BLACK BEARS
"A Mother’s Love”
The Southern slopes were now turning green with their early season foliage, the creeks were swelling their banks and the mountains echoed with the thundering sounds of the last of the great spring avalanches.
Spring was in the air and the excitement of new beginnings was every where.
The glacier lilies were slowly starting to push their way to the surface, the willow and alder bushes were working to produce their new buds and the sun was gathering strength each morning as it climbed the peaks, casting it’s welcome warmth into the dark shadows of the long winter past.
It was there, high on the southern slopes of the great mountain that she, a four year old black bear sow, chose to introduce her new cubs to the world.
She had given birth deep within the confines of her winter’s den, one, a small brown boar and the other, a tiny black female. She had spent the weeks prior to the spring thaws deep inside the dark and musky surroundings of the den, nursing the tiny cubs, holding them against the warmth of her breast, feeling the instinctive bond of love grow with each moment that passed. Every time one of the cubs would stir, struggling to regain it’s hold on one of her nipples, she would feel something stir inside her, warmth and love for her tiny child, a love only a mother can feel.
Instinct had told her when the time was right for her to leave the den the first time, and, leaving the two now puppy sized cubs alone in the darkness, she broke open the entrance with a strong push, stumbling into the fresh air and warming sunshine. She was hesitant to travel more than a few hundred meter’s from the den yet her exploration was enough to tell her that there was enough growth amongst the fresh foliage to support her growing hunger.
The winter months had been long, and supporting her own bodily needs and the growth of her two nursing youngsters had depleted her stores of fat and inner proteins. She needed to feed now and the cubs needed the fresh air and sunlight to help them along with the amazing speed at which they grew.
When she returned to the den she could see the tiny tracks of her boar cub at the entrance, knowing he had now tasted the freshness of the outdoors, tasted the freedoms that awaited him and his tiny sister beyond the confines of the den. An excitement stirred within her as she crawled into the den and a desire to show her children their new world began to burn inside her.
More than a week passed, finding the young mother leaving the den more frequently, traveling further from the steadily growing cubs each time she ventured forth. Each time she returned she could see the evidence that now both of her youngsters were leaving the safety of the den and once she had returned to find them engaged in a wrestling match several meters from the entrance. The time was now upon her to take the pair of inquisitive youngsters on their first full day’s outing, time to show them the amazing world that surrounded them.
As the days grew slowly longer and the sun steadily warmer, the young mother found herself leading her joyous little cubs further and further from the safety of the den, further into the excitement of their new world. She watched carefully over the growing youngsters as she fed in the warmth of the spring, ever watching, feeling a protective warmth grow within her as the days passed and the cubs grew, a mother’s love.
The young boar cub was beginning to gain a confidence in his surroundings and was soon testing his mother’s patience with disobedience and solo adventures, one of which found him hanging in an alder tree with no idea of how to get down. His bawling soon brought his mother to the rescue and after several encouraging grunts he released his frantic grip on the suspended limb, tumbling from his perch to the ground below with a thump.
His little sister was much more reluctant to leave the safety of mother’s side, rarely venturing more than a few meters away from her watchful mother. She did however, spend considerable time watching her brother get himself into all sorts of predicaments, almost enjoying, with a little sister’s contempt, when mother would swat him off his feet for becoming too frustrating or getting underfoot and disrupting the task at hand.
The days grew longer, the spring snows subsided and the growth of the fresh clover in the valley bottoms soon drew the young family down from the safety of the high country, down into the depths of the valley, closer to the ugly brown lines carved into the earth, the access roads pushed into the heart of the wilderness by the timber companies.
Rich clover thrived along the edges of the mountain road and it’s sweet aroma attracted several of the valley’s resident bears, both grizzly and blacks to the lush and tasty feed. The young mother soon found herself feeding on the soft shoots that had sprouted along a shady road way, leading her young family slowly into the depths of an unfamiliar valley, leading them away from the safety and seclusion of the high mountain slopes.
The cubs were resting, nestled underneath the safety of a huge spruce tree and it’s drooping limbs, cuddled together in the warmth of the afternoon shadows while their mother fed quietly and alone along the edge of an aging road way. Suddenly her head came erect, her senses sharpened, a distant and strange rumble in the valley depths had broken the silence, an unfamiliar sound that scared and worried her. She tested the wind with her keen nose, listened to the strange sound as it drew nearer, turning towards the shadows along the creek were she had left the cubs with a fear growing inside her. She hurried towards the cubs when suddenly a horrible burning pain slammed into her side, a cry of pain and anguish burst from her as she thrashed in agony, trying desperately to reach her babies, to protect.
The rifle awakened the cubs with a horrible start and they listened in fear as the awful thunder echoed again through the valley.
The pain stricken moan that escaped their young, loving and protecting mother caused panic in the tiny siblings, and they listened in horror as the echoing thunder was followed by strange and horrific yells a hoops from some strange being.
They waited, trembling in fear, waited for their mother to come to their side, coming to protect them, to save them, to love them. They waited, waited alone until the starvation claimed them both in the dark and ominous shadows of the valley depths.
They waited, waited as dozens of young cubs wait every spring, waiting for their murdered mothers to return, never understanding as they grow weaker and weaker from the starvation and pain that claims their tiny lives.
Written by:
“A man from the wilderness”
It is not my intention with this story to detour you from hunting Black Bear, such a harvest is needed to ensure proper management of the species and to continue to instill the inherent fear of man within the Black Bear as a species.
The Black Bear has learned to co-exist with man and, in many cases, has learned to rely on man as a means of a constant food supply through our trash disposal and poorly contained food supplies while visiting wilderness areas.
I wrote this story with a desire to create a strong realization within the bear hunting community that there certainly is the need for the ability to distinguish the difference between a Boar and a Sow Black Bear while in the field hunting, to instill the fact that there are certain consequences that walk hand in hand with our lack of such abilities.
Tight Cinches & Dry Powder
“A man from the wilderness”
The black bear is without doubt one of the most difficult trophy species we hunt in North America to judge, both in size and gender. Years of hunting and viewing experience still leave room for error and one is never completely sure, unless able to witness a bear in a family unit or, through the event of observing a bear urinate, can the gender distinguished absolutely. Size is never an absolute judgment, small is small, medium is medium, and large is.....well, large is when he comes walking out and "HOLY COW" comes to mind.
The spring hunt is undoubtedly the most difficult time to pass judgment on the Black Bear, largely due to the fact the bears are slimmer in size from the long winter spent within the den and the depletion of their fat supplies, and the fact that the sow will often stash the cubs during the early spring while she is out in the open feeding. Throughout the summer and fall months however, the sow can be more frequently observed with her playful offspring at her side, and sometimes even under foot.
As I stated, small is small, long lanky legs, the appearance of a long neck, small head and over sized ears are all a good indication that the bear you are observing is small and not worthy of harvest.
Medium, well medium will appear to have a stouter body, shorter looking legs, not so long in the neck and ears that don't look like satellite dishes. A mid sized bear will walk with a slight swagger and have a well rounded shape to it's body. This the size of bear that is difficult to distinguish a sow from a boar and the only real way is to watch the bear urinate or to observe it with cubs. I can tell you to watch for a pointed, somewhat up turned snout which would usually indicate a sow, to look for a smaller more olive shaped head and a narrow looking front end but it's all just guessing until you run into big.
Big will cause your heart to skip a beat, your mouth to dry up and your mind to race a little. He'll look a baby buffalo ambling along, appear to have no neck, just a head attached to his body and a belly that nearly drags on the ground. This is big, the one you're looking for. Very few black bear sows ever reach six feet from nose to tail, a measurement most frequently used in the west to determine the size of a bear. A six foot bear is a big sow or an average boar, a six and a half foot bear is a good boar and anything bigger than that is getting into the trophy class. A black bear that measures longer than 7 feet nose to tail is extremely large and considered by anyone to be of trophy quality. This is big and there will be little doubt when you see him.
Over the past twenty five years in the mountains, I have witnessed nearly 200 bears be harvested; many a poor shot and many good ones as well. It is my opinion, and only my opinion so take it for what it's worth, that it is NOT a good idea to try busting your bear in the shoulder. It takes an exact, very precise shot to break both shoulders and I have very honestly only seen this done a very few times. Unfortunately I have seen numerous three legged bears run into the brush, a very disappointing and potentially deadly situation for the fella that has to take the rifle from his client and track the wounded and very upset bear into the thick brush.
Take the time to put a well placed shot into the lungs of the bear. Sight your cross hairs on his elbow, slide back just a couple of inches and squeeze. REMEMBER, a bear will always turn into the impact of a bullet, an ungulate will spin away from the impact. Secondly, if you shoot a bear on a steep hillside and it balls up and comes rolling down the hill looking like a large bowling ball, it is very much alive. Bears are no different than you, even though injured, they will ball up and protect themselves when falling or rolling down a steep slope and chances are that when he stops he's going to get up and run for cover, fast. If, after your shot the bears appears to be rolling down the mountain side in an uncontrolled, leg flailing crash, well he's most certainly been hit hard, there's still a good chance however, he could get up, so stay ready and give him an anchoring shot in the ribs when he comes to a stop. A good rule of thumb to always consider when hunting any big game," They can only go as far as their last breath of air will take them when shot through the lungs, they can seemingly go forever on three legs."
Written By
Ron Arnett
"A man from the wilderness"
