It will by November at the earliest by the time you start to read this. I hope you’re sitting by a crackling fire enjoying some coffee, or maybe in a deer blind building memories. But let me take you back to mid-August of this year. It wasn’t a terribly hot day, but warm and slight overcast. This is a typical type of day I like to hunt in the early fall bear season in Washington. Days where there is a slight break in the hotter weather with some cloud cover can be a boon for bears. I target these days over clear, 80-degree scorchers.  

I have been hunting this stretch of land for the last 15 plus years. It has been good to me. I have personally taken from this spot, 3 bear (lost another), a cougar, a few coyotes, a couple deer and helped my son get his first bear, all right here. I know it well; I have taken from this land but have given back. I have used the animals I’ve taken and in turn, left some internal organs and bones for nature to absorb back into the landscape. We have a history together. I have watched fresh cuts grow and become so thick they are now un-huntable, at least as far as spot and stalk goes. But where one area overgrows, another gets cut or changes in another sense. And so, while I may be hunting the same 6 square miles or so, the specific areas I hunt within varies. I guess it is safe to say, over the years we have both changed.  

It used to be that I would shoot just about any legal bear I could find without much thought for size, age, color and so on. As I have now filled plenty of bear tags my desire to notch my tags on specific bear with certain traits has taken over. I am still looking for a specific color phase bear to round out my hide collection and so for the last few years I have not killed a bear. This August was different.  

The day started off as a mid-morning hike in. The air was pleasant with the smell of black berries that hung heavy as I worked by way through the mature trees and entered the now 20-year-old cut. Working my way down familiar paths of old, abandoned logging roads, I checked local haunts knowing bears frequent the area this time of year. But this morning, they seemed to be tucked away in the dark realm of the trees and did not offer hardly a clue as to where they were. It was a particularly quiet day. Sound seemed to carry very easily.  With little sign around, I worked my way out of the cut and eased toward my trail camera line. I have three set up, within 100 yards of each other tucked deep in a dark thicket bordering some water. This area is a frequent highway for animals and is why I have them placed there.  

Checking the cameras, I am treated with video clip after clip of various predators, from cougars to bears, bobcats and coyotes….but only a few deer. This is becoming more and more of a theme in Washington where predator management seems to be continuously on the chopping block of our fish and game commission despite the pleas of state biologists who can tell the difference between a black bear and a grizzly (unlike some on the commission), but I won’t go down that road here. On the footage, I noticed a few decent bears, at least three different cougars, including a queen with a nearly grown sub adult. It was great to see, but a reminder that predators are plentiful and need managed.  

I walked the area for quite some time, and it told me the same thing, predator tracks lined the sandy bed, where deer tracks were few and far between. The freshest tracks were all cougar tracks, and some older bear tracks but nothing that was super exciting for me. Especially since cougar season was still about two weeks out. I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the woods, eating berries, dunking my feet in various pools and just enjoying the brief time I had outside. But evening was beginning to settle, as the night hawks reminded me as they dove above with their “VRRRRRRR” sound as they snapped up whatever bugs they were after. So, I started my slow walk back to the truck.  

The silence of the evening made my ears ring. The methodical crunch of the grass and gravel beneath my feet was the only sound. It seemed the woods were empty of any life that would make even the slightest of noise. But, like the silence of the fast-approaching night, the signs were all around of opportunity. Stump after stump was ripped into along the road, as bears would dig and devour whatever hapless colony happened to be within the wooded catacombs. Walking out, I was convinced, despite the lack of bear scat, bear were around, no question. 

I rounded a corner, paused, and not within 40 yards the tell-tale sound of wood cracking exploded like thunder and spread through the cooling night air. It was loud, uncaring and comfortable and it was certainly a bear. I could hear him snort and breathe, pausing to smell before tearing into the stump further. He was just inside the brush to my right. During his noisy rage against the stump, I quickly took off my pack and laid it on the ground for ease of movement. I could feel the instinct of a thousand generations of hunters take over my body as I became completely focused on my prey. I noticed my mouth grimaced and my eyes squinted and remained keen, my movements were now almost out of body. Shadows hide the full form of the creature, I could see it well enough, but not well enough to my liking for a shot. I crept closer taking careful steps and got to with about 10 yards before pausing. At which time the bear looked up and I could now see the bear was hanging on the backside of a massive cedar stump and was facing me, his head and ears silhouetted by the green brush. I was busted, he was staring right at me. He climbed down off the stump and became enveloped in the northwest jungle. 

Wanting a better look, I huffed and popped my jaws with the hopes of treeing the bear, but he slowly worked his was through the brush and away from me, paying no heed. I was a little disappointed but am always thankful to get so close to the animal I am hunting. To me it sounded as if he went off to my right, but I could be wrong. After a few minutes I chalked it up to a loss and grabbed my pack for the hike out. I didn’t walk more than 20 yards, and a bear appeared in front of me in a ditch and was walking toward me just a little before climbing the rise and entered the open area between us. I judged it to be a boar but watched for a little bit to ensure my instinct and make sure a cub wasn’t in tow.  

Reassured, I raised my rifle and without thinking rested my check, squeezed the trigger and the bear piled up. It fell as if someone had kicked its legs out from under it, not to move again. The mule (my rifle) and I had done it again. I paused and that familiar feeling of accomplishment mixed with sadness and respect flooded over me like a November rain. I feel as if a piece of me dies every time a bear’s spirit leaves this earthly realm. But in return, a part of the bear stays with me through memory and nourishment. I cannot truly explain it, but those who know, know. As I approached with caution, I confirmed it was a younger bear, a boar, probably 4-5 years old. This was not the old, mature color phase I was looking for, but what I dubbed a “management bear”. The area (or should I say the state) seems to be teaming with predators, and the taking of this one was in my mind for a management reason to help some local ungulates. Because let’s face it, with Washington wolves remaining listed as “endangered” despite far surpassing recovery goals, the reintroduction of grizzlies and the scaled back cougar seasons, our ungulates could use some help. And with the taking of this bear, I am happy to do so. 

That evening, as I worked on field dressing the bear, the night offered a welcome coolness to my labor. As I hiked out, with the moon was peeking through the trees, the night offered a calm embrace as I experienced, once again, what man has done from the dawn of time. Earning one’s meal through the act of hunting is one of the most natural, human things a person can do in this modern world. My thoughts drifted in and out of conscience as I toiled alone, until the clarity of my truck came into view. My goal was met, my freezer replenished, my soul refreshed, and my heart filled with the knowledge of what it truly takes to create a meal.   

I hope you get to enjoy some bear meat this Thanksgiving. I know that his bear (who has already been feeding me, my family and neighbors) will be a guest at our table this year. Happy hunting my friends.