One evening in the spring of 2021, I happened to be in a hotel for work and decided to look at some email newsletters sent out by a hunting company claiming “cost effective western hunts.” The newsletter briefly mentions multiple states, big game animals, affordability of in-state and out-of-state tags, and the ease to purchase tags. Out of the 4-5 listings, one particularly stood out: “Idaho Bear Hunt: Non-Resident-$41.50.” 

Preparation and planning for this hunt that I, nor anyone I knew personally, started with countless hours of research. I watched YouTube, listened to podcasts, and relied on people like the famous Clay Newcomb and Brian Call to teach me without even knowing I exist as a person. I knew hunting the mountains of Idaho would be quite different from the cornfields and sandhills of Nebraska. I didn’t have the right backpacking gear or really anything lightweight to my name and was going to start this journey at ground zero. 

After researching more and gathering gear, I was ready to go with what I believed to be a foolproof plan and the right gear to get the job done. I didn’t have the ability to make my gear very lightweight due to my budget, but I was young and dumb enough to put my head into the wall, keep my feet moving, and rest when needed. I had what I needed to stay warm, dry, fed, and ready to harvest my first bear. 

On May 15 around 1:00 in the afternoon on a sunny, 90 degree Sunday, I pulled up to the trailhead. It was time to make my dreams come true with the plan, backup plan, and even tertiary plan that I had before me. My mantra going in was simple, “Take your time and don’t rush anything.” 

Plan 1) Get to the ridge I found on google maps and on the onX Hunt maps. That area seemed to have good growth on the opposing mountain side with great visibility on my side. The initial hike took me approximately an hour and a half to reach a location where I felt I was in a good and comfortable spot to see action the next day. I then pitched my tent, filled my water, looked for a good glassing spot, and finally settled in for the evening to see what creatures I could uncover. 

Day two started off almost perfect when I happened to look up and see two bull elk walking up the slope 50 yards from me. Sadly, the rest of the day was not going to be the same. After a third sit, no sign of bears, and what I thought was headaches due to altitude, I decided to try my next great foolproof plan. 

Plan 2) Go to my next location that had a semi-recent burn that looked to be partially wooded but also had some nice open cliffsides. I made it to the location I marked on my map and was severely disappointed in what I saw. There was virtually no easy or semi-quick access to water, the burn was more extensive than I thought, and from the knowledge I soaked in for the past couple months, I had a feeling this was not even worth my time. 

Plan 3) Go to the top of a ridge that has access to multiple areas and different types of terrain, all relatively close enough to the truck to give myself the best available opportunity. I was already only on the evening of day two, and my third and final plan was written out. I got the pickup parked with enough time to go scout a ridgeline to see what I could find that evening. After a successful glassing session of at least seeing some more elk, I headed back down to the truck to set up camp for the evening before hitting it hard until Friday. 

The  most important event of the trip happened that evening. A mid-2000’s GMC pickup pulled up hauling Nick, his son Johny, and Nick’s friend Jason. These three changed my hunt and flipped the entire trip upside down. We had an exchange of greetings and discussed bear hunting for about 5-10 minutes. Shortly after the “goodbyes'', Johny came over to ask if I could help haul some bait to their site. During that hike up, I was curious about everything when it came to baiting. After filling the bait and getting back down to the truck, Nick did the unthinkable and generously offered his spot to me over their bait barrel while they weren’t there. To say I was shocked and excited is an understatement! I now had plan #4. 

The next morning I still wanted to try a spot-and-stalk style hunt. Once again, all that presented itself were a couple of elk. During my little lunch, I got a text from Nick recommending that I go sit over the bait they just refilled. I made my way to that spot and within the hour spotted my first bear in the wild ever, a beautiful cinnamon color-phase. 

Plan 4) Hunt over bait. Once I saw that cinnamon bear come in, my heart raced. My first thought was to give it time, make sure there were no cubs, and not rush a shot. The bear moved towards the bait and behind a tree, giving me the perfect opportunity to line up for a shot. The issue that presented itself at that moment was that the bear unknowingly went behind another tree. After about one minute of searching the general area around the bait, he trots off. The encounter was over that quick. The rest of the day led to no more bears. 

On Wednesday morning I was shocked to see snow and fog, which obstructed my view about 80 yards into the distance. The low visibility made me decide to hunt over the bait for a few reasons: easy and quick access to food, only needing to see 60 yards, and safer to hike to my sitting spot. Obviously with my first bear hunt, my brilliant ideas would be exactly what a bear would think! I sat next to that tree watching over the access points and bait for 15.5 hours. No bears ever showed up. 

I went to bed angry. By this time, I had hunted for four days and had only seen one bear with my own eyes. When I set out to do something, I expect to have success. That doesn’t mean I label myself as perfect, but I believe that sometimes it is good to talk beliefs into existence. 

Thursday morning I still woke up a little angry. The thick and dense snow was still lightly falling to the ground and the visibility was still anywhere from 40-100 yards. I started my trek up to the same tree I sat the day before, but had to take a couple pit-stops on the way. Finally, the exhaustion of hiking was hitting me harder than it had before. Being in shape for the mountain is just a tad different than the cornfields and sandhills of Nebraska. 

I stopped one last time to catch my breath when I was five minutes from my tree. A weird, unnatural sound caught my attention and perked up my ears. No way could I be hearing the bear taking the large sticks out of the bait barrel! I dropped my pack and started to ascend to a better vantage point. Behind a pine tree no taller than me, I was able to spot a black bear through the light fog. 

Once the bear started to sift through the bait that had fallen to the ground, I was able to take one large sidestep to have a comfortable shot at the vitals. After about 10 minutes, the bear turned just shy of broadside, so I raised my rifle, squeezed the trigger, and heard the thunder of the shot ring through the mountainside. The bear kicked up with a thud and headed straight downhill. 

I took my time getting my pack, then headed up to the point of impact. There was no blood to be seen in the area, only tracks in the snow towards the direction that I knew the boar went. I kept my eyes peeled and started to track the bear downhill when I finally saw blood that looked like it had been sprayed out of a Windex bottle. While looking upwards, I saw a black ball on the other side of the tree laying like my dog naps—one paw over the other and his head resting on said paws. 

Once I got to the beautiful bear, I just sat down next to him. My emotions were all over the board and I didn’t even know where to start. I grabbed his front paw and just held it. I measured it in my hand, felt his pad, touched his claws, and just felt his fur. He was dense. I have never had the opportunity to be this close to such an amazing creature. I studied his teeth, his body, his eyes, and even the scars on his head and ear. After countless pictures, texts to my family and friends, and watching reminder videos on how to skin the bear properly for a rug, I started to process the bear. 

The only thing I left behind afterwards was the spine and pile of guts. It was about 11:00 by the time I got everything packed in the coolers. I then decided to call my family and eat some lunch. The heavy packs and the mountain terrain weren’t making my life very easy, even though it was easier than most might run into. Jason was on his way to try his luck over the bait that afternoon and I had every intention to relax until he got up to where camp was located. 

Jason rolled up with a six pack of beer in hand and a smile on his face. I told him the story, showed him the bear, and we got ready to go out that afternoon and evening. Jason took the spot over the bait station, and I tried my luck hunting over my gut pile to see what might wander in that direction. By the end of the night Jason harvested a beautiful chocolate color-phase black bear. We managed to have a celebratory night cap and some food before getting to bed. 

On Friday morning, I had one last opportunity to fill my second tag in the beautiful mountains of Idaho. As the snow and fog continued, I decided to try my luck at the bait pile. Upon getting to my spot by the tree, I noticed that the bait was dug into once again. In my brain, luck was on my side for my final four hours—this location had two bears harvested and at least one came in overnight. Those four hours brought no bear in sight, but that didn’t even matter. As I hobbled down the mountain one last time, my soul felt full. God, my supportive family and friends, and strangers gave me the ability to do something I have only dreamed of. 

Jason stayed that morning in case I needed to harvest another bear and could use another hand. Once camp was clean, we left the mountain to go down to the Salmon River. The riverbank break led to us eating some delicious bear nuggets (bear meat fried in its own fat), discussing our hunts, bears, podcasts, books, family, and our love for the outdoors. The ride back to check in our bear in McCall seemed surreal as I relived the events of the week over and over in my head. Finally after check-in, I had one more stop to make about one mile away. Nick and Johny lived close enough for me to stop by and show them what their generosity did for a stranger from Nebraska.