??     ?Author’s Note: While the bear discussed here was technically the first bear I killed, it was pure luck. I actually consider the first bear that my Laika dogs treed to be “my first”, even though I didn’t shoot that bear (it was after dark when they caught it). 

I became obsessed with hunting bears some 14-15 years ago. I was an avid deer hunter back then, shooting a dozen or so deer each year with my bow. And, of course, I dabbled some in turkey hunting, albeit with little success. Those were the two “big game” species that I was familiar with and aware of in Virginia: whitetail deer and wild turkey. Yes, turkeys are considered “big game” in the Commonwealth.  

Every summer a new Virginia Hunting Regulation book would come out, and I’d read it from start (“What’s New”) to finish (“Public Hunting Opportunities”). And each time I came across the section about bears, I’d raise my eyebrow, chuckle, and skip over it thinking, “Ain’t no bears in Virginia!” 

You see, I didn’t grow up in these parts. I had no mentor. I was oblivious to the history and tradition of bear hunting in Appalachia. Heck, back then I didn’t even know the Appalachian Mountains existed! I lived in Northern Virginia, less than an hour from the Nation’s Capital. So to think there might be bears living within this state would’ve seemed silly and even ridiculous to me back then.  

Fast forward 10 years and there are bear sightings in Georgetown, a fancy neighborhood in Washington, D.C., every spring. But that’s a whole different story.  

Over time, those bear pictures in the hunting regulation books started to look so awesome! And there was even a hunting season apparently. Little by little, my curiosity took over and I went online to start my research. That was how I first learned about the George Washington National Forest and all the hunting opportunities it provided for the public.  

I then spent several years hiking the trails and ridge tops of the Appalachian Mountains, looking for bear signs. And one day I finally saw a bear. It was a sow with a cub and they walked within 40 yards of me while I was sitting down on the side of the mountain eating my lunch. I swear that to this day I can close my eyes and vividly see them walking down the game trail as though it happened yesterday. The word “mesmerized” doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt in that moment! 

My quest continued, with even more enthusiasm fueled by that encounter. But season after season I would come home empty-handed. Still-hunting proved to be too difficult for me at that stage of my hunting career; it was time to explore the alternatives. What other ways could I hunt bears? A bait site is not an option in Virginia since it is illegal here. I did go to Alaska a few times and hunted over bait there and saw brown bears, wolves, and lynx, but I still couldn’t connect with a black bear. What else could I try? 

Next thing you know, I’m reading forums on hound hunting, watching bear hunting with hounds videos on YouTube, and listening to every podcast episode on the subject of hunting dogs that I could find. Then I have to decide what breed of hounds to get. I lean towards choosing Plott hounds when my buddy says, “You’re from Russia. Why don’t you get a Laika?” 

Indeed, why not? Laikas are widely used in Russia, Eastern Europe, and the Baltic, as well as in Scandinavia for brown bear hunting. Certainly they would work on black bears here in America. Or would they? There was only one way to find out. So in 2019, I made several phone calls, selected a breeder, and flew to Russia to pick up two West Siberian Laika puppies I named Kuma and Bucha.  

That’s when the fun began. Now, most normal people probably wouldn’t consider it “fun” to hike miles and miles in the woods with two young dogs that would chase butterflies and bark at box turtles (or worse, not bark at all!). For we had many a night where we covered a lot of ground without a single bark, without a single chase, without any action whatsoever. But I never allowed those bad days to discourage me because I could see that the pups were gamey. There was potential. They just needed some more experience and confidence.  

Then one night while walking the woods behind my house, the pups caught something and started barking. I rushed towards them and found them baying an opossum. I’m not gonna say that was an adrenaline rush, but it was exciting nonetheless. And I was very proud of my 5-month-old pups. Then a month later, they treed their first raccoon. It was mid-November and it just started snowing that night. I remember shining my light up into the tree under which the pups were barking and seeing huge snowflakes gently coming down into the light beam. Then I saw the ringed tail—the first of many more to come. 

It was still November, and bucks were still chasing does. So one day I decided to give my pups a break, grabbed my bow, and climbed a tree next to a game trail behind my house. It wasn’t long before I saw a doe walking my way. She was getting close when suddenly something alerted her. And next thing you know, she’s gone. I checked the wind and it was good. Was there a big buck following her? Sure enough, a few moments later I heard footsteps. But it wasn’t a buck that was after that deer, it was a bear! It followed the same trail, smelling the ground just like my dogs would. I pulled my bow back, waited for the bear to come closer, and released the arrow. The bear wheeled around, ran into the brush, and disappeared. It was all quiet for a minute. Then I heard the death moan.  

After getting home that night and processing the meat, I went to feed my pups. As I sat in their kennel with them, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all. I had spent 10 years trying to connect with a bear. I hiked thousands of miles up and down these mountains. I even flew across the continent to the Last Frontier to try my luck there. When none of it worked, I went to the extreme and brought these two fluffy goofballs from Russia in hopes of one day becoming a bear hunter with their help. And then one afternoon, I went deer hunting behind my house—just like I had done a thousand times before—and returned home with my first bear.