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This made little space for me in the trailer and… well, it was hunting season and there was only one day left of hunting to fill my moose tag.
When the baby’s first diaper was to be changed, I didn’t want to offend my mother in-law, so I made myself scarce and went looking for a hunting partner. Matt Johnson, full of enthusiasm is who I found.
We made our way through the back roads not far from home in the old brown pickup. We stopped to walk a narrow cut-line that went north and south. It made a T with a wide pipeline that ran east and west parallel to the road we drove on. About 100 yards into the woods, the pipeline could be found. I had found the spot weeks earlier and the goal was to walk the pipe-line that ran straight though the woods. You could see for a mile or more and this made for a good chance at spotting the monster bull moose I had only dreamed of getting. I could use the meat to feed wife and baby. It was only a year later the I realized a moose could feed a small army. We got out of the truck and proceeded to load the rifles.
My gun was an overpriced 30-06 that I bought from my brother (who should have been a door to door salesman) earlier that summer. Matt’s gun was some sort of rusted old 308 army gun that made hamburger out of your shoulder and made you believe that you were being shot when fired. Safety was my game, so I did not put a bullet in the chamber and had only the 5 shells in magazine. Thinking back on it though, I don’t know who I was trying to keep safe, the moose?
I led the way into the woods along the narrow cut-line that made our path. We had almost reached the pipe-line when I thought I spotted a branch move. The gun came to my shoulder in a flash, as I looked though the overpriced scope that I had also bought from my brother. I saw nothing, but I felt a foot on the back of my boot. A soft voice that followed, “Sorry eh… you see anything?” I replied that I hadn’t, lowered my gun, and moved forward to the pipeline. We looked up and down the line, but I also kept an eye on the branch I had seen move. It was in a thick patch of brush with the leaves still on the tree. It was hard to see far into the woods in that spot even though it was a mere ten feet away. At this point we where going to split up and go in opposite directions. I spoke softly, “Which way do you want to take?” To the right of us, there was a hill that limited your view until you had crested the hill. It was about 50 yards to the crest. To the left, it was over grown brush making the line much narrower. It would be difficult to see a moose 30 yards away.
I was hoping Matt would be a fool at this point, and ask me which way I would like to go. I would have said, “We don’t have time to chatter, so why don’t you take the left and I will go to the right.” (I knew that once you had crested hill, the brush opened up and you could see for a mile or more. There was a good chance you might spot a big bull moose.) But to my chagrin, “I will go to the right,” flowed from Matt’s lips faster than gossip at tea party. “Plane B” was put into action. “I will go with you to the top of that hill and take quick look; then I will come back this way,” I said. He agreed because, well… I gave him no choice and I was his ride home. We made our way to the top of the hill, side by side, at a brisk walk. It would have looked to an observer to be at a running pace with added enthusiasm on top, but that is Matt in a nutshell. In a moment, we where on the top of the hill peering at grass and trees. Matt was in high gear and wanted to make tracks. As I tried to make a plan if one of us was to get lost, shot a moose, and where to meet at dark, and so on. All Matt would say is, “Ya, ok let’s get going“. Off he went, taking a normal ten steps in three. I guess I was holding his pace back. As I turn around and starting to walk, immediately I saw a bear 37 paces away, standing on her back legs at the cut-line intersection we were standing just moments earlier.
It was the same spot where I had seen the branch move. It was clear now what had made the branch move. And the bear was not alone, two small dark balls of fur stood next to her. I froze, hoping she was half blind and did not see me standing in the midel of a large of cutline open, looking right at her. When I froze, she got angry, and the cubes bolted away. She got down off her hind legs and started towards me in bounds that made Matt’s strides look like baby steps. She grunted, “Woof, Woof,” as she leaped through the tall dead grass fast and smooth. Made me think of a giant beaver, the way she came. My gun went to my shoulder. I tried to spot her in the scope, but I could not. The scope was on high power to see far away and she was too close. Then it hit me, I had no bullet in the gun. Something you should also know is that I am a left handed shooter, my gun is a right handed bolt action rifle. This means I had to bring the gun down off my shoulder to put some lead in the chamber. It takes a moment longer for me to load compared to a right handed shooter. I got the lead in the chamber and figured the bear was making a false charge at me and would veer into the woods at any moment. At a mere 20 paces away, she was still running at me with full speed. I reckoned I would yell at her, hoping she would make a retreat.
I was only moose hunting, not bear hunting. I made a firm “YO!” but according to Matt’s memory it was more like a “Y-OOOO-O-WWOO!” This tactic did not make a difference, and she was now upon me. I thought I would only shoot at the last possible second, because reloading would be a problem if she was gnawing on my leg or something. I could not afford to miss that first shot from the hip. At less than 15 yards away, she was still charging towards me with great undaunting speed. I shot from the waist. Fire tore through the barrel as she turned slightly to the left to get around a bush and onto the small mound of dirt I stood upon that was made when the pipeline was laid. Everything seemed to be in slow motion from the moment I first laid eyes on her. High on her shoulder the hair fanned flat the size of a small saucer, hair and innards sprayed out the other side of her back. She went right into a fast spin, three or four times on the spot. When she was done with her spinning, she leapt straight into the bush to my right. She then spun around and leapt across the pipeline in two bounds. While she was doing her dance, I was busy ejecting the empty cartridge shell, and putting a loaded shell into the chamber. I must have been quite enamored with her dance, because I proceeded to eject that loaded shell, and put in another loaded shell just in time to see two black eyes to my left coming right at me. I assume she had recovered from being disoriented. I fired once more; it hit her squire in the chest. She piled to the ground only 7 paces away from me.
I reloaded and shot at her once more to be sure that she was dead. Just then another shot rang out from matt’s cannon, two inches from my ear, making me see stars. Better late than never for Matt to come to my rescue. At this point with four chunks of lead now pumped into her, the bear was well dead. Yet, Matt spoke, “I should give her another.” With a bit of shock in my voice I said, “ah…ya.” Once more |Matt’s gun rang out. There was now silence in the air.
Silence, she did not stir. It was obvious to me by the size of the beast’s head, paws, and claws that she was a 300 to 400 hundred pound grizzly. Then a voice rang out breaking the silence, “Is it a black bear?” I lifted the bear’s claws, my gun barrel still smoking, and said, “This in no black bear.” Matt gasped in shock and said, “Is it a grizz?” as his eyes dashed back and forth! “No, it’s a polar bear.” I said sarcastically. He replied “IT IS!” “No, you dodo. Of course it’s a grizz…yet, don’t you think it looks a little like a giant beaver?” Matt’s eyes gave a roll.
Later that evening when we got back home after all the action we called the the Canadian fish and game to let them know what happend and that there was the death of the unfriendly bear that was now dead. The good thing was the Fish and Game officer did not put me in jail or give me a fine for saving my own skin and maybe even the thick skin of my hunting partner.
By Nakia Mast
This is me with the grizzly bear that made the attack.
It was the fall of 2000, in north easterner B.C. I was newly
married to my wife for a little over 9 months and we had
just brought our baby boy home from the hospital.
My wonderful mother in-law was waiting in the house to help with the newborn.
Short Stories, Eh?
The Bear Attack in B.C Canada, True Yet Maybe Funny Short Story
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