Barnes Bullets

Alaskan Brown Bear

Successful Hunter - #14

Alaskan Brown Bear Adventure

By Brian Pierce

As the Master Guide and I waded up the river, knowing there were several bears bedded along the banks, it seemed as though we were “trolling” for bear. Earlier, we had seen a beautiful brown (or grizzly) bear catch a salmon then retreat into the thick alders on a small island. Bears are unpredictable; we had no idea how long this one would stay in the area, so we hurried to close the gap.

We stopped briefly to view the tracks on the sandy riverbank, the last place the bear was seen. Bears travel fast, and by the time we arrived at this spot, it was possibly a mile upstream or just a few feet away in the alders feasting on the freshly caught salmon.

I eased forward with the guide close behind. The Winchester Model 70 .375 H&H Magnum was ready, as we searched the dense alders for the slightest movement, ears straining to pick up any sound. I stopped briefly, sensing movement in the brush to the right, then saw the form of a brown bear running full-tilt toward the riverbank directly out front.

The Alaskan bush is often referred to as the “Last Frontier.” Much of it is as wild and untamed as it was a century ago and is generally only accessible by foot, boat, bush plane or helicopter. The beauty is remarkable and the terrain can vary from huge granite mountains extending over 20,000 feet to the soft tundra stretched over permafrost. Alaska houses a variety of big game including grizzly/brown bear, black bear, blacktail deer, moose, caribou, Dall sheep, mountain goat, muskoxen, wolves and a variety of birds and fur-bearing animals, a sportsmen’s paradise.

On this particular hunt we were in the Prince William Sound area (southeastern), not far from the coast, camped near a stream. Being late October, the air was cool and the feel of winter hung on the horizon.

I was hunting with Ed Stevenson, owner and operator of Sheep River Hunting Camps, who after taking up residence in 1960, has been guiding Alaskan hunters continuously. While Sheep River offers fair chase hunts for Dall sheep, black bear, mountain goat and moose, Ed has become especially well known for brown/grizzly bear hunts (with the hides often squaring 9 to 10 feet).

Besides being an experienced outfitter/guide, Ed spends virtually year around in one of his wilderness log cabins. During the off-season, he stays in the mountains rather than returning to town or civilization. During the bitter cold winter months, in addition to daily chores of splitting wood, hauling water, cooking, etc., Ed traps and hunts fur-bearing animals, giving him a special insight into hunting and the outdoors that few people ever attain. Having hunted with Ed previously, I knew this would be a great trip, even if the trigger was never pulled.

After arriving by commercial plane at Valdez and spending the night due to bad weather, the next morning the fog cleared and Ben Stevenson piloted us via bush plane through the spectacular snow-capped mountains, over glaciers to a remote hunting camp. From the air, thousands of silver salmon were visible working their way upstream to spawn.

The Super Cub was expertly set down on a rocky bar along the river, and we quickly unloaded supplies into packs, waded the river and hiked through the moss-covered timber to camp. After unpacking and getting situated in the tent and discussing the next day’s hunting plans with Ed, I hiked back to the river. Bear tracks were everywhere, some very large. (In an effort to promote fair chase, Alaska law forbids hunting the same day one has been in an aircraft.)

That evening in the rustic cabin, Ed put together a delicious meal, while we visited about guns, bullets and cartridges suitable for hunting Alaska’s great bears. The conversation was naturally blended with close encounters including an unprovoked attack where a 10 1 ⁄ 2 -foot bear charged Ed and a hunter at 12 steps. Ed shot him in the chest at close range with a .375 H&H Magnum. Apparently that failed to impress the boar, as he continued the charge, took Ed underwater, tromped on him, then proceeded to bite his leg, before being killed by the hunter at just 6 feet with a .375 Weatherby Magnum.

That night, just after settling into bed, the dog, KC, took issue with a bear that wanted to explore camp. I slipped on my boots, grabbed a Surefire flashlight and a gun, then stepped out of the tent but was not able to get a look at the bruin that was “arguing” with the pup some 50 to 75 yards away in the thickly wooded forest.

The next morning, after eating a hearty breakfast, we loaded our packs and headed up Dead Creek. Bear sign was everywhere, with partially eaten fish dotting the banks. The fish were now being eaten by bald eagles and a variety of other birds. By early afternoon we reached an elevated point that gave a view of the creek below. We shed our packs, snacked for lunch and began glassing for bears.

Within an hour or so, we caught a brief glimpse of a bruin making his way downstream, but he disappeared into the brush. When he reappeared ahalf-hour later, he was about 100 yards below us, where we studied him closely. He was a beautiful bear, but Ed suggested he was too small. No other bears were seen that first day.

The following morning we hiked up the river, but inspite of hunting hard all day and observing many fresh bear tracks, none were seen. Ed couldn’t understand why we weren’t seeing more bears.

The next day we loaded our packs with a couple of day’s food supply, sleeping bags and necessary gear for an overnighter, then hiked upriver to a favorite “lookout” from the side of a steep hill, where we would spend the night. The sky was clear and brilliantly blue, as the sun crested the mountains for a few hours before setting and turning the temperature down.

We could see at least a mile of river as it wound its way down the canyon. Before finding a suitable place to put a sleeping bag, or taking time to eat dinner, I began glassing with a Swarovski 10×32 EL binocular. Within minutes a sow with two large cubs were seen working their way from the brush toward the river. Few things are as enjoyable as watching a sow with cubs, and this one proved no exception, as she waded into the river and, almost without effort, snagged a salmon. After their bellies were full, they returned to the brush, and I focused on finding other bears.

It wasn’t long until a five- or six-year-old boar crawled out of a small brush pocket near a beaver pond and headed for the river. Ed said he was too small, so we watched as he fished. The sow had been smooth as silk as she caught salmon, hardly disturbing the water, but the young boar would lunge and splash like a teenage boy going for an evening swim. He seemed to really enjoy himself.

The youngster only took a bite or two out of each salmon, then returned to the river to find a “fresher” fish that was not “gray” from spawning. It didn’t take long for the birds to take advantage of a free meal, and several bald eagles began feasting on each fish. Soon 30 or 40 could be counted in less than a 100-yard stretch of the riverbank.

About a half-mile downstream from the young boar, two bears appeared from a patch of brush that we had walked through just an hour or so before. They were young, fat, round as a biscuit, possibly siblings and probably the first year away from their mother. They seemed to be on the move, likely because our scent on the trail made them nervous. They soon disappeared.

Nightfall was coming fast, but we would see two more bears before darkness came, one of which looked good to me, but we were only able to catch a short glimpse before it retreated into the brush.

In something less than two hours, we located eight bears, and it seemed the place was crawling with them. Clearly we had walked within a few feet of some of the bears while hiking up the river.

So after a hot meal, we crawled into our sleeping bags. Ed had a tepee arrangement with poles and tarps, while I elected to sleep out on a narrow path beside the cliff leading down to the river, so I could observe as soon as light permitted. The sounds of the Alaskan bush at night included a variety of birds, the fast-paced river below and a sow with cubs bawling and carrying on only a short distance upstream. We can only speculate what caused the commotion, possibly an old boar was giving them static, as they will kill cubs for the meat.

Soon I could hear bears wading the river just below our camp, and even though it was dark, the sky was still light and their silhouettes were visible against the water. I slept lightly with the .375 H&H rifle and a custombuilt Ruger Bisley .500 Linebaugh in an El Paso Saddlery Model 1942 Tanker holster rig with the snap undone. About 1:00 A . M . rain began falling, then turned to snow. A tarp was rolled over the sleeping bag, keeping me reasonably dry.

The next morning the rain/snow drizzle continued. Nothing was moving, so we broke camp and headed downriver, back to main camp to dry out and replenish supplies. The wet weather continued, and bears became scarce. Apparently they remained in their beds during the day, but the dark hours were another matter. Virtually every night we had bears in camp dragging off coolers or just passing through. Every morning I would walk around camp and study the fresh bear tracks.

We had been seeing the tracks of a large bear, probably 9 1 ⁄ 2 feet or better, on the sandy banks of the river about a mile from camp. The old boar (identified by the length of his front pad) had been hanging out in the area, as fresh tracks were seen almost daily, but we had not been able to catch up with him. So we decided to work the thick alder patches along the river and see if we couldn’t find him bedded down.

The going was difficult at times. Fresh beds appeared abandoned only minutes before we came along. We were in the right area, but with the great bears’ incredible hearing, it was proving difficult to get close when traveling in the alders.

The drizzling rain continued, and most bears were staying in the brush and out of sight. Time was winding down, and if the bad weather kept up, chances of finding an acceptable bear were slim. After a long trek through an especially thick alder patch, Ed and I stopped on an island, shed our packs and enjoyed a light lunch, while glassing mountain goats on the snowcapped mountains. After the break, we strapped on packs and began wading upriver (walking on banks when possible). Bears were typically staying within 100 yards or so of the river, and knowing there were several around, I felt as though we were trolling for bears.

While in midstream of crossing the river, we spotted a bear a halfmile or more upstream. It had a rich brown coat, distinct hump over the shoulders, heavy bone structure and broad head and, like any adult brown/grizzly, was a spectacular animal. It struck both of us as being a good bear.

We hustled to the last point it had been seen, and in studying the tracks I knew it was not a huge bear, but certainly an adult. We eased forward searching the alders, when the bear came full-tilt toward the riverbank. Clearly excited, but not to the point of charging, it was unlikely the bruin would stick around long. At something around 100 yards, I could see the forward half of the bear, and even though of somewhat average size, it was an impressive animal.

The crosshairs steadied behind the shoulder as the trigger tripped. Many times I have heard bears bawl, both black and grizzlies, but this bear let out a noise unlike any I have heard before and never moved out of its tracks - somewhat unusual. Even though it seemed unnecessary, another shot was fired, and still another. After the third hit, the bear retreated into the alders.

Ed and I hustled upstream to find a suitable place to cross the river, then returned to the last place the bear was seen and followed the trail to find it dead less than 25 yards away. All three shots were in the vitals. The 270-grain Barnes Triple-Shocks completely penetrated, leaving impressive wound channels. After admiring the bear, we sat down on a log just to savor the moment. A few photos were taken before skinning and packing the hide and skull back to main camp, arriving well after dark. All in all, it had been a terrific hunt in the spectacular Alaskan bush, living with and pursuing one of the world’s greatest game animals.

This article first appeared in Successful Hunter Magazine #14, and is used here with permission.