I went bear hunting back in the 80's with a co-worker (an ex-cowboy from Colorado), whos' only rifle was a model 94 "30-30" handed down to him from his grandpa. He staunchly maintained that "I've killed my elk every year, and a wagon load of deer with this rifle; and a guy doesn't need anything bigger". He was getting laughed at by the other guys on the job, and always took up the good fight with anyone that cared to argue the point.
Every Friday for a month, he cajoled one of us to help him bag this big blackie that he spotted up on the same mountain every time he went in to find it. He had wore out more than a couple of hunting partners with unsuccessful day long stalks. After hiking up 4 or 5 miles with him to an alpine lake, the bear was spotted yet again near the top of the same mountain. This only sighting was a brief glimpse through a parted cloud, in a rainstorm with foggy cheap binoculars. It was a long way up, but was indeed a big bear, and when I expressed some concerns about whether or not it was a blackie, I was assured that the bruin has been well identified in the past under much better conditions, and at any rate, we had come this far, so there was no turning back. Randy was obsessed like Ahab, and could literally run up mountains all day long without stopping. We spent the day busting brush to get around to the back side of the mountain, and then climbed over it from back to front, hoping we could come down on the bear from above. But at the end of the stalk, no bear was found.
As the rain turned into the first winter blizzard on the drive home, I listened to sad tales of how the bear always seemed to disappear into the mist and "that ravine" which was a narrow vertical walled canyon, choked with alders, that dropped straight down to the lake where we had began our stalk. A few weeks later and the job was over, we parted ways.
I did not see Randy until the following spring.He asked me if any of the guys from work had said anything about his new rifle. He chatted about his new 375 H&H bolt gun and plans for the upcoming fishing season. I asked him if he saw that bear again. He sheepishly conceded that he had gone back recently to look, and decided to just climb straight up the ravine to where the bear usually was spotted. It seemed easy enough he said , as the ravine was still filled with deep snow that covered the alders, and there was a good crust that kept him on top of the snowpack. He hiked up about two thousand feet, until he came around a large boulder, and surprised a brown bear sow at about 20 feet, she was reclining at the den entrance with two newborn cubs on her chest, sucking and soaking in the afternoon sunshine. He said that the cubs went flying as the bear jumped up at him. He did a 180 and started down the mountain, fast.
Well you are still here, so i see you managed to get back safe. "How close did she get" I asked? Damifino, he said, never looked back until I got to the truck, but I liked to crap my pants every time I punched through the crust and went up to my crotch in that sun warmed snow.
I thought that was a hell of an adventure, and asked if he finally retired that old 30-30, after all, he made it out in one piece, what was the problem, why did he need a new gun? Randy looked around to make sure no one else could hear. Hell no he said, but I need something in my hand when I went back to the boulder to get grandpas 30-30, I couldn't leave it there, it's been in the family since it was new.
