BEAR HUNTING

(photo courtesy of www.tomjonesbuckeyephotos.com) The summer of 1966 was special for me. First I turned sixteen and began learning to drive. This was such a big deal in a car dealer’s family. Soon I would be behind the wheel of all those beautiful new cars that my dad brought home. Being able to drive would open all sorts of new freedoms, not the least of which was to actually take a girl on a date instead of meeting her somewhere or having my parents deliver us to a dance. Being sixteen also meant that people in general took you a little more seriously and it seemed your parents had a little more confidence in you. After all, if you could pilot a two-ton vehicle around you must be somewhat responsible – right?

This was also the summer that I attended the Butler County Conservation School – a week-long resident camp for youth to learn more about hunting and fishing specifically, and the outdoor environment in general. The experience was one to which I trace my professional career in the natural resource management field. The following hunting season I was anxious to use some of the skills I had learned there.

At that time Pennsylvania had a one-day black bear season the Saturday after Thanksgiving. For some reason Dad had to work that day and it was the first time my brother, Johnny, and I ever went to camp by ourselves. On Friday we all went pheasant hunting (that’s another chapter). After lunch, Dad went to work and Johnny and I loaded the red 1967 Olds Cutlass sedan with all the necessary equipment and supplies for both the Saturday bear hunt and the Monday deer hunt. Over the last several months I had packed and re-packed all of my gear so my stuff was all ready to go. Johnny, on the other hand, was neither as excited about the hunt as I, nor was he very well organized. It took awhile for him to get things together. It was after 3:00 by the time we were ready to leave. Mom kissed us both goodbye and recited one last litany of all the reasons she didn’t think it was a good idea for her two boys to go off to camp hunting without their father. We heard, “Be careful starting the furnace, and unload your guns when you cross a fence (she didn’t realize there were no fences involved in bear hunting), and lock the doors before you go to bed, and hold on tight when you cross the swinging bridge, and don’t shoot each other.” Oh and also, “Don’t get lost in the woods!”

We assured Mom that we would be careful and we were on our way. Man, this felt like a big deal to me. Heading out for hunting camp with my brother. Since neither of us were much of a cook, we stopped at the Sportsman’s Paradise for supper. This was a little out-of-the-way bar and restaurant between Leeper and Lucinda. Dad had stopped there once with us on the way home from camp but here we were on our own. The place was crowded with other hunters, also on their way to camp. We must have looked like real rubes to the rough and tumble bunch bellied up to the bar. We found an empty table and both ordered cheeseburgers. This was our typical fare at any restaurant. It seemed that we should be ordering something more “hunter-like” – perhaps rabbit stew, the elk plate, pot roast, meatloaf, or even slumgullion, but we hadn’t ordered anything but cheeseburgers at a restaurant for as long as either of us could remember. Johnny ordered root beer to drink but I noticed that they had birch beer. I had never tasted it before but thought I’d give it a try. It came in a brown bottle that sort of made it look like you were drinking a regular beer. I thought that was neat. As we ate we glanced around at the various game mounts on the walls. There were lots of deer, an elk, an antelope, a moose, and two bear. Johnny pointed out that one was what they called a “dog bear” and the other was a “hog bear”. They got their names from the differing shapes of their snouts. They were both black bear just with different noses. “I guess sort of like the difference between Italians and Jews,” I said. Johnny thought that was a crude but appropriate analogy. He paid our bill with money that Dad had provided for the trip and we were on our way.

It was well after dark when we arrived at camp. That made unloading the car and carrying everything down the long flight of steps a little more difficult. There were no street lights in the area nor was there much ambient light from surrounding camps. It was about as dark a place as one could imagine unless there happened to be a full moon. The first thing you had to do when entering camp was to grab a flashlight from the mantle and go through the dark building into the corner of the bedroom where the electric box was. There were two fuse blocks that you had to pull out, turn over and slide back into place. That flooded the camp with light and made things a lot less spooky. The next step was to unlock the basement door and light the oil furnace. This was a pretty involved procedure requiring valves to be turned to start the flow of oil, lighting a piece of newspaper with a match, dropping it into the bottom of the furnace and then taking a stick and stirring the paper around to light the oil. Lighting a fire in the fireplace heated the camp up much more quickly although the heat source was much less efficient. This was normally the next step.

By the time all the groceries were put away, the gear stowed, and the camp was warming up it was time to curl up in the easy chair or on the couch and relax before turning in. Mom had the foresight to send some homemade cookies along in the big white round tin that, at one time, had said “cookies” on the side. The word had been worn off years earlier. The tin had gotten a lot of use. Johnny sat down with a glass of milk and the tin in his lap. I on the other hand made myself a cup of hot chocolate. I was on my own for a change and I was going to do whatever suited me. As we ate our cookies we talked about where we would hunt the next day. We got out the National Forest topo map that was rolled up in the corner and looked at possibilities. Johnny wanted to stick close to camp in case he needed to return early (as he always did), but I wanted to strike out into some unexplored territory. Neither of us were really considering the prospects of actually shooting a bear. We were far more concerned with scouting places to hunt for deer on Monday. A day of “research” in the woods would be valuable. We talked about a variety of things as we watched the fire burn down. I tried to focus on bear hunting while Johnny’s conversation flowed from one topic to the next. He was just too smart to limit his thinking to a single topic for very long. I finally grabbed my sleeping bag that I had warming by the fire and headed for bed.

It seemed later when we turned in but I suppose it was 10 or 10:30. I was dead tired. It had been a long day. I don’t know why we bothered to set the alarm clock. I was awake at 5:00, excited about the hunt that lay ahead. For the first time I would be hunting bear by myself. It was cold inside the camp – probably in the low 50s. This meant getting dressed quickly. Fortunately I had laid out my clothing in a logical order the night before. There was no reason to light the fireplace or to turn up the oil furnace as we would be gone soon. Breakfast was pretty simple – Life cereal and milk. No hearty hunter’s breakfast of bacon and eggs like when Dad was along. We were not accomplished cooks, too lazy to fix anything complicated, and too anxious to get out in the woods. We didn’t finally decide where we were headed until we were alone in the dark of the front porch. Johnny would cross the road and climb the mountain on the other side. I would cross the creek via the swinging bridge and work my way up Pell Run. We both knew it was Mom’s desire that we stick together but we figured this way at least we would guarantee we would follow at least one of her directions – not to shoot one another.

It had snowed a couple inches overnight but I could see stars in the sky and figured the snow was over. I loved to hunt in fresh snow for a variety of reasons. Most importantly it provided contrast to the trees and the game you were after, making spotting the target much easier. Secondly it made it impossible to get lost as you could always backtrack the way you came in. I slowly picked my way down the hill to the Tionesta Creek using the steps we had cut into the earthen bank with a shovel the summer before. It was slippery in the snow but I was careful to hold onto the small trees that lined the pathway. Once at the bottom my flashlight picked up the path that led to the bridge. The going was easier now and I was at the bridge in no time. Climbing the ladder up to the bridge was not easy as the rungs were icy. Going across and down the ladder on the other side was even worse. As I slipped and slid my way across the bridge and down the ladder I remembered my mother’s words of caution. It did occur to me that if I slipped off the bridge into the icy water of the creek below my chances of survival were slim. I loved my mother dearly and I took a little extra time to assure that she wouldn’t be heartbroken that her baby boy had ignored her advice and drowned or died of hypothermia even before the sun came up on his first bear season.

I wanted to take the path of least resistance up the mountain in the dark and snow. The old tram railroad path on the banks of Pell Run would provide just that. In the early part of the century this area had boomed with both the lumber and oil industries. Narrow gage railroads ran along the banks of the creeks and their tributaries to access the slopes. The rails had long ago been removed and the ties rotted away but you could feel the remnants of the right-of-way under your feet as you walked. It had been a wet fall and Pell Run, that in the summer was just a trickle, made a delightful rushing sound as it fell over large rocks from pool to pool. I loved this area of the forest and spent hours there seeking native brook trout in the summer. I would have enjoyed sitting down on the bank and waiting for sunup but I pressed on in hopes of finding just the right spot with a good downhill view by daybreak. I kept reminding myself that this was really more of a dry-run for deer season than a bear hunt.

It was almost 7:00 when I reached my destination near the top on the run. The sun would be up soon so I sat down on a comfortable stump to see how much of the valley below was within view. I was pretty warm from my climb so the cool breeze in my face was refreshing. It was a gorgeous sunrise – the kind that made you wonder what you did right to deserve being out on the top of a mountain to see the first rays bounce off the fresh snow on the landscape below. It had been a successful practice hike for Monday morning. Now if there were just some deer around it would be perfect. I kicked myself that I hadn’t been more observant of tracks in the fresh snow on my way up the hill. I should have been able to see if any deer had been moving along the hillside and, if so, at what elevation. One thing was sure, I was alone on this slope. This area was so remote nobody in their right mind (that left me out) would make this trek so early. If any deer were moving it would be there normal routine as opposed to being pushed. The more I thought about it, the same would hold true for bear. If there were any around they wouldn’t be pushed to cover here. I knew it was too early for them to be hibernating.

This was the first time the thought occurred to me – what if I saw a bear this morning? If I shot a bear up here there was no way I could get it out of here. Even if I could get it down the slope aided by the blanket of snow, how would I get it across the creek? If Dad had been here he would have told me I was nuts for going to all the trouble to explore this new territory in bear season. That’s what summer is for! I found myself talking to myself and snapped back to reality. There was no way I was shooting anything today. I might as well have left the gun at home but I went ahead and loaded it anyway. I had learned to be methodical about the way I loaded the 30-30 carbine so I could do it in the dark if necessary. First I opened the chamber by working the lever action. I carefully guided a bullet into the chamber and closed it. What got a lot of people into trouble was that they would forget to put the safety on by gently releasing the hammer with their thumb while pulling the trigger. I did that carefully and then shoved four more shells into the magazine through the slot in the side. All was ready now with five shells at my disposal. I decided to rest here for awhile and see what developed.

What developed was nothing. Two hours passed and it didn’t seem there was any life on this side of the creek. In addition I was getting cold. The temperature must have been somewhere in the low 20s and seemed to be dropping. I could also see some high clouds moving in. I decided a walk might be in order. Since I really wasn’t interested in killing anything today I figured I might as well see some unexplored territory. The top of Pell Run was as far up this valley as I had ever been. Back over the top and down the other side about five miles away was a Forest Service picnic area and campground called Heart’s Content. My family had been there many times but always by car. I didn’t have a clue how to get there cross country and no desire to find out. I just set out to see what was over the top of the next ridge.

I briefly wondered about venturing into unfamiliar country by myself, especially territory so remote with no roads and little hope of finding any other hunters. I remembered my mom’s final advice – “Don’t get lost.” On the other hand my ace in the hole was the fresh snow on the ground. All I had to do was track myself back to the top of the ridge and head downhill to the creek. No problem. I decided to skirt the edge of the hilltop so that I could maintain my view downhill. That way I could cover some new ground and still see where the deer were on this side.

I had only gone about a half mile when I spotted movement below. I first thought it was a hunter by the slow pace at which it trod. I had never seen a deer move like that. Then it dawned on me that there actually was a bear on this side of the hill. I raised my rifle so that I could observe the bear through the scope. It looked large, I guessed between two and three hundred pounds. This was great – a chance to observe this creature from afar, undisturbed in its native habitat. I sat down in the snow and took a good rest for my rifle. I had no thoughts of taking a shot but I wanted to get as good a look as possible as the bruin lumbered through the forest. It seemed he was looking for food. Every once in awhile he would stop and paw the ground, seemingly for acorns or perhaps grubs in the un-frozen ground beneath the snow. Every once in awhile I would get up quietly and move to a new position along the ridge. I was high enough above that he didn’t seem to notice my slow movements. I was able to do this for about an hour or so and I admit I was having a blast. Then abruptly the bear’s demeanor changed. I could tell something or someone had spooked him. His nose was in the air and he was definitely hearing or smelling something he didn’t like. It wasn’t me - the disturbance was obviously below him. Perhaps there were other hunters on this side of the mountain after all.

I watched as the bear rose stiffly on his haunches, as if to get a better look into the valley. He didn’t get up very far before he took off like a shot straight up the hill – straight toward me! I froze, still watching him through my scope. I watched as he got much bigger in the lens. I had never seen an animal move that fast. It began to occur to me that I might have to shoot a bear today just in self-defense. I sat in the snow motionless with my gun to my shoulder, my heart pounding so loud in my chest that I thought the bear must surely be able to hear it as he approached. I pulled the hammer back just in case. As it turned out the bear was only interested in getting away from whatever had spooked him below. He wasn’t watching where he was going and didn’t appear to be wary of anything on top of the hill. He passed me at about 10 yards going full tilt – snow flying and branches breaking under foot. I could hear his breathing and see his breath as he ran. Even though he had sprinted a long way up the hill it still seemed effortless for him. I knew he could keep going like this for a long distance. After he passed I again observed him in my scope as he disappeared over the top of the hill. “That was great,” I thought to myself. I began to relax and look over the top in the direction the bear had run.

Then my curiosity got the better of me and I began to wonder how far the bear had gone and what sort of cover he might run to. I had never tracked a bear before but it sure wouldn’t be hard. I knew right where to pick up the trail. So that’s what I did - I began to follow at a leisurely pace. After all I sure didn’t want to happen upon Mr. Bear in heavy cover. I just wanted to see how far he went before he slowed down and where he was headed. I had fun measuring his strides. Before long I noticed he had begun to lope and then finally he was walking again. I knew I was getting miles from where I started at the top of Pell Run. Also I wasn’t sure exactly what direction I had gone. Now the clouds had moved in and completely obscured the sun. I couldn’t depend on it to provide direction. However, I could still clearly see my tracks in the snow and so I was confident that soon I would turn and back track my way out. I decided it was a good time to eat the lunch I had packed. I sat down under a big hemlock tree that blocked the wind and where the ground was bare. I took out the plastic poncho I carried in the event of rain and spread it on the ground as a sort of picnic tablecloth. I sat down and ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, washing it down with some orange juice I had brought along in an old army canteen. As I finished my sandwich I reclined on one elbow and thought about the excitement of the day. I was exhausted from a short night’s sleep and the morning’s steady up-hill hike. I laid down on the poncho and thought how good it would feel to take a quick nap – just rest my eyes (as my father used to say).

When I woke up it was one of those sudden jerks like when you doze off in church and jump awake, putting those around you on notice that you’ve been asleep. This was a surreal awakening as I had no idea how long I’d been sleeping. To my horror the sky was almost dark and snow was falling steadily. A quick glance at my watch told me that it was almost 5:00. How could that be? How could I possibly have been asleep for almost five hours? I’d have to get going quickly to get back to camp. I picked up my poncho and my rifle and began moving quickly in the direction from which I’d come, but where were my tracks? It had snowed several inches – enough to obscure the morning’s tracks. I did my best to estimate where they would have been but it didn’t take long before I got confused and unsure that I was heading in the right direction. I tried to recall where the bear had come from and how I had tracked him to this point. The growing darkness didn’t help any and panic was quickly setting in. I was almost running through the woods now without any real direction. It was too dark to see without a flashlight and I finally resigned myself to the fact that I was lost. I had no clue what direction the camp was. Heck I wasn’t even sure what was uphill and what was down. I sat down on a snowy log and prayed. “Dear God, you’ve got to help me get out of this one. I’m all alone here and I don’t know what to do. Could you please help me find my way home?”

I shone the beam of my flashlight around my position. I’m not sure what I expected to see but perhaps a pillar of fire, like He provided for the Israelites in the desert. What my light did fall on was a huge boulder – perhaps 15 to 20 feet high. Underneath it was a cleft that looked large enough to provide a temporary shelter from the wind and snow. I figured this was indeed a sign from above that I wasn’t about to find my way home. I would have to spend the night here. I checked out the rock overhang and found that it would at least keep me dry. If I could start a fire I could also keep warm. I put my pack and my rifle under the rock and began to search for something dry to burn with my flashlight. I was just hoping that my batteries would last until I could get a fire going. I pulled a small survival kit out of my pocket that I had gotten at conservation camp last summer. It contained a variety of first aid stuff that I wouldn’t need. What I did need were the two kitchen matches contained in the small kit. I remembered that they had taught us to find dry leaves and sticks under large hemlocks or other conifers that would prevent rain or snow from penetrating their foliage. I also recalled that the bark of a paper birch tree could be used, like paper, to start a fire. I went about searching for what I needed and was pleased to find dry leaves, dead hemlock lower branches, and some birch bark.

I got back under the rock overhang as far as possible to build my fire out of the wind. I laid some rocks down for a base so that air could get underneath the fire. Then I shredded the bark into fairly thin strips and piled them in a cone shape. I covered that cone with the small dry twigs I found, standing them on end and leaning them against the bark. I readied dry leaves, more twigs, and more bark to add if the fire started. I also had a pile of large hemlock branches to put on the fire. I was praying hard that this worked. I believed my survival depended on this fire. When I had things as well prepared as possible I struck the first match and, shielding my kindling from the wind with my body, lowered it into the pile. To my delight the birch bark burned exactly as the camp instructors said it would – like paper. The bark also ignited the twigs. Now slowly and oh so carefully I began to add some leaves and more twigs. It was working. “Thank you, Lord,” I breathed. I tried not to get greedy and add too much fuel at a time. Slowly I worked my way up to large branches. I was limited to branches of a half inch in diameter or less as anything larger that I found was wet.

Reluctantly I left my small fire to find more fuel. I could see that gathering sticks was going to be a continual affair throughout the night. I was fortunate that there were several large hemlocks nearby so I didn’t have to go far to break off their dead lower branches. As I returned with fuel I also brought back some live branches I had broken off and piled them around the overhang to provide a windbreak. Once I was able to take a short break from gathering wood I sat down beside my masterpiece to warm myself. Despite a temperature in the teens, I really hadn’t felt too cold. I suppose it was a combination of adrenaline and exercise. As I sat by the fire it occurred to me for the first time that Johnny would be worried sick when I didn’t come home. I was normally the last to come in so he probably wouldn’t have been concerned until 5:30 or so. It was now after 7:00. Dad wouldn’t arrive at camp for at least another hour and I guessed that Johnny would probably just sit tight until Dad got there – at least I hoped so. Of course these were days before cell phones. The camp didn’t have a phone and the nearest pay phone was in Sheffield, five miles up the road. I was sure that Johnny would stick tight. I began to kick myself for striking out on my own and not hunting closer to him. Why did I have to be so darned independent?

Suddenly I remembered that they had taught us at conservation camp to shoot our rifle three times quickly if we were lost after dark. Why hadn’t I thought of this earlier? I grabbed my rifle and fired into the ground three times as quickly as I could work the lever action. I listened impatiently for a response. None came. I heard only the wind in the tree branches and the crackling of my small fire. I briefly wondered if perhaps someone could see my fire or the smoke from it. Then I realized that I was in the middle of nowhere. Just about as far from a road or camp as you could get in these parts. I guessed I was roughly about half way between camp and Heart’s Content.

I gathered some more branches and added them to what was now a pretty amazing fire (for one match). I thought I had earned a break and curled up next to the fire, trying to cover myself with the poncho as best I could. It felt so good. The adrenaline rush was over now and I fought the urge to fall asleep. I knew that if I did, the fire would go out and I might freeze before I woke up. I would just close my eyes for a few minutes. I thought of the words to the old Fanny Crosby hymn, A Wonderful Savior is Jesus My Lord, “He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock and covers me there with His hand.” As I dozed my mother’s words echoed in my mind, “Don’t get lost in the woods.” And I had done just that. Sorry Mom.

Again, as if I were in church on a Sunday morning, I awoke with a start. It was light out. I was lying on my poncho under the big hemlock with my rifle by my side. The sky was hazy but there was no snow. A quick glance at my watch told me that it was 12:45 - PM not AM! It had all been a dream. A terrible nightmare! I could see my morning tracks in the snow clearly, pointing the way back to camp. I prayed again, “God you have one warped sense of humor. But thanks for the object lesson!”

I couldn’t move fast enough retracing my steps through the snow back to where I had watched the bear and then back to the top of Pell Run. My first thought was to just head straight downhill to the creek but I figured I wasn’t going to leave these tracks for anything. I knew where they led and I wasn’t going to take even a remote chance of getting lost on the way home. The distance that had taken me almost two hours to cover in the morning I made in half that time going home. When the camp came into sight I almost cried. It had never looked so good.

I wasn’t surprised to see Johnny sitting on the couch eating cookies and reading a book when I opened the door. He sure was surprised to see me though. “I didn’t expect to see you until dark or after. You’re always the last one in. You must have had an uneventful day. Did you see anything at all?” “Wait till I tell you,” I said, stripping off my hunting coat and handing him my rifle. I asked him to unload it while I proceeded to describe my bear in great detail. I also bragged about being so far back in off the beaten path. What I didn’t mention was my dream. It had felt so real. I was glad to be awake. Glad to be back at camp. And I didn’t want to talk about getting lost in the woods. As Johnny worked the lever to unload the carbine he asked why I had only loaded two shells.