my headache once more. By now, I was also getting
dizzy and felt that I might even faint. Then came the nausea. I knew I was suffering from
too much sun and soon I was hugging the tree trunk in desperation. I knew that to get out
of the tree would likely end the hunt, which I had prepared for and dreamed of for years.
It was just ironic that I should be getting so sick, just when the opportunity of a
lifetime was knocking. To complicate matters, I had no assurance the bears would return.
Feeding habits play second fiddle to romance in late May and I realized that the bears
might be gone for good. It was 5:00 p.m. and that moment of decision was at hand. I
could see myself fainting and falling out of the tree. Wouldn't that be cute. To be lying
there, unconscious if the bears came back. It might be a little hard to explain. And if I
remained in the tree, could I even draw my bow? There were far more questions than
answers.
At 7:00 p.m., the sun settled behind the ridge and as the air began to cool, I felt life
returning. The dizziness and nausea subsided but the headache remained. When I felt strong
enough, I unlashed myself from the tree trunk and drank the remainder of my water supply.
If the bear came now, I would manage.
At 7:30 p.m., I heard the bawling sounds again. Knowing the bears were returning, I nocked
on arrow and came to full attention. The ground below me was entirely in shadows now and
perhaps the big boar would give me the shot I wanted. Then to my amazement, there was
another bear, one I had not seen before. It was smaller than the boar I expected and it
was traveling alone. It came immediately to the creek and made a quarter turn away from me
and stopped. It was the perfect shot and I responded almost mechanically. I knew the range
was 15 yards, so I held my 20-yard pin low, behind the bear's right shoulder and let the
arrow go. As the nock slipped from my fingers, I knew the shot was good. The flight of the
arrow seemed animated, almost like slow motion. It struck the bear right on target and the
shaft buried itself right to the plastic vanes. The bear roared as the arrow struck him.
Then to my amazement, he raised up on his hind legs, grabbed the fletchings in his teeth,
and ripped the arrow back out of his chest. And with a toss of his head, he slung the
arrow end over end, 20 yards through the air. He then bolted full speed into the timber
and suddenly the forest was totally silent once more.
I waited 15 minutes before climbing out of the tree on shaky knees. Justin was already
coming to join me. I walked a few yards back up the ridge as he arrived and we spotted the
bear lying a mere 40 yards from my tree. It was obvious that he died within seconds of the
shot as he barely made it out of sight. A flood of relief and amazement filled Justin's
face as he offered me his congratulations. "I never believed an arrow would kill a
grizzly that quick," he said in amazement. My emotions were torn between jubilation
and deep relief. Justin's were the same. Though it was not the big chocolate boar, it was
a beautiful bear with mahogany colored forelegs and a blond back. The dream had come true.
I had finally bagged a grizzly with a bow and arrow!
Hurriedly we began skinning the bear with less than an hour of daylight left. It was not a
job we wanted to do in the dark with so many other bears in the neighborhood. When the
skinning was complete, we rolled the hide into a bundle and as I was tying it, I heard a
cracking sound coming from the black timber. My mind was cloudy from the ordeal of the day
and at first, I gave it little thought. Then it was closer and louder. Suddenly I could
hear the popping of jaws and the chugging, wolfing sound of the charging bear. Justin and
I instinctively jumped to our feet. I was closest to the rifle which was leaning against a
nearby tree, so I grabbed it and cranked a round into the chamber. I couldn't see the bear
but I knew he was closing in on us quickly. The timber downwind of us was a wall of small
jack pines and by the time the bear broke into the open he would be in our laps. The surge
of adrenaline brought back the strength I had lost as I shouldered the .375 and prepared
for the shot. The bear was right in front of us coming like a bolt of lightning at 30
yards. It was obvious that one shot would have to do it all since there would be no time
for a second. The huge chocolate boar suddenly broke his charge and made a hard right
turn, dissolving into the dense forest. The last rays of daylight faded to black night and
all was still again. Justin and I stood back-to-back for a long moment, shaken to the
core. "Guess we oughta leave," he said. An understatement if ever I heard one!
When we arrived at our spike camp, we built a huge campfire, enough to light up the
surrounding timber. As we recounted the awesome events of the evening, I realized one
important fact that had not yet registered with me. Just before the bear I shot arrived, I
heard the bawling sounds of mating bear. That must have pushed my bear out ahead of them,
and in my stupor, I failed to realize that the other bears were returning. Had I waited
and passed up the blond bear, I might have had a chance at the big chocolate boar after
all. Oh well, that's the way hunting goes. I felt lucky to have survived the day in the
tree, lasting nearly 12 hours from beginning to end, and after all, I had taken a
beautiful grizzly. Then there was the fact that the big boar had enough manners to call
off his charge at the last possible second. There was plenty to be happy about. The
experience was one I will never forget. I realized how totally exhausted I was. The heat,
the headache, the nausea, and then the charge, had taken its toll on me. I remember
thinking as I drifted off, "all the bears in British Columbia couldn't keep me awake
tonight."
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Grizzly hunting in the Upper Blackwater area of British Columbia means close
shooting. Bows pulling 60 lbs. or better are recommended. The use of heavy arrows and
slice in broadheads will go a long ways to ensuring deep penetration.
Weather during the month of May will range generally from 32 to 70 degrees F. Clothing
should be planned accordingly. Since the timber is very dense, wool clothing is necessary
if the hunter is to move quietly.
For more information contact: John Blackwell, Fawnie Mountain Outfitters, General
Delivery, Anahim lake, British Columbia VOL 1C0.
