Sliverslinger
FNG
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2016
- Messages
- 29
“You ENJOY This!” I muttered between spitting out a concoctions of dried pine needles, spiderwebs, and a mosquito or two. A heat wave was on and a steady stream of sweat occasionally added to the flavor.
The evening of August 22nd, 2025, found me in one of my favorite and most hated spots with the usual painful souvenirs often collected along the way. A perch point cliff with a view for miles, overlooking a swath of huckleberry bushes above and below.
When I arrived, I dropped my overnight gear and shimmied carefully up to the edge of the cliff. I set up my rifle, pointed it at a particular opening I know well and got everything ready. Within about 10 minutes my confidence was affirmed. On the very top of that far ridge I saw a head and ears over the brush rooting and ravaging the nearby huckleberry bushes.
I watched the bear for several minutes. He was ~570 yards away meandering up the mountain moving slowly from bush to bush. I shot one of my bears over there last year and I knew what the pack out would entail. It was a bright and hot evening and the forecast called for temps in the high 90s the next day. This would be an all night affair.
I moved from my binos to my waiting rifle and slowly chambered a round.
I ranged an opening ahead of the bear’s path - 563 yds. I dialed the elevation. I knew in February I’d be taking this exact shot from this exact location to that ridge and I practiced often for it.
I settled in and calmed my breathing, watching the bear slowly enter the left edge of my scope walking along the reticle line. That’s a BIG bear! I slowly flipped the safety off... The boar slowly paused at the exact bush I was aiming at and as my finger felt the smoothness of the trigger, time slowed down. I checked my level, I was solid as could be, with only my heartbeat causing a faint, rhythmic bounce in the reticle. As I exhaled my next breath, I thought, “here was go…”
My 6.5 PRC roared and the Berger was on its way. I was back on the bear almost immediately as I heard a distant “THWOCK!” The bear didn’t move a muscle. I chambered another shell and was back on the bear again just in time to catch a flash of black and a lot of brush moving in a line just below where he had been standing. I pulled my ear plugs out to listen for a death moan and scanned the area. Silence.
I stood and took multiple videos talking myself through where he was standing, what little tree he was next to, etc… knowing it would all look different once I got there. I arrived over on the steep hillside 45 minutes later, sweat and bug spray pouring into my eyes and my ears pounding from the exertion in the heat. A quick check of the videos showed that I now stood where he had stood - no blood or hair, no sign of him. I spent 20 minutes working down the hill, parting the brush and searching for blood, hair, a scuff mark, anything. There was nothing.
I rewatched the video of me talking myself through where I had seen the bear going down the hill and realized my angle was off. I went back up to where he had been standing and glassed down the steep hill slightly over from where I had been looking. I spotted a small depression in the sea of 3-4 ft tall huckleberry bushes 30 yds below, one bush appeared pushed up against another. I bet… as I inched closer, I caught sight of a tiny bit of black hair.
The bear had died on his feet and had simply fallen over and rolled down - the shot was as perfect as it gets and I quickly realized that he was a brute.
After pictures I got quickly to work. As I processed the bear, the hot wind began to pick up and dust and ash began flying everywhere. It began absolutely howling along the ridge top I was on. The entire bear needed to get all the way down the mountain that night, a daunting task.
I know that mountain well. It is a nasty hellhole of vertical cliffs, chest high devil’s club and other unnamed sticker infested bushes designed by satan himself, followed by a maze of braided vine maple with bear tunnels through it, all on a grade steeper than my last property tax increase… It’s a true jaunt that feels like it never ends.
I finished caping the hide and shuttling quarter bags along the cliff top over to the timber. I had bags of 4 quarters, a head and hide bag, and a bag with everything else, plus all my gear. Leap-frogging was the only way I decided. When everything was done, I strapped the first load of 3 quarters on. It was brutally heavy and the hillside so steep that each step required absolute focus. I was recently told I had a torn meniscus in one knee and patellar tracking disorder in the other which added to the mix.
As I began the first leg, I planned out my drop points. 1) To the bottom of the first cliffs, 2) down the shale slide - do not start a rockslide, 3) top of the knife cliffs, 4) bottom of the knife cliffs, 5) bottom of the devil’s club field, 6) bottom of the bear tunnels through the vine maple chutes, 7) back of the swamp. Then it’s only a couple miles to the truck. Every one of those sections held their own unique misery and I wasn’t looking forward to any of them.
The thought of the following day’s heat kept me moving. Navigate painfully and very carefully down the hill and drop a load…hike quickly back up the hill and pick up a load…Repeat.
Then disaster struck. On the second leg, the frame stays split out the top of the frame of my pack from the weight and all the weight settled directly into my shoulders. I rigged up the best fix I could with 550 and duct tape, but it was miserable.
Around 3am, I found myself in the bear tunnels of the vine maple chutes, parting brush, grabbing rappel limbs, and sliding on my butt down the ridiculously steep hillside. Everything was cramping. My back, my fingers, my triceps, and legs all alternated locking up. My abs were on fire and my headlamp was growing very dim, but the brush was so thick I couldn’t see 5 feet ahead anyway. I dug my heels in and leaned back against the hill to stop for a breather and to check my track, knowing I had to follow a very specific route down to avoid being cliffed out.
I quickly realized that even though I had stopped moving, the brush nearby hadn’t.
Something’s over there, very close… Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me… No, that’s more brush moving… it’s shaking violently now. That’s VERY close, maybe 40 yds at most… The wind is blowing down the hill, whatever it is cannot smell me.
I held my breath, every fiber of my being trying to hear over my never ending tinnitus.
The brush paused and the soft whuff and popping of jaws told me the answer.
I was in the middle of the shuttle where my rifle was still up above me with the hide and last load of meat. I couldn’t see anything beyond what was right in front of my face through the brush.
It thinks I’m another bear and sounds pissed, it’s probably catching hints of that hide up above us. “Hey Bear!” “HEY BEAR!” “GET OUTTA HERE!!!” My best intimidating yell was in good form after my cougar experience a week and a half prior.
Only, the bear didn’t leave. I heard it pounding through the brush moving down then back up, pacing and stomping angrily around. It was the first time I can remember ever being legitimately worried about being mauled. My yelling seemed to make no difference.
It was a moonless night, in brush over my head, and my dim headlamp was good enough to see only the limbs directly in my face. I had planned to swap batteries at the next stop. I couldn’t drop the meat to go get the rifle for fear I wouldn’t find the meat again in the super thick brush. I slid on my butt another 100 yds straight down the hill to the next opening and paused. The bear is still up there. I dropped the meat as fast as possible and charged back up the chutes as quickly as the hillside would allow. It was a 10” of loose duff, crawl over those tree and under that one, take two steps and lose one, grab the vine maples and pull yourself up - super steep, thick, and nasty. My legs quivered from exhaustion. “Get back to the rifle now!” I kept telling myself while yelling into the inky darkness.
The bear was right there in the brush with me a little further away now but not gone, despite my yelling, calling it some disrespectful names and the like.
I frantically moved both loads post haste down the hill and l through the lower swamp. It was 4:15am. I needed a break. I had been completely locked in and focused on every step all the way down the mountain, then had a massive adrenaline rush, and was utterly exhausted, but the worst was now past.
At 4:45am I hung all the meat in the trees for airflow and got a snack… a nap was in order. I was so exhausted and soaked in sweat that I just laid down in a deer bed with a bug net over my face. The first hints of light were just greasing the horizon. I hadn’t yet recovered from the adrenaline and sleep was fleeting. I finally dozed off for about 20 minutes before waking. I laid there staring up at the stars and silhouettes of the trees against the dark blue pre-dawn sky. The sun was soon to break the horizon and I could feel the warmth growing in the breeze… time to move.
At 9:03am I experienced the world’s greatest feeling when I set the last load on the tailgate and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. I shot the bear at 5:37pm the night before. All in there were three 5 minute breaks and a 20 minute nap, and the rest was processing and leapfrogging two loads of gear, meat, and hide all night long.
On the long drive home, I reflected with pride over the hunt, the preparation I did for that exact shot that had paid off, how I’d taken care of the animal and the meat, and the effort I’d put in to make sure none was wasted.
I earned that.
The cuts, bruises, and every muscle in my body bear testament to that. Effort indeed makes for opportunity, and a year’s worth of bear meat, not to mention a memory for a lifetime are worthwhile rewards.
I enjoy this indeed…
The evening of August 22nd, 2025, found me in one of my favorite and most hated spots with the usual painful souvenirs often collected along the way. A perch point cliff with a view for miles, overlooking a swath of huckleberry bushes above and below.
When I arrived, I dropped my overnight gear and shimmied carefully up to the edge of the cliff. I set up my rifle, pointed it at a particular opening I know well and got everything ready. Within about 10 minutes my confidence was affirmed. On the very top of that far ridge I saw a head and ears over the brush rooting and ravaging the nearby huckleberry bushes.
I watched the bear for several minutes. He was ~570 yards away meandering up the mountain moving slowly from bush to bush. I shot one of my bears over there last year and I knew what the pack out would entail. It was a bright and hot evening and the forecast called for temps in the high 90s the next day. This would be an all night affair.
I moved from my binos to my waiting rifle and slowly chambered a round.
I ranged an opening ahead of the bear’s path - 563 yds. I dialed the elevation. I knew in February I’d be taking this exact shot from this exact location to that ridge and I practiced often for it.
I settled in and calmed my breathing, watching the bear slowly enter the left edge of my scope walking along the reticle line. That’s a BIG bear! I slowly flipped the safety off... The boar slowly paused at the exact bush I was aiming at and as my finger felt the smoothness of the trigger, time slowed down. I checked my level, I was solid as could be, with only my heartbeat causing a faint, rhythmic bounce in the reticle. As I exhaled my next breath, I thought, “here was go…”
My 6.5 PRC roared and the Berger was on its way. I was back on the bear almost immediately as I heard a distant “THWOCK!” The bear didn’t move a muscle. I chambered another shell and was back on the bear again just in time to catch a flash of black and a lot of brush moving in a line just below where he had been standing. I pulled my ear plugs out to listen for a death moan and scanned the area. Silence.
I stood and took multiple videos talking myself through where he was standing, what little tree he was next to, etc… knowing it would all look different once I got there. I arrived over on the steep hillside 45 minutes later, sweat and bug spray pouring into my eyes and my ears pounding from the exertion in the heat. A quick check of the videos showed that I now stood where he had stood - no blood or hair, no sign of him. I spent 20 minutes working down the hill, parting the brush and searching for blood, hair, a scuff mark, anything. There was nothing.
I rewatched the video of me talking myself through where I had seen the bear going down the hill and realized my angle was off. I went back up to where he had been standing and glassed down the steep hill slightly over from where I had been looking. I spotted a small depression in the sea of 3-4 ft tall huckleberry bushes 30 yds below, one bush appeared pushed up against another. I bet… as I inched closer, I caught sight of a tiny bit of black hair.
The bear had died on his feet and had simply fallen over and rolled down - the shot was as perfect as it gets and I quickly realized that he was a brute.
After pictures I got quickly to work. As I processed the bear, the hot wind began to pick up and dust and ash began flying everywhere. It began absolutely howling along the ridge top I was on. The entire bear needed to get all the way down the mountain that night, a daunting task.
I know that mountain well. It is a nasty hellhole of vertical cliffs, chest high devil’s club and other unnamed sticker infested bushes designed by satan himself, followed by a maze of braided vine maple with bear tunnels through it, all on a grade steeper than my last property tax increase… It’s a true jaunt that feels like it never ends.
I finished caping the hide and shuttling quarter bags along the cliff top over to the timber. I had bags of 4 quarters, a head and hide bag, and a bag with everything else, plus all my gear. Leap-frogging was the only way I decided. When everything was done, I strapped the first load of 3 quarters on. It was brutally heavy and the hillside so steep that each step required absolute focus. I was recently told I had a torn meniscus in one knee and patellar tracking disorder in the other which added to the mix.
As I began the first leg, I planned out my drop points. 1) To the bottom of the first cliffs, 2) down the shale slide - do not start a rockslide, 3) top of the knife cliffs, 4) bottom of the knife cliffs, 5) bottom of the devil’s club field, 6) bottom of the bear tunnels through the vine maple chutes, 7) back of the swamp. Then it’s only a couple miles to the truck. Every one of those sections held their own unique misery and I wasn’t looking forward to any of them.
The thought of the following day’s heat kept me moving. Navigate painfully and very carefully down the hill and drop a load…hike quickly back up the hill and pick up a load…Repeat.
Then disaster struck. On the second leg, the frame stays split out the top of the frame of my pack from the weight and all the weight settled directly into my shoulders. I rigged up the best fix I could with 550 and duct tape, but it was miserable.
Around 3am, I found myself in the bear tunnels of the vine maple chutes, parting brush, grabbing rappel limbs, and sliding on my butt down the ridiculously steep hillside. Everything was cramping. My back, my fingers, my triceps, and legs all alternated locking up. My abs were on fire and my headlamp was growing very dim, but the brush was so thick I couldn’t see 5 feet ahead anyway. I dug my heels in and leaned back against the hill to stop for a breather and to check my track, knowing I had to follow a very specific route down to avoid being cliffed out.
I quickly realized that even though I had stopped moving, the brush nearby hadn’t.
Something’s over there, very close… Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me… No, that’s more brush moving… it’s shaking violently now. That’s VERY close, maybe 40 yds at most… The wind is blowing down the hill, whatever it is cannot smell me.
I held my breath, every fiber of my being trying to hear over my never ending tinnitus.
The brush paused and the soft whuff and popping of jaws told me the answer.
I was in the middle of the shuttle where my rifle was still up above me with the hide and last load of meat. I couldn’t see anything beyond what was right in front of my face through the brush.
It thinks I’m another bear and sounds pissed, it’s probably catching hints of that hide up above us. “Hey Bear!” “HEY BEAR!” “GET OUTTA HERE!!!” My best intimidating yell was in good form after my cougar experience a week and a half prior.
Only, the bear didn’t leave. I heard it pounding through the brush moving down then back up, pacing and stomping angrily around. It was the first time I can remember ever being legitimately worried about being mauled. My yelling seemed to make no difference.
It was a moonless night, in brush over my head, and my dim headlamp was good enough to see only the limbs directly in my face. I had planned to swap batteries at the next stop. I couldn’t drop the meat to go get the rifle for fear I wouldn’t find the meat again in the super thick brush. I slid on my butt another 100 yds straight down the hill to the next opening and paused. The bear is still up there. I dropped the meat as fast as possible and charged back up the chutes as quickly as the hillside would allow. It was a 10” of loose duff, crawl over those tree and under that one, take two steps and lose one, grab the vine maples and pull yourself up - super steep, thick, and nasty. My legs quivered from exhaustion. “Get back to the rifle now!” I kept telling myself while yelling into the inky darkness.
The bear was right there in the brush with me a little further away now but not gone, despite my yelling, calling it some disrespectful names and the like.
I frantically moved both loads post haste down the hill and l through the lower swamp. It was 4:15am. I needed a break. I had been completely locked in and focused on every step all the way down the mountain, then had a massive adrenaline rush, and was utterly exhausted, but the worst was now past.
At 4:45am I hung all the meat in the trees for airflow and got a snack… a nap was in order. I was so exhausted and soaked in sweat that I just laid down in a deer bed with a bug net over my face. The first hints of light were just greasing the horizon. I hadn’t yet recovered from the adrenaline and sleep was fleeting. I finally dozed off for about 20 minutes before waking. I laid there staring up at the stars and silhouettes of the trees against the dark blue pre-dawn sky. The sun was soon to break the horizon and I could feel the warmth growing in the breeze… time to move.
At 9:03am I experienced the world’s greatest feeling when I set the last load on the tailgate and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. I shot the bear at 5:37pm the night before. All in there were three 5 minute breaks and a 20 minute nap, and the rest was processing and leapfrogging two loads of gear, meat, and hide all night long.
On the long drive home, I reflected with pride over the hunt, the preparation I did for that exact shot that had paid off, how I’d taken care of the animal and the meat, and the effort I’d put in to make sure none was wasted.
I earned that.
The cuts, bruises, and every muscle in my body bear testament to that. Effort indeed makes for opportunity, and a year’s worth of bear meat, not to mention a memory for a lifetime are worthwhile rewards.
I enjoy this indeed…
