Wisconsinite Bill Foster arrowed a huge black bear in September 2022 that officially ties the state record for the largest black bear ever taken with a bow. It also ties the No. 4 all-time black bear in the Pope & Young record book. A group of big game scorers from several record-keeping agencies met multiple times over the winter to confirm the new record.

A panel of local scorers with the Wisconsin Buck and Bear Club first measured the bear’s skull in November and gave it a score of 22 11/16 inches. This matched the standing state record for a bow-killed black bear, which was taken from Chippewa County in 2003 by Duane Helland. It also made Foster’s bear an all-time top five animal in the P&Y book, which required him to send the skull to the organization in January and again in February to be panel scored at the Reno convention.

“They have confirmed the score, and I can officially say I have a trophy that sits at No. 4 all time in the Pope & Yound record books,” Foster wrote in an April Facebook post. “It’s also the largest black bear at the convention and the largest taken since I believe 2015.”

Foster, 45, harvested his bear on Sept. 8 during the third day of the state’s fall black bear season. He used bait to draw the bear into bow range and killed it on private land in northwestern Burnett County near the Minnesota state line.

“I had a trail camera out over a bait pile, which is legal in Wisconsin, and first got pictures of him on Sept. 6,” Foster tells Outdoor Life. “A visiting friend of mine, Scottie Layman from Tennessee, sat in that stand on opening evening, and he shot a 250-pound bear that may be large enough for Pope & Young.”

The 250-pounder was a great bear, but it wasn’t nearly as big as the one Foster had seen in the trail camera photos. He hunted over the same bait pile from the same stand the following morning and saw nothing. But when he returned to the stand that evening, the huge bear finally showed itself.

“I spotted the bear beyond my bait pile, and he was nervous because he was coming in downwind,” says Foster, who was shooting an Obsession Turmoil bow with a 62-pound draw. “I knew I had to take the first good shot I had because I sensed he was going to wind me and spook. He offered a perfect shot at 28 yards, and I took it.”

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Foster’s arrow, tipped with a Slick Trick fixed broadhead, hit the bear behind the shoulder and made a complete pass through. He found the bear dead only 45 yards away from where he’d shot it.

The bear weighed 478 pounds dressed (with an estimated live weight of 552 pounds), and Foster says he’s having a full-body mount done. When asked what kind of bait he used to bring the bear into range, he chuckles.

“I crushed a bunch of Jolly Rancher candies,” Foster says. “Bears just love ‘em.”

The post Bowhunter Officially Ties Wisconsin State Record for Largest Black Bear appeared first on Outdoor Life.

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My college buddy runs a sports-betting operation in Vegas, and he occasionally shares with me some of the surprising non-sports “events” that bookies make odds on. The number of named hurricanes in the Atlantic. The first song in a Taylor Swift concert. How many times President Biden says “fella” during a speech to union supporters.

So I asked him the other day: Is there a Vegas betting line on when grizzly bears will be removed from the federal endangered species list? He laughed.

“We prefer to bet on things that have a knowable answer,” he told me. Betting on grizzly bear recovery, he said, “is like betting on the existence of God.”

His perspective has lingered with me as I’ve watched skirmishes this spring and summer that will define the terms of grizzly bear management when (or if) state fish-and-game agencies take over from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. It seems equally likely these preemptive moves could keep the legal status of this iconic species in a sort of administrative purgatory, with bears recovered in sufficient numbers to lift federal protections, but with courts and public opinion expressing doubts about states’ fitness to manage them.

That context makes a series of otherwise unremarkable recent events into something more, the terms that will define not only the legal definition of grizzly bears, but a window into how Westerners either choose to live—or choose not to live—with this large, disruptive omnivore.

Over the shoulders of state legislators, governors, state wildlife commissions, and federal agencies is a running clock, started in early February by USFWS’ announcement that the feds would initiate a 90-day status review of grizzly populations in the Greater Yellowstone and Northern Continental Divide ecosystems. The agency was responding to petitions by the governors of Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana to start the delisting process.

“The Service finds two of these petitions [Idaho’s was rejected] present substantial information indicating the grizzly bear in the Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem (NCDE) and the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem (GYE) may qualify as their own distinct population segment and may warrant removal from the list of endangered and threatened wildlife.”

That announcement by USWFS—and that ticking clock—has inspired a sprint to stake out what a delisted-griz landscape would look like. Montana’s legislature went first, passing Senate Bill 295, which among other state management actions authorized livestock owners to kill grizzly bears either actively attacking livestock or deemed to be threatening to. Nothing out of the norm of state protections here, but SB295 went further, allowing these grizzly kill permits to be used outside of any established hunting season, and even on public land.

That’s a radical departure from previous state management prescriptions, which limited kill permits to private land. Public land is categorically different, argues Derek Goldman of the Endangered Species Coalition, one of more than a dozen environmental groups that signed a letter to Montana Gov. Greg Gianforte, urging him to veto SB295.

“We recognize that occasionally a landowner—working alongside bear specialists at FWP and having exhausted nonlethal efforts to prevent grizzly bear conflict—might need a lethal solution for a truly dangerous or habituated bear in their own barnyard,” wrote Goldman and other opponents of the legislation. “However, public land is a different scenario. Here, wildlife make their home, while livestock graze seasonally at the pleasure of (and subsidized by) the general public, often far from towns and ranches. We know of no other species managed by the Department that private citizens can obtain a permit to kill, on public land, outside of any established hunting season. Yet, SB295 creates this unprecedented authorization for our state animal—one of the slowest-reproducing and most mortality-sensitive species on the planet.”

Gianforte, who has told wildlife managers that one of his priorities in his first gubernatorial term is delisting grizzlies, allowed the legislation to become law. Goldman and other opponents say the sanctioning of a limitless season on grizzlies could persuade the Department of the Interior that states aren’t yet ready to assume grizzly bear management.

Grizzlies in the Upper Green

Conflicts between grizzly bears and public-land livestock aren’t confined to Montana. In Wyoming, environmental groups are dismayed that the U.S. Forest Service has approved a cattle-and-sheep grazing plan on the largest livestock allotment in the West. It’s in the upper Green River watershed, roughly between Yellowstone National Park and the Wind River Range, a place where grizzly bears often come into contact—and conflict—with domestic livestock. Under terms of the grazing permit, livestock agents are authorized to kill up to seven grizzlies a year for the next 10 years.

That lethal take, amounting to 72 grizzlies over the next decade, prompted activists to sue both USFS and USFWS. That suit was settled last month in favor of Upper Green River livestock grazers.

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At the heart of the opponents’ suit was their claim that the Upper Green River, along with other drainages that fall off the high, wild Yellowstone Plateau, are vital transition lands as expanding grizzlies pioneer new landscapes outside their protected parklands. But that argument suffered a public setback last month when a federal bear biologist reported that griz expansion into new habitats has ceased, and in the last years has even decreased.

Data from GPS-collared bears and other geo-locations suggest that “we are reaching the limits of even marginal habitat,” said Interagency Grizzly Bear Study Team leader Frank van Manen of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem “There’s more human influence [on the ecosystem periphery], and so we have a lot more human-bear conflict and higher [grizzly] mortality.”

Grizzly distribution is measured by GPS data from the dozens of bears collared in the GYE. The locations of grizzly deaths are also factored into the management picture. The data suggest that grizzly range has been stagnant over the last two years, van Manen told the Interagency Grizzly Bear Committee. It even retracted along the northern periphery of grizzly range in southern Montana. Overall the reduction in range amounted to 142 square miles—about 0.5 percent of the species’ total distribution.

Grizzlies on the Move

Distribution dynamics appear to be different in the Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem, where grizzlies are steadily moving outside of wildlands and into transition zones heavily used by humans. The NCDE stretches roughly from Interstate 90 through western Montana north to the Canadian line. The wild area includes the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex and Glacier National Park.

Significantly, it also includes adjacent wildlands that currently don’t have viable numbers of grizzlies. Like the Bitterroot Mountains south of Missoula, Montana. The Bitterroots, which range into Idaho, had earlier been identified as a grizzly restoration zone, and were on tap to receive as many as 25 transplanted grizzlies. But changes in presidential administrations and court rulings suspended that translocation work.

Still, grizzlies have been naturally moving toward the Bitterroot, and in April a federal judge ordered USFWS to study the area’s capacity for supporting a grizzly bear population.

Meanwhile, bears have been spilling out of the Bob Marshall Wilderness into the adjacent eastern plains, where some bears routinely get in trouble with farmers and townspeople. Last month, a grizzly bear was killed near the wheat-growing town of Conrad, and other bears have ventured far to the east.

Will We Ever Hunt Grizzly Bears?

Most people reading this are probably eager to hear that with state management of delisted grizzly bears will come sport-hunting seasons. Not so fast, say both state wildlife agencies and a mixed chorus of bear defenders.

First, Montana’s Fish and Wildlife Commission, in considering rules that would direct state management of grizzlies, notes that sport hunting is “the most desirable method” for balancing the number of bears with available habitat. In that way, management of bears would conform to norms used to manage other big-game populations. But the commission also noted that it’s in no hurry to implement a hunting season, suggesting that the state would manage bears for at least five years before any hunting season would be proposed.

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Because grizzly bears reach sexual maturity relatively late in life, and because their reproductive potential is much slower than black bears, wolves, and any ungulate species, the species requires special management considerations, argues Dave Mattson, former grizzly bear biologist for the U.S. Geological Service.

As a consequence of their reproductive dynamics, “grizzly bear populations are unable to accommodate much human-caused mortality without declining, and even small rates of decline, if sustained, can result in catastrophic losses,” Mattson writes in a paper published by the Grizzly Bear Recovery Project that looks at the effects of sport hunting. “This sensitivity of grizzly bear populations to even small added increments of mortality leaves managers with little margin of error.”

There are two ways to look at that perspective. On the one hand, maybe hunting is the tool that state wildlife managers need to keep grizzly bears contained to small home ranges. The other way to look at it is that, if we are ready to take on the responsibility of sustainably hunting grizzly bears, then we should probably let them expand into as many areas as possible, in order that regulated hunting doesn’t push them back into endangered status.

All the variables—political, cultural, physical, and biological—that will influence grizzly bear management over the next decade can make your head spin. And they’re clearly too much for my Vegas bookie, who notes that, besides a knowable conclusion, the best bets also have the fewest variables.

The post The Clock Is Ticking as the Feds Grapple with Delisting Grizzly Bears appeared first on Outdoor Life.

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A coalition of hunting groups, led by the Sportsmen’s Alliance, petitioned on Thursday the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to remove gray wolves in the upper Midwest from the Endangered Species Act. But in a surprise move, a related petition recommends special management consideration for wolves that roam in Western states outside the core Rocky Mountain region, where wolves are already delisted.

The two-pronged petition addresses courts’ concerns that the wholesale loss of federal protections isn’t in the long-term interest of wolf populations expanding to California, Oregon, and Washington.

The first petition, co-signed by Michigan Bear Hunters Association, Upper Peninsula Bear Houndsmen Association, and Wisconsin Bear Hunters Association, is intended to force courts to recognize the recovery of wolves in the Western Great Lakes states. Populations of gray wolves in the Upper Midwest, defined as a distinct population segment, or DPS, by the USFWS, have vastly exceed federal recovery goals, points out Todd Adkins, vice president of government affairs at the Sportsmen’s Alliance.

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“The total population [of the Great Lakes population segment] now exceeds 4,000 wolves,” he says. “This includes estimates of 2,700 wolves in Minnesota, 1,000 in Wisconsin, and more than 600 in Michigan.”

USFWS’ original recovery goals for the species was 1,400 for Minnesota and a minimum combined population of 100 wolves for Michigan and Wisconsin together. In all three states, wildlife managers estimate that wolves occupy nearly all suitable habitat throughout their range.

The Service has delisted the Western Great Lakes DPS numerous times in the past. In October 2020, the Trump Administration returned management of wolves in both the Great Lakes and Rockies to states and tribes. The delisting of the Great Lakes population was later overturned by a federal judge.

But Adkins notes that courts’ decisions over delisting stemmed, not over population concerns, but rather “due to FWS’ failure to address ‘remnant’ wolves that exist outside of established population segments like the Western Great Lakes and Northern Rocky Mountains. The concern repeatedly raised by federal judges is that delisting the WGL DPS could remove protections for remnant wolves elsewhere in the country.”

The second petition lodged by the hunting groups recognizes the courts’ order, and requests that the USFWS create a West Coast Wolf (WCW) distinct population segment consisting of the partially recovered and rapidly growing wolf populations outside the Rockies, specifically in northern California, eastern Oregon, and northeastern Washington.

“The coalition recommends that this newly established WCW DPS be listed at the threatened level, thereby downlisting this population from endangered status, providing maximum flexibility to state wildlife managers,” says Adkins. “Assigning this remnant population into a new DPS will provide FWS with much needed flexibility going forward.

“Second, our petition asks that FWS create a ‘non DPS’ consisting of all wolves in the lower 48 states that are not otherwise included in an established DPS. This will mean that all wolves outside of a DPS will continue to be protected under the ESA as endangered under the original 1978 listing.”

Adkins says that the collective purpose of the two petitions creates a “clear pathway for USFWS to recognize wolf recovery where it has taken place while continuing to ensure management flexibility under the endangered species act for remnant wolves in the West and throughout the country. Granting the requests within the two petitions in tandem also would align FWS’ approach with federal court rulings in a number of cases over several years.”

“These two petitions are following a blueprint established by the federal courts on gray wolves and the ESA,” says Adkins. “Instead of a quick fix, this is a long-term strategy to get wolf management back in the state agencies where it belongs instead of locked up in litigation brought by the extremists to keep their fund-raising juggernaut running full steam.”

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“Michigan’s gray wolves have exceeded recovery goals for over two decades now and it’s far past time to give our state’s professional wildlife managers the authority they need to make the best science-based decisions for both the animals and residents that call our state home,” added Michigan Bear Hunters Association president Keith Shafer. “Michigan’s recently updated Wolf Management Plan, crafted with input from all stakeholders, shows we’re ready and able to take over that responsibility today, to ensure gray wolves are sustainably managed for generations to come like all of our other wildlife.”

USFWS has 90 days to respond that the petition is “warranted” or “not warranted.” If warranted, the federal agency will craft a rule, then open it to a predictably contentious public comment period.

The post Hunting Groups Petition Feds to Delist Wolves in Great Lakes Region appeared first on Outdoor Life.

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Best Electronic		FOXPRO XWAVE	SEE IT
Best Distress Call		Flextone Game Calls Dying Rabbit	SEE IT
Best Diaphragm Call		FOXPRO Young Gun Howler	SEE IT

Depending on your hunting situation, an effective coyote call might be an electronic one that can cut through wind or terrain. On the other hand, open reed and mouth calls have drawn plenty of coyotes to their demise. Both have their place, and I’ve had luck using a combination of them in my 22 years hunting coyotes. In fact, most consistently successful predator hunters rarely hunt without both types of calls. Like other wild game, you’ll be hard pressed to find one call that fits every hunt or even every dog. It’s best to have a variety of calls, so you’re prepared whether you’re calling a wary coyote that hangs up just out of range or one that runs blindly into your setup. To make sure you’re prepared no matter where you’re hunting, I’ve narrowed down a list of the best coyote calls to use this season.

• Best Electronic: FOXPRO XWAVE
• Best Distress Call: Flextone Game Calls Dying Rabbit
• Best Remote: FOXPRO Hi-Jack with TX1000 Remote
• Best Open Reed Howler: Rocky Mountain Hunting Calls Stealth Parvo
• Best Budget Electronic: Hunters Specialties Johnny Stewart Executioner
• Best Diaphragm: FOXPRO Young Gun Howler
• Best Electronic for Beginners: Primos Dogg Catcher 2
• Best for Long Distance: Lucky Duck Super Revolt

How We Picked The Best Coyote Calls

I’ve hunted with these calls and many others over the years. For this review, I covered the needs of every caliber of coyote hunter and budget. With each call, I considered the ease of use and sound quality. For electronic calls, I focused on battery life, remote distance, speaker clarity, and additional features that benefit hunters.

The Best Coyote Calls: Reviews & Recommendations

Best Electronic: FOXPRO XWAVE

FOXPRO

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Why It Made the Cut: Of all the electronic calls I’ve used, the FOXPRO XWAVE has more advanced features, like hands-free sound switching, a 100-yard remote control distance, and Bluetooth capability, which gives the user access to over 1,000 sounds.

Key Features

• Remote Operating Distance: 100 yards in ideal conditions
• Uses three AA batteries
• 50 presets
• Bluetooth compatible
• Auto or manual volume
• Adjustable pitch

Pros

• Store or accesses up to 1,000 sounds
• Easy to read screen remote
• Long-lasting battery life

Cons

• Bulky
• No built-in stand to elevate the call
• Expensive

The FOXPRO XWAVE features two positional Extreme High Definition (XHD) speakers. Both horn-style speakers feature an added tweeter for improved frequency. They produce extremely loud, realistic sounds, so you can call in coyotes at crazy distances in a variety of terrain or conditions.

You can operate the XWAVE with the popular TX1000 remote that features a full-color graphic LCD screen, which displays the sound list or sound categories and has a barometer, moon phase, temperature, and battery level indicators, as well as a stand timer. You can also run the XWAVE by Bluetooth and play other sounds from your library.

I used this call more than any other last year and had more than a few coyotes come running within shotgun range. Whether I hunted in rain, snow, or windy conditions it cut through them all. The XWAVE might run more than your predator rig, but if money isn’t an issue and you want a reliable, realistic call, this one is hard to beat.    

Best Distress Call: Flextone Game Calls Dying Rabbit

Flextone Game Calls

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Why It Made the Cut: With the Dying Rabbit, you can easily manipulate the tone and volume to fine tune your distress calls.

Key Features

• Flexible body and sound chamber
• Includes lanyard
• Produces dying rabbit sound

Pros

• Makes loud or subtle calls
• Easy to use
• Realistic distress sounds
• Budget-friendly 

Cons

• Soft body can collapse when you’re trying to direct a call

The Flextone Game Calls Dying Rabbit is a coaxer at close range and an attention-grabber across long distances. Squeeze the end closed for a quiet whine and release it for increased volume. Thanks to the flexible body you can change tone and inflection.

This past winter on a hunt in a wooded river bottom, I was using an electronic call but decided the sound echoed too much. I swapped to the Dying Rabbit and had a coyote respond after a few minutes of calling. Whether you’re on a budget or need a solid backup, this call is too affordable and realistic not to have around your neck.  

Best Remote: FOXPRO Hi-Jack with TX1000 Remote

FOXPRO

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Why It Made the Cut: The FOXPRO Hi-Jack and TX1000 remote allow the user to control volume, sound selection, categorize a favorite sound list, and operate a decoy.

Key Features

• Remote Operating Distance: Over 100 yards in ideal conditions 
• Color remote display
• Includes 100 FOXPRO sounds
• Elastomeric keypad
• Decoy operation

Pros

• Easy to see LCD screen
• Durable
• Stand timer

Cons

• Remote doesn’t attach to call for storage
• Pricey

The Hi-Jack has ample volume in a lightweight package that includes a decoy and FOXPRO’s most sought-after remote, the TX1000. This electronic call comes standard with 100 high-quality sounds, but it holds up to 1,000, so you can add your customized playlist to it. Perhaps the best part about this call, the TX1000 remote, features a full graphic LCD screen, which displays the sound list or categories. It has auto-volume, wireless upload to the remote, a battery level indicator, a timer, and a time clock. For an extremely customizable setup, the Hi-Jack has plenty of features that make it a versatile call for a variety of hunting situations. It doesn’t have the sound range of the XWAVE, but it has no problem reaching dogs that are a few hundred yards out. 

Best Open Reed Howler: Rocky Mountain Hunting Calls Stealth Parvo

Rocky Mountain Hunting Calls

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Why It Made the Cut: I have always been a massive fan of howling at the beginning of a stand, and the Stealth Parvo makes deep adult coyotes and younger pup howls with minimal air flow.

Key Features

• V.E.T.T. air system
• Wide reed
• Plastic body
• Mimics coyotes

Pros

• Versatile coyote sounds
• Loud
• Budget-friendly

Cons

• Takes practice to make realistic sounds

The Stealth Parvo allows you to sweet-talk coyotes into range. This open reed howler produces crisp, clear high notes of young coyotes, barks, and the deeper howls of mature coyotes. Thanks to the V.E.T.T. system, you can produce loud, realistic sounds without exhausting your lungs.

I used the Stealth Parvo on several nights and early mornings to locate coyotes. It works great for sharp barks and howls and for pairing with other distress calls. While it isn’t the most user-friendly for beginners, a little practice can make this a handy call when you need to get the coyotes talking. 

Best Budget Electronic: Hunters Specialties Johnny Stewart Executioner

Hunters Specialties

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Why It Made the Cut: The compact size, speaker quality, 300-yard range communication technology, and price make the Executioner a steal.

Key Features

• Remote Operating Distance: 300 yards
• Horn speaker
• Carabiner for hanging or mounting
• Uses 12 AA batteries for whole unit

Pros

• Easy to hang or mount
• Intuitive remote
• Built-in kickstand
• Includes premium Johnny Stewart sounds

Cons

• Volume suffered in wide-open areas

The Johnny Stewart Executioner is an easy-to-use electronic call system in a small package. It includes 100 preloaded Johnny Stewart sounds but has the capacity for more. And the remote has a 2.4-inch color screen and a 300-yard range, which gives you options for your setup.

The speaker will hit volumes up to 120 decibels and reach coyotes at distant ranges. I also appreciate the operating distance, which gives you options when it comes to setups. With the built-in legs you can position it off the ground or use the built-in carabiner to hang or mount it from an elevated position to strategically direct your sounds. Better yet, this call runs at a fraction of other electronic options. I did notice that the sound quality isn’t the best in open country, but that’s to be expected at this price point. Still, the operating distance makes this a great option for hunters on a budget.

Best Diaphragm: FOXPRO Young Gun Howler

FOXPRO

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Why It Made the Cut: The two-reed design of the Young Gun Howler is a versatile, easy to use diaphragm that imitates younger coyotes.

Key Features

• Red .004mm latex on top
• Prophylactic .003mm bottom reed
• Medium-sized frame

Pros

• User-friendly
• Flexible tape adjusts your mouth
• Produces realistic howls, barks, and whines of younger coyotes

Cons

• Requires a bit of a break-in for the latex

The Young Gun Diaphragm Howler is a two-reed diaphragm that offers high pitch and tone to imitate young coyotes. This mouth call is easy to use and can produce calls at a wide range of volumes. The Young Gun howler creates realistic young coyote vocalizations such as howls, barks, yips, chirps, and challenges.

No matter when or where I’m hunting, I always carry a diaphragm. The Young Gun has helped me imitate younger coyotes during summer and early fall hunts. I like to mix the Young Gun Howler with sounds from an electronic call to create the illusion that multiple coyotes are hanging out together. Whether you’re trying to call them in during daylight or hunting coyotes at night, if you’re looking to add another call to your arsenal, you should consider this easy-to-use diaphragm.

Best Electronic for Beginners: Primos Dogg Catcher 2

Primos Hunting

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Why It Made the Cut: The intuitive controls of the Primos Dogg Catcher 2 makes this one of the best coyote calls for beginners.

Key Features

• Remote Operating Distance: 100 yards
• Built-in carry handle
• Plays two sounds simultaneously
• Adjustable legs

Pros

• Remote attaches to the side of the call base for easy retrieval
• Decent sounds and volume
• Adjustable legs help direct sound

Cons

• Antenna is a bit flimsy
• Low battery life

The Primos Dogg Catcher 2 is a compact, user-friendly electronic call that takes a lot of the guesswork out of calling for beginners. It includes twelve pre-loaded sounds from expert predator caller Randy Anderson, which is plenty for those who are just getting started, but not so many that you’re overwhelmed with options. Other features include a 150-yard remote range and the ability to play two sounds simultaneously to create realistic stands. 

Best for Long Distance: Lucky Duck Super Revolt

Lucky Duck

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Why It Made the Cut: With an elevated tripod and rotational, high output speakers the Super Revolt carries sounds better than other electronic calls I’ve used in the past. 

Key Features

• Operating Distance: 100 yards
• Rotational Base
• 200 preloaded sounds
• Plays two sounds at once

Pros

• Well-lit remote is easy to see in daylight or dark
• Decoy features plenty of movement
• Holds up to 2,000 sounds
• Cuts through wind

Cons

• Expensive
• Bulky

The Super Revolt is built off Lucky Duck’s classic Revolt and features an updated design that is more rugged and durable thanks to its protective silicone cover. It features 200 preloaded sounds with a capacity of 2,000 and can play two sounds at once. And the live animal sounds it includes were compiled by The Verminator, Rick Paillet.

One thing I appreciate about the Super Revolt is the robust tripod, which elevates the call and helps cast sounds farther, especially if you’re hunting open, windy conditions or locations with a lot of terrain features. The included decoy tail features an erratic twitching motion that helps coyotes spot it from long distances.

Things to Consider Before Buying a Coyote Call

Because coyote calls range anywhere from a few dollars to almost $1,000, your first consideration should be how much time you spend hunting. It doesn’t matter where you hunt, you probably won’t drop serious cash on a call that you only use a few times every year. Once you figure that out, here are a few things to help find the calls that best fit you. 

Electronic or Not

Electronic calls are helpful, but not everyone needs them. And even with their sound storage capacity and loud volume ranges, electronic calls aren’t a sure-fire every time. If you plan on hunting a variety of regions and double digit days (or nights) every season, then an electronic call might justify the cost. If you’re testing the predator hunting waters, it might be best (and cheapest) to start with an open reed or mouth call before committing to an electronic call.

Location

If you’re coyote hunting in open prairie country or regions with a lot of vegetation and terrain features, you might need to invest in an electronic call that coyotes at extreme distances can hear. However, if you hunt high density areas, open reed or diaphragm calls can work just fine. But even these situations have exceptions.

Remote Distance

How far do you typically set your caller out when hunting? If you rarely need a remote that reaches over 100 yards, you probably don’t need to drop the extra cash on one that reaches out to 300. But in open terrain, setups can be slim pickings, and sometimes it pays to set up farther back. In this case, opting for a greater remote distance can be the difference in dropping a coyote or going home empty-handed.

FAQs

Final Thoughts on the Best Coyote Cals

The best coyote calls can change on any given hunt. That’s why it’s important to have multiple options in your pack. I’ve heard other hunters say that you just need to sound like something a coyote wants to eat. While this is partially true, you also need to consider the time of year and terrain and weather conditions to maximize your calling strategies.

The post The Best Coyote Calls of 2023 appeared first on Outdoor Life.

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One of the most intriguing things about the black bear as a game animal is that there are so many different ways to hunt them. You can wait for them over bait, chase them behind hounds, or stalk them in high-mountain meadows. I’ve been lucky to have done all three, and each method has its own niceties—dogs were the most thrilling, stalking was the most challenging, and waiting for bears from a treestand was the most familiar to a deer hunter like me. 

However, if you want to see a lot of bears, perhaps the best method is driving old logging roads in early summer, when sows are out feeding on new growth and rutting boars are never far behind. This is how I hunted black bears last June in central British Columbia with Alpha Dog Outfitters on an invite from Remington Ammunition. 

On most hunts, I try to get as far away from the truck as possible. I’d rather hike the hills listening for bugling elk, breathing in fresh mountain air, than ride bumpy backroads listening to a bad country music station with my hunting partners’ farts wafting through the truck. But on this hunt, it was clear that our guide Jeremy Bettcher’s 4×4 Ram would be far more effective than a pair of hiking boots. By the end of the first day, our two groups of hunters in two roving pickups had spotted more than 50 black bears and one sow grizzly, to top it off. By getting to see that many bears, we’d be able to hold for the biggest, most mature boars.

Welcome to Black Bear Country

Black bears are thriving across North America. As populations increase in the Northeast, bear encounters create all kinds of headlines. Last winter, New Jersey had its first bear hunt since 2020. Missouri hosted its first modern bear hunt in 2021. With all the media coverage, which can sometimes make it seem as if America’s suburbs are being overrun by bears, it’s easy to forget that the heart of black bear country is far to the northwest. British Columbia has an estimated 160,000 black bears (more than a quarter of Canada’s black bear population). The entire Lower 48 has a rough estimate of 400,000 black bears in total.

This hearty population of B.C. bears is supported by the province’s deep forests and active logging industry. The area we were hunting, south of Prince George, was thick coniferous forest cut by glacial lakes and rivers and plenty of logging activity. In fact, Bettcher’s full time gig was working in the bush as a buncher (meaning he runs the heavy equipment that grabs loose logs, cuts them, and stacks them in bunches).

Not long after an area is logged, new growth sprouts up which bears devour in late spring and early summer. This happens along countless miles of logging road ditches which turn yellow with dandelions by June. Sows and their cubs come to the logging roads to feast on dandelions. Boars use the roads to travel long distances and find sows in heat. 

Once we left town, almost all the ground was public, or “Crown Land” as they say in Canada. 

It’s probably important to note that the description of “road” is generous. Most of these logging roads were more like abandoned two-track trails. We saw few other trucks during our patrols, as most locals prefer to do their driving for moose in the fall, not bears in the summer.

Riding for Black Bears

The goal of our hunting strategy was to spot a mature male bear from the truck, at a distance of about 200 yards. He’d either be far down the road ahead of us, or in an open logging cut. We’d sneakily get out of the truck, stalk along the ditch to get a close shot, and kill him right there on the road. 

The tactic works because this area has such an incredible bear density and because bears—at least in this country—are not all that concerned about trucks or humans until they get close. The key was spotting the bears before spooking them with the truck. If a bear stepped even five yards off the road, it disappeared into impenetrable forest. He might decide to come back out to the road after 15 minutes, or an hour, or never. 

To hunt this way effectively, you need to know when to drive slowly and look carefully in productive areas, and when to speed through unlikely spots. As Bettcher would slow down and speed up, I began to recognize fruitful ground vs. no man’s land. Long straightaways with wide roadsides covered in heavy dandelion growth made for ideal hunting ground. Winding roads with minimal forage meant putting the pedal down. 

My hunting partner, Matt Rice from Bushnell, graciously let me claim the first shot, so I rode shotgun to start. My job was to be ready to jump out of the truck at any moment, moving quietly and efficiently. No searching around for ammo, no slamming truck doors. My loaded magazine stayed in my pocket (along with an extra shell), my unloaded rifle sat next to my leg, along with my shooting sticks, and my binocular rode around my neck. Shots would likely be from the standing or kneeling position and inside 200 yards—more likely inside 100 yards. 

We saw our first few bears not more than an hour into our drive. A few looked like good-sized boars and we left the truck to stalk closer before deciding to pass. We’d creep single file along the ditch, sticking close to the timber. We’d move when the boar put his head down to feed or looked away. When he looked in our direction, we froze. We made several “practice” stalks, which were thrilling in their own right. Creeping along the woodline reminded me of belly crawling toward a big flock of geese, as a kid, just to see how close I could get before they finally got nervous enough to fly off. The critter is half-aware of your presence the whole time, and could decide to flee at any moment. 

Field-judging bears is a real skill, but we would take an unscientific approach. We’d keep driving and looking until we found a boar that was an unmistakable giant, one that got everyone in the truck to reflexively whisper “holy…” 

“We’ll know him when we see him,” Bettcher said.

Record Book Bears

Some hunters are lucky. They seem to punch tags even on tough hunts. On hunts where opportunities are plenty, they seem to kill the big one in camp—and they often do it on the first day of the trip. Bettcher is one of these lucky hunters, much to the chagrin of his childhood best friend and our outfitter Shawn Murray. 

I think the secret to being a lucky hunter is a fierce sense of optimism. When you truly believe you’ll kill one, you stay sharp the whole time and you end up capitalizing on the opportunities you get. And if you just keep trying, you end up getting opportunities other hunters wouldn’t. When things go wrong and the critters don’t cooperate, you don’t worry about it, because the hunting gods will surely smile upon you again soon. I like to consider myself one of these lucky hunters, at least most of the time.          

Just before noon on the first day, we pulled over the crest of a hill and Bettcher spotted a bear that made us all whisper “Holy …” 

We piled out of the truck and crept closer, just like in the practice stalks before. We got within about 120 yards before I dropped to a knee on the side of the road and set my rifle on the shooting sticks. The massive boar was on his own and headed in our direction, meandering from one side of the road to the other. 

When he turned perfectly broadside, I squeezed off a shot and the boar crumpled in the road, not taking a step.

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Read Next: Where to Shoot a Bear

What you don’t see in the video above is that my shot hit him high through the shoulder, dropping him only temporarily. A follow-up shot through the lungs put him down for good, not five feet off the road. 

When we got up close, I was shocked by the size of him. His paws were more than five inches wide and his head reminded me of a giant Halloween pumpkin. It didn’t take too much imagination to visualize the power that a bear of this size could generate, with his tearing claws and smashing jaws. 

I can’t give an accurate guess on the weight of the bear, but I can say it took all three of us everything we had to hoist him into the truck (even after he was gutted). 

The next day, Rice was in the shotgun seat when we bumped into an even bigger bear. An almost comically fat boar was bird dogging a sow, along the side of the road. He stuck around just long enough for Rice to jump out of the truck and make a quick shot at close range. That bear crashed down only a few yards into the bush. 

After skinning and butchering the bears, Bettcher helped us rough score the skulls. This is done with two simple measurements: the skull length and width. My bear ended up scoring 21 12/16 inches and Matt’s was just barely smaller (though it had a bigger body). The B&C all-time qualifying score for black bears is 21 inches.    

I didn’t know any of this before the hunt and had no intention of killing a bear that might qualify for the book. I say might because skulls shrink and our measuring was imperfect (we were using a tape measure and some old deck boards). But still, if the Boone & Crockett scoring system is meant to mark the health and vibrance of any given game population, then consider the scores from this hunt as just one small piece of evidence in the case that the giant black bears of the Northwest are doing just fine.  

Loaded for Bear

On this hunt both Rice and I were shooting the new Remington Premier Long Range loads, which utilize Speer’s Impact bullet. The Impact is a bonded bullet with a polymer tip, boattail, and Premier Long Range is now available in a variety of popular calibers from 6.5 Creedmoor up to .300 PRC. Speer is one of Remington’s sister companies under Vista ammunition, and it’s interesting to see how the companies are beginning to share components and technology across a variety of different product lines.

Read Next: Best Bear Cartridges

Obviously, neither of our bears were taken at anything close to long range. And the loads were so new (only .30-06 and .300 Win. Mag. were available at the time) that I didn’t procure enough ammo to do any real accuracy testing with them. But here’s what I can say about their performance: On all shots we got full passthroughs, with no indication that the bullets badly fragmented. That’s key for a true long-range bullet, which needs to expand at lower velocities but not blow to pieces at high velocities for close-range shots. Will the Premier Impact, become the next acclaimed long-range load? It’s far too early to tell, because it’s a competitive market with a lot of accurate loads out there. All I can say definitively at the moment is that it works as advertised on giant black bears at close range.

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I HAVE A very specific premonition of my own death. While the logistics are fuzzy, the end is disturbingly detailed in my subconscious.

I’m walking, or maybe fishing, on the mucky edge of a swampy pond. There’s a commotion in the malarial water, but I’m too late in reacting. Before I know it, a monstrous reptile, a bull crocodile or alligator, has my leg and is pulling me in. What sticks in my cerebral cortex isn’t a sensation of pain, or any regrets at the end of life, but the sickening sense that the animal at the other end of those gangrenous teeth has no soul. It’s not evil or devious, just a cold-eyed executioner. Among my last thoughts as I disappear in the bloody froth is the discouragement that my body will sustain such a loveless creature.

I’ve had an uneasy fascination with large reptiles since I was a kid. Snakes don’t bother me, much, and turtles amuse me, but alligators and crocodiles are to me the very picture of death, which maybe accounts for my fatalistic relationship with them. I was maybe 9 or 10 when my father shared with me a similar dread about the disposition of his own corporeal remains. He feared that his body might expire in the woods below our farmhouse, where it would be devoured at night by loathsome possums. My dad really hated possums, not for any specific crime they had committed, but I think because they are similarly soulless as crocodiles.

One of my favorite stories from this time of life was Rudyard Kipling’s “The Elephant’s Child,” a parable contained in the delightful collection of colonial-era “Just So Stories.” I first listened to these stories on a 33 rpm vinyl record that my parents owned. In the recording, Sterling Holloway—the voice of the original Winnie the Pooh—narrated a strange and useful yarn about the risk and reward of curiosity.

In the story, the elephant’s child roams across southern Africa, asking every animal it encounters the same question: What does a crocodile have for dinner? And every time it asks, the elephant’s child gets spanked for his “’satiable curiosity,” first by his parents, then in turn by ostriches, giraffes, hippos, and pythons until it finally meets a crocodile along the banks of the “great gray-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees.” The crocodile grabs the stunted nose of the young elephant, which pulls back with such vigor that his nose grows in length and circumference and musculature. This is how, in Kipling’s telling, elephants got their trunks, by being curious and adventurous, and by ignoring the possible perils in the water.

A Nuisance Crocodile

Kipling’s story sprang to mind as I was preparing for my own travels across southern Africa last month. I was headed to South Africa to hunt plains game with Chad Schearer, who handles media relations for Bergara Rifles. I had a specific goal: to hunt a common reedbuck, an obscure antelope native to the tall grass along the waterways and upland streams of central South Africa.

But first we intended to hunt a newish concession in the Limpopo Province, about three hours north of Johannesburg. Chad had gotten there a few days before my arrival; I was just leaving the U.S. when he called.

“Wanna hunt a croc?” he asked, although he full-well knew the answer. “At least one has shown up in a waterway on the concession we’re hunting, and apparently it’s eating a lot of goats and other animals. The PH is looking for someone to remove it.”

I told Chad I’d get there as soon as I could.

Apparently the presence of the depredating croc was top of mind for Egbert Boon, the owner of Sensational Safaris and our PH for the week. Egbert was raised on the Limpopo farm where we hunted. His father was a livestock veterinarian who started a cattle feedlot on the property, which occupies several thousand acres of thornbush and zebra grass in the rugged Waterberg mountains. But Egbert and his brother, Petir, were much more interested in the impala, kudu, and nyala that roamed the wilder corners of their farm. They started the safari company several years ago to guide hunters on their own place and those of their neighbors.

I had just arrived, dealing with both jetlag and building expectations, and was putting my luggage in a guest cottage when Boon asked if I was ready to find the problem reptile.

“I’d like to sight in my rifle first,” I told him. “How far do you expect shots at a crocodile?”

He thought we’d be well within 100 yards, and I wanted to make sure my rifle, a Bergara Wilderness Ridge Carbon chambered in .300 Winchester Magnum, was shooting where I aimed the Konus Evo scope atop it, especially important after the abuses of cross-Atlantic travel and airport baggage handling.

On the long trip to Africa, I studied shot placement and hunting advice for large Nile crocodiles, and two imperatives stuck in my mind. First, never shoot bull crocs in the water, implored several sources, including my old friend Kevin “Doctari” Robertson, whose best-selling book, “The Perfect Shot,” details shot placement on most species of African big game.

The problem with shooting a croc in water is that, even if killed instantly, it will often sink into the treacherous depths, making retrieval problematic.

“In hunting a crocodile, it is of vital importance that the animal is immobilized and anchored on your first shot, otherwise it will disappear back into the water and you will never see it again,” write the authors of “The Practical Shot,” a field guide to shot placement on African game.

It’s important to place a bullet in the golf-ball-sized brain, and because shooters hidden along the riverbank are often at the same elevation as the reptile, Doctari and other sources suggest a side-on shot to the head, using the rear curve of a crocodile’s iconic “smile” as an aiming point. But they stress the difficulty of that shot, and reports of near misses almost always result in an unretrieved lizard—and wounded crocs can be notoriously cranky. Veteran croc shooters advise that if shooters can get an elevational advantage, they should aim for the rearward top of the crocodile’s skull in order to immobilize the lizard brain and short-circuit the slow, twitchy, unpredictable death that characterizes the end of most large reptiles.

“Backup shots: Place through shoulders and hips,” writes Doctari. “Use solids for backup shots.”

I also recalled various hunting stories of big crocodiles and alligators through history. One of the most visceral accounts is from Theodore Roosevelt, who encountered big crocs during his African safaris and later Amazon gators during his 1913 and 1914 expedition into Brazil’s equatorial forest. His experience charting what was called the “River of Doubt” caused TR to dub bull crocodiles as “most formidable reptiles” and revived my own subconscious death-memory.

Encounter with a Lizard

My rifle sighted and my excitement ramping, Egbert gathered the lot of us—Chad, Chad’s son (and ace videographer) Walker Schearer, and PH Hanro Smith—in his Toyota Hi-Lux to drive to the reptile-infested water. I pictured a slow-flowing suctioning river, with malignant pools occupied by hippos and twitchy impalas sipping from the mud-slick banks.

We parked out in the bush and walked toward the water. Instead of a river, this was a tiny pond, maybe two acres, shaded by overhanging acacia trees and crowded with blooming water hyacinth and cattail hornworts. It resembled frog water back home, where a blue heron or kingfisher might hunt in the shallows.

Hushed and walking on tiptoe, we peered into a shallow defile with the pond at its bottom. But we were either too loud or too late. Boon tried to get me in place to make a hasty shot on a crocodile that was rapidly leaving its sunning spot on a gently sloping bank. But the croc had smelled or heard us and slipped into the water, along with a companion, long before I could get a good view of them.

I saw only the sweep of a scaled tail, enough to reignite my childhood phobia. But it also flipped a cerebral switch. Instead of fearing this place and that swamp monster in its depths, I felt a familiar stirring. I was hunting. Despite its unfamiliarity to me, I would figure out this animal and its habits. And I would do just about anything necessary to encounter the reptile on my terms.

At sunset that evening, I turned a consolation hunt for an impala into a full-on adventure, when I hit low on my first shot and had to blood-trail the antelope first into a thicket of eucalyptus trees and later into a tight grasp of thornbush. Following only barely perceptible spoor in the feeble light—a sharply incised right hoof print here, a faint smear of blood on knee-high grass there—Hanro and I caught up to the flushing impala in a barely illuminated opening and I swung through the movement, luckily connecting through the inside of a going-away ham and putting him down in his tracks.

That night, over a late dinner back at the lodge, I asked Boon about his previous crocodile hunting experience, and the origins of this particular specimen. About the first, he was vague. Boon had hunted crocs, he said, and had “managed to bring to bag one or two.” He noted that at this elevation in the Waterbergs, crocs are rare. It gets too cold in the winter months to sustain a large reptile, so any encounters would have been seasonal and unexpected.

That was precisely the case with the crocodile at hand. Trackers had spotted it a couple weeks earlier, and the Boon brothers reckoned that it had migrated in during South Africa’s lingering drought, which has dried up a number of waterways. Boon said that large crocodiles, moving overland between isolated wetlands, can easily push through wire fences meant to contain most of Africa’s huntable game.

“They either find an opening where fences cross creeks, or they get their noses in the wire and just make a bigger opening,” said Boon. “We once were hunting eland and spotted a 12-foot croc crossing through the bush. I wouldn’t want to be the tracker who followed an animal into that cover. Those crocs can move surprisingly quickly, even out of the water. And in the water, they simply have no predators once they reach a certain size.”

How large was the one on his property? The one I intended to kill the following day?

“Hard to say,” said Egbert. “I’d put him at 10 to 11 feet, on the low end.”

And how widespread are crocodiles in the Limpopo Province?

“I can’t say they’re everywhere. They’re scarce enough that they certainly get your attention,” he said. “But along the lower rivers, they’re common. I’d bet it would surprise people in villages and townships if they knew the number of crocs that live in and around them.”

Lying in Wait

Next morning turned cold, and Boon noted that crocodiles wouldn’t emerge from the water until the heat of the afternoon, so we looked for other game. The Boon farm holds impressive numbers of wildebeest, sable, and impala, and between stalks we inspected a new game-proof fence Egbert and his father were commissioning.

“We’re building a springbok pasture,” explained Boon. “We get lots of requests to add springbok to our hunting packages, and by having them on the farm we wouldn’t have to travel” to fill that part of a plains-game bag. Most springbok properties are in the Free State, a good 5 to 6 hours south of the Waterbergs.

Twelve-foot-high game-proof fences—usually electrified—are a fixture of southern Africa’s hunting concessions. They keep unwanted predators out, but more to the point, they keep huntable game inside. That trophy nyala or gemsbok? You’re nearly sure to get it because of that fence. While I’ve come to terms personally with fenced hunting estates there, on my several trips to Africa I’ve always looked for opportunities to hunt animals that aren’t intensively managed, or which can find ways through, or under, those serious fences. Warthogs have it figured out, and so have tiny steenbok and duiker. And so, apparently, have cross-country crocodiles.

After lunch, we returned to the pond. This time, I brought a foam cushion to make a long sit more bearable. I was determined to post up on the high bank above the pond until the crocodile either emerged to sun on the open bank or until he lifted his telltale nostrils above the water, hopefully exposing his tiny brain. My research indicated that even the largest crocs need to come up for air every 45 minutes or so, and I intended to be there and alert to his rise, even if it took all afternoon.

I had been on watch maybe an hour when the wind suddenly shifted. Just as I felt the breeze on the back of my neck, I saw a deep swirl in an end of the pond. The croc had evidently winded us and disappeared from the surface. I waited another few hours, watching foot-long bass fin in the shallows, and then cold air and a chilly night ended things. This lizard was becoming even more interesting to me.

Perils in the Water

The next day broke warm so we decided to hunt for wildebeest in the morning as we made our way to the croc pond. Once we set up on the bank—too many of us for my liking, given the scent plume of the previous sit—we scanned the water with binoculars. Surely the scutes of his cranium would break the surface, or we’d see those telltale nostrils, each as big and black as a Labrador’s nose.

I wondered how deep this pond was. I had noticed a masonry dam at its lower end, some 10 feet tall, so I guessed the pond was at least that deep at its widest point. But below the dam, the creek slowed to a trickle and then dried up altogether. Who knows how far down or upstream the next pond was, but Egbert had told me that his neighbors had lost livestock and had seen a pair of big crocs in their waterways. Was this a roving marauder? Would it stay in this pond for long, or had it already moved along to another property?

As I watched the limpid water, I also wondered how large this reptile was and, channeling the Elephant’s Child’s curiosity, how it had grown to its dimensions. I had read that 10-foot bull crocs can be as old as 40 years, and the largest specimens stretching to 18 feet and weighing a full ton, growing long and hungry on a diet of fish, aquatic critters, and, as Egbert suggested, by foraging on goats and the occasional careless impala. The dense brush along this pond would surely hold bushpigs and bushbuck, both favorite prey for Nile crocodiles.

But I also read about villagers, nearly always youngsters, taken by ambushing crocs. Was this one a maneater? Could I lure it out of the water by pre-enacting my death ritual, walking the bank as a two-legged decoy?

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I was lost in these thoughts when Boon, sitting in the turpentine grass to my right, hissed and motioned me to stay low. He pointed to the water, and then indicated I should crawl around him and set up my shooting sticks. Walker Schearer, on video duty, followed as I moved to see a portion of the pond that had been invisible from my original spot. Staying quiet and low, I aimed my rifle where Boon pointed, and there I saw it, the crenellated head of the croc, nose pointed away from us, suspended in the water like a mud-colored Goodyear blimp hovering above a ball game.

I was sure of my shot but worried that the croc would suddenly and silently drop out of sight in the water. When I heard Walker say his camera was on the animal, I aimed at a spot on top of his head just behind his eyes and fired. With a suppressor on my rifle, my muzzle lift was minimal, and with my scope at 3-power, I could see the shot and its aftermath. The back of the croc’s head opened like a cleaved melon, and the big lizard writhed in the water, revealing his astonishing length as he thrashed his powerful tail. Instead of sinking to the bottom, the crocodile’s death spasm sent him directly into shore, an impressive amount of blood coloring the shallow water.

Recalling my research, I immediately fired another shot, aiming to put as many holes in the big lizard as possible, and was cycling another round when Boon broke into a laugh. “Enough. Enough. Enough. He’s dead. You got him!”

Curiosity, Satisfied

I don’t know the last time I was both so rattled and so relieved to anchor my quarry. A few birds squawked in the bush. I heard warthogs snorting and fighting several hundred yards downstream. But the silence of the moment was palpable.

As our posse picked our way down to the pond’s edge, I kept my rifle at the ready. I was still dubious that the cold-blooded lizard was really dead. Maybe he’d have delayed animation like the rattlesnakes I’ve killed, their problematic heads detached from their bodies, both parts still writhing around like zombies for the next half hour. But the croc, beached directly across the pond from us, didn’t move, and I started to appreciate his dimensions, a gray-green tail thick as a linebacker’s leg and that blunt anvil head pushed up on shore. I looked at the head wound through my binocular. I was shooting 180-grain AccuBonds in custom reloads from Armscor Ammunition, and the combination was visibly, lethally, impressive.

Now that our task was retrieval, the exotic croc was reduced to any other big-game animal whose carcass would have to be muscled around and dealt with. Petir joined us. Hanro volunteered to walk around the pond, gamely navigating dense thornbush that went right to the water’s edge, while Egbert fetched a rope and grappling hook from his safari truck. This should be entertaining, I thought to myself, as I understood that Egbert would pitch the hook across the pond, Hanro would cinch it to the lizard, and then we’d drag the body back across the deep water to the sloping bank where we stood. I pictured the rope coming loose and the croc sinking, or another croc making retrieval sporty, or something else going tragically wrong.

But none of that happened. Instead, we pulled the croc through tangled aquatic vegetation, yarded him up on shore, and arranged him for photographs. It took all of us, and I figured the dead weight between 500 and 600 pounds and his length at just over 13 feet. We inspected the filthy teeth inside, as Kipling described it, his “musky, tusky mouth.” I poked at the rubbery membrane at the back of his throat that I imagined as the gateway to oblivion for untold numbers of antelope and goats.

As I inspected the hand-sized scutes along its armored back, and its massive claws, I saw the world through the bull croc’s slitted eyes. At its size and ferocity, it had no predators here. Only a hunter’s bullet, or maybe an injury from a rival croc, might deliver death. Could this cold-blooded carnivore imagine that he would be admired by a Missouri farm boy, finally free of his own death premonitions on the banks of a crocodilian waterway a half a world away from home, his hands holding open the maw of a giant lizard?

I’d like to think that Rudyard Kipling himself might appreciate the poetic possibility of that specific moment, the unexpected reward of curiosity.

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Well, there went the whole night, I thought as soon as I heard the loud “huff” from the grizzly bear that was circling through the seemingly impenetrable alders and brush behind my tree stand. It was followed by a steady pounding lope through the timber. I couldn’t see the bear a mere 20 or 30 yards away, but I could hear each step as his soft, scarred foot pads pushed into the dry leaves. 

I’d been listening to his approach for about a minute, hearing sticks snap as he lumbered closer. I hoped he would get on the trail that would take him directly to the bait and upwind of me. Instead, he pushed through the dense brush on a path that would take him downwind. I crossed my fingers and hoped that my Ozonics would keep him from smelling me. I’ve had many all-night sits and potential opportunities spoiled by a downwind bear. The grizzly bears that I hunt are as spooky as the cagiest whitetail. If you blow it, it’s over. 

My ears followed each step as he crossed my wind—I’d lucked out. I quietly toggled the safety of my 6.5 Creedmoor to “fire.” But the bear’s direction would take him across the trail I use to approach the bait. When he hit the scent of my tracks, he blew, then barreled through the undergrowth. After careful planning and patient waiting, my opportunity had evaporated—as often happens when trying to hunt grizzlies over bait in interior Alaska—or had it?

The 6.5 Creedmoor: The Gift that Keeps Giving

To be honest, the only reason it occurred to me to try and kill a grizzly bear with a 6.5 Creedmoor is the amount of reflexive, thoughtless pushback the cartridge gets from a small-but-virile group of suburban mountain men and conspiracy theorists. This criticism of the Creedmoor pops up on any web story that even mentions the cartridge—and lots that don’t! Although it’s undeniably the most popular contemporary hunting cartridge we have, the mere penning of the name “Creedmoor” in any story or article is like a truth serum that provokes an automatic outpouring of feelings and broken sentences from the unsuspecting subject (or reader, in this case). You’ll see comments like:

“I knew it! You had to include the man bun cartridge!” 

“It’s only popular because—marketing! Hype!”

“Hornady pays all you gun writers to lie about how good it is!”

“Needmoor!”

“Crudmoor!”

“I love lamp!”

Get the picture? It’s a truly involuntary response, and I love it. I’m fine with the Creedmoor just being an accurate, mild, good-performing cartridge, but responding to these kneejerk—and baseless—opinions is significantly more entertaining. 

I do understand why so many folks are annoyed at the success of the 6.5 Creedmoor, and with anyone who has good things to say about it. We often get attached to the cartridges we like, and it’s annoying as hell to have some adult-onset hunter tell us how great their shit is when they really don’t know anything. Rather, they’re just regurgitating things that some other dimwit told them. When what we have works just fine, it just sounds like noise, and much of it is just that. Noise. 

What gets lost is the simple truth that the 6.5 Creedmoor is a genuinely great cartridge—both within the context of what it’s designed to do across the course, and what it can do as a hunting cartridge. Yes, there are more optimal cartridges for a variety of purposes, and there are older cartridges that are similar in many ways. Good for them. Shoot what you like. 

The “Needmoor” Delusion

One of the most common sophistries about the 6.5 Creedmoor is that it’s anemic and underpowered—unable to cleanly kill the daintiest of deer. It leaves poor blood trails, spilled kombucha, and the scent of patchouli in its wake. 

But at reasonable distances, the 6.5 Creedmoor delivers plenty of penetration and terminal performance to kill any animal in North America cleanly. If you’re wanting something to blame for a poor result, you likely need to look no further than the nearest mirror.

Many people will thumb their nose at the Creed for being too little, but opt for the classic .30/06 with 180-grain bullets. Hell of a cartridge, no? Indeed. Two world wars. But do you really believe that .914 millimeters difference in diameter and 40 additional grains of mass is going to make a huge difference in how quickly you can kill a deer, elk, or moose? Larger, more powerful cartridges can deliver more damage and devastation—and they are generally more forgiving when it comes to impact with heavy bone and less-than-perfect shot angles. How much more? That’s debatable. As a baseline, if you’re choosing and taking ethical, careful shots, a good 140- or 143-grain 6.5mm bullet will kill stuff just as dead—often just as quickly as bullets that are a little bit larger, fired at similar velocities. 

Back to Bears

“I already know the end of this story,” I told shooting editor John B. Snow, who was sitting across two stacks of shot-up targets and a bowl of salsa at our 2023 gun test. While measuring groups and voicing my anticipation of this year’s spring bear hunting, I’d half-jokingly said “I should shoot one with the Creed this year.” 

“You have to,” was Snow’s reply.

I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to hunt grizzly bears every spring near my home in Alaska. After killing a brace of bears with my recurve bow and modern arrows, I killed a large grizzly with a longbow and knapped stone arrowhead. After that, I stepped into the 1800’s with a .50-caliber percussion muzzleloader shooting patched round balls. That ol’ blunduerbuss killed a big grizzly dead too. Last season, I was planning to hunt with my recurve, but a close encounter with a sow grizzly on the ground persuaded me to employ my .338 Win. Mag. I’d journeyed from the stone age of stick and string, to the modern Alaskan staple .338. It only made sense that I take the next step in this evolutionary journey and select the ultimate, most sophisticated cartridge for anything: the 6.5 Creedmoor. 

“Getting the shot will be the tough part,” I told Snow. “After that, it’s gravy. I shoot it in the lungs, it’ll run maybe 50 or 60 yards and die.” That’s what happens when you shoot stuff through both lungs. With a smiling sense of purpose, I grabbed a few boxes of 140-grain Nosler Partitions that were left over from our accuracy testing and stuffed them in my suitcase. Partitions are an excellent legacy hunting bullet that aren’t bonded, but retain a good amount of their weight. Plus, I’ve got to disguise the fact that Hornady is paying me to write this story too. It’d be too obvious if I employed my favorite 143-grain ELD-X bullets. 

I chose to use my well-used Winchester XPR for this task. The XPR is one of my favorite budget hunting rifles, and I’ve used a number of them. This particular XPR has become a traveling rifle of sorts. If someone needs a rifle for a hunting trip for whatever reason, that’s what I give them. In all, It has killed five Dall sheep, about a dozen caribou, several Sitka blacktail deer, and a moose too—if I remember correctly. 

READ NEXT: Most Accurate 6.5 Creedmoor Ammo

Getting the Shot is the Hard Part

Although I’ve done a bit of spot-and-stalk hunting for coastal brown bears, most of my hunting for grizzlies in interior Alaska is over bait. It’s a relatively simple process, but likely the most time-consuming and persistence-intensive hunting that I do. Where I hunt, a grizzly will visit a bait site usually no more than two or three days in a row before moving on. They don’t usually come in to eat regularly like black bears will, and they might show up anytime between 6 p.m. and 7 a.m. You’ve got to be there when they show and, no matter what, don’t let them smell you. If they get your wind, it’s over. Better luck next year. Usually it takes about a month of hunting for me to get a shot opportunity—sometimes longer. 

Getting the shot is the most difficult task, killing bears is actually pretty easy. Even the biggest coastal brown bear can be killed quickly with a single shot through the lungs—though they won’t just drop instantly. Bears can become incredibly difficult to kill if you’ve really screwed up and wounded them with a non-lethal shot first, but that’s not their baseline. Bears have heavy leg bones, but if you pay any attention at all to shot placement, you’ll get excellent penetration with any good bullet or broadhead. The key to killing them quickly and cleanly is knowing where to shoot a bear—and I always try to shoot them through both lungs. With a double-lung shot, they almost never go more than 100 yards—even when taking off at a sprint. 

The 6.5 Grizzly

I’d already sat a few fruitless nights so far this spring and, over the years, have come to have tempered expectations when waiting on a grizzly. I usually try to sit down at about 7 pm for a game of endurance and perseverance. A grizzly might come in at 11 pm, or 4 am. If I’m not alert and ready when he shows up, it’s all for nothing. More than once I’ve thrown in the towel at 5:30 or 6:30 am only to spook an approaching bear while getting down from my tree stand or loading gear back into my boat. This night, I had photos of a nice grizzly that shown up both of the previous nights between 2:30 and 3:30 am.  

The night was anything but boring. I had one black bear show up early and feed for an hour then, just before midnight, another one. It helped pass the time, but as time ticked into the early hours of the morning, it went quiet. The red squirrels settled their constant chatter and scurrying through the dry leaves to make way for flying squirrels who swooped silently in to eat bits of dog food. In the dim twilight of early June, I could see little brown bats silently swooping above the ground below me, swiping at the clouds of mosquitoes. The only sounds were the echoing songs of thrushes in the forest.

I grew tired, but stayed alert, hoping that the grizzly would make a third appearance at about the same time he had before. At 2:30 am, my heart stopped as I saw a bear’s hind leg move forward through a gap in the dimly-lit timber. I readied myself, but it was the second black bear returning. I can’t believe I’m not shooting this bear I thought as I watched the round-headed black bear feed. I held firm, reminding myself that shooting this bear was a sure way to spook that grizzly if he were around. 

I’m calling it at 3:45, I decided. I’m tired. 

At about 3:30, I distinctly heard something walk into the water down at the river, and it sounded like a bear. I listened to hear it climb back out, in case it was that grizzly swimming to my side of the river. I didn’t hear anything. Then I saw the black bear standing back in the timber once again. If it comes in, I’m just gonna shoot it and be done for tonight, I told myself. As if my thoughts were spoken aloud, the black bear turned and sprinted back into the brush. Immediately, I heard a branch break towards where I’d heard the bear in the river. That’s him.

My heart started pounding as the bear approached, then dropped as I realized he was going to pass downwind. He didn’t catch my wind, but surely it was over when he smelled my tracks and huffed. To my surprise, he continued circling through the brush around the bait and I could tell he was going to burst from the trees to my left. I readied my rifle. I usually try to take the first good lung shot I get on a grizzly bear at a bait site. They rarely hold still for very long, and are always on the lookout for danger. 

As the bear stepped out of the trees at a slight quartering-to angle, I broke the shot, placing it just behind the shoulder to hit both lungs. The bear leapt into the air, spinning as I chambered another round. As he landed on all fours, I fired another shot through the lungs. He spun again, flinging himself around and growling. At the next opportunity, I fired a third shot, hitting him in the shoulder. He was on the ground before the echoes from the first shot had stopped ringing in the trees. 

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The first shot had sealed the bear’s fate. The second and third were simply because that’s what you do when you shoot a bear and he’s still up and moving—I’d have shot him twice or three times with my .338 or .375 too. Two of the three shots were pass-throughs and the third was through the shoulder. I found it under the skin on the off-side, peeled back just as a partition should be. 

Remarkably Un-Remarkable

I’m not shy about expressing my opinions on bear hunting cartridges—and the why behind those opinions. Through experience, I’ve seen that medium-sized cartridges like the .243, 6.5 Creedmoor, and .25/06 Remington are excellent choices for black bears and even larger game. The 6.5 Creedmoor isn’t at the top of my list for grizzly bears or brown bears, but that doesn’t mean it’s a wimp. Frankly, the only remarkable or surprising thing about killing a big grizzly with a 6.5 Creedmoor is that people think it’s something special or remarkable. It’s not. I know more than a handful of folks who have done it before, and they weren’t surprised that it worked either. 

Larger calibers can certainly offer more forgiveness and do more damage—the Creedmoor is far from my first choice for backing up a brown bear hunter or tracking poorly-hit bears into the alders. If your use of the rifle is likely to be at very close range and defensive in nature, sure, go big. But within a couple hundred yards, with good shot selection, even the soy espresso mocha latte of the cartridge world is perfectly capable of killing the biggest bears quickly. I’d wager that it killed this bear just as quickly as my .375 Ruger would have in the same scenario—though I’m not equating the two.

If you’re annoyed by the Creedmoor’s popularity, I’ve got bad news for you. It’s not going away. It’s established itself as a shootable, accurate, and potent game killer worldwide. Even in the Mongolian steppe, if you have to borrow a rifle like John B. Snow had to on his remarkable Argali hunt, don’t be surprised if it’s a Creed. And don’t be surprised when it gets the job done.

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Alaska wildlife officials are experimenting with predator management to help the Mulchatna caribou herd, which crashed in recent years and remains closed to hunting due to low population levels. In an effort to boost the dwindling herd, the Alaska Department of Fish and Game increased its predator control efforts this spring by targeting brown bears, black bears, and wolves on caribou calving grounds. Over 17 days in May and early June, ADFG officials removed 94 brown bears, five black bears, and five wolves from the area.

The Alaska Board of Game deemed this predator control necessary in March. The Mulchatna herd, which has hovered around 12,000 animals since 2017, has tremendous cultural and subsistence value for indigenous communities and hunters in southwestern Alaska. By removing so many predators from a portion of the herd’s calving grounds, the state hopes to increase the survival rate among calves and reverse the herd’s decline.

“Recognizing that there are 48 communities within the traditional range of this once expansive herd, the public requested that the department and board work to rebuild the herd and restore this source of food,” ADFG officials wrote in a press release. “Reducing the number of bears and wolves was a logical step in adaptive management to determine if summer calf survival can be improved.”

Wildlife managers in Alaska recognize there are a host of other factors affecting the Mulchatna caribou herd, including diseases like brucellosis and a lack of available forage. The state views predator populations, however, as one of the few factors it can control.

Accordingly, ADFG has been removing wolves from the herd’s range using aerial methods since 2012. Since these removals have not had a noticeable effect on the overall population, and because bears also prey on caribou calves, the agency expanded its efforts this year to include brown bears and black bears for the first time. Officials did not specify how they targeted the bears and wolves, and did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Those efforts were limited to state land within an area that wildlife biologists have defined as the “calving grounds of the western subgroup.” Their strategy involved flying around the area and looking for caribou that were fleeing predators, along with predators that were actively chasing or eating caribou. All wolves and bears that were located during this search were killed, ADFG explains. A total of 104 predators were removed, and their hides and skulls were salvaged when possible. Meat from the black bears and some of the brown bears was also donated to local villages.

The agency stressed that it does not believe these culls will have a noticeable effect on the robust predator populations that exist in the southwestern part of the state.

“The removals of the wolves and bears in the western spring calving control area are occurring in a relatively small area that is surrounded by healthy, intact habitat,” officials said. “Based on prior research, full recovery to pre-treatment levels is expected within a few years once the reduction activities have been completed.”

And because ADFG limited its predator control efforts to the western calving grounds, the agency will be able to see how calf survival rates there compare with survival rates on the herd’s eastern calving grounds. The agency will continue to monitor these areas through the summer.

“This information will be evaluated to determine if further bear and wolf reductions during spring calving is warranted.”

The Continued Decline of the Mulchatna Caribou Herd

After peaking at approximately 200,000 caribou in 1997, the Mulchatna herd crashed around the turn of the 21^st century. Their numbers continued to plummet over the next 20 years, and the herd had shrunk to around 12,000 animals by 2017—an overall decline of roughly 96 percent.

Read Next: The Proposed Closures of Caribou Hunting on Some Federal Lands Isn’t Based on Population Declines—It’s About Human Conflicts

The population has remained around that level ever since, with the latest estimate showing around 12,100 individuals in 2022. This is far short of the state’s management objective of 30,000 to 80,0000 caribou, which it views as necessary to sustain a huntable population.

As a result, wildlife managers implemented regulation changes in 2020, when the herd estimates were closer to 13,500 caribou. The state reduced the bag limit to one bull and shortened the winter hunting season by a full two months. These changes had a negligible effect, however, and by 2021, the overall population had dropped below 13,000. This led ADFG to shut down hunting for Mulchatna caribou in 2021. The agency followed suit in 2022, and the hunt will likely remain closed for the foreseeable future, or until the herd shows signs of recovery.  

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A months-long investigation into who shot a bear hunter in southeastern Washington in August 2022 has produced a suspect, the Walla Walla County Sheriff’s Office reports. Joshua Troy Queen, 42, was arrested and charged with third degree felony assault on May 25. He is currently in custody, according to Walla Walla County inmate records.

Read Next: Officials Search for Suspect Who Shot a Washington Bear Hunter and Fled the Scene

Queen allegedly shot a bear hunter (whose identity has not been disclosed) across Nightingale Canyon east of Walla Walla on the evening of Aug. 5, 2022, four days after the fall season opener. The hunter had shot a black bear and was tracking it while his hunting partner remained in position to spot. The partner, who also remains unidentified, heard the a shot echo through the canyon and watched the hunter hit the ground and roll down the hill. 

The partner called emergency services and approached the hunter, who was “bleeding profusely” from a gunshot wound. Initial reports stated the bullet was from a high-caliber rifle. The partner looked across the canyon in the direction of the gunshot and saw someone running away through a field. Walla Walla County deputies were dispatched to the scene and “multiple people assisted with life-saving measures.” The victim was transported to the hospital, where he underwent surgery on August 8 and stayed through August 9. 

The hunting partner reported hearing voices from “at least two other hunters” in the canyon south of where the duo was hunting, according to the press release from the original incident. He also reported information about vehicles seen in the area to the responding officers. Deputies applied for search warrants, though it is currently unclear whether they executed any searches and how they caught Queen. Neither was it immediately clear if Queen was hunting at the time. The Walla Walla County Sheriff’s Office did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Read Next: Takeaways from a Turkey Hunter Who Was Accidentally Shot by His Longtime Hunting Partner

Third-degree assault in Washington occurs when someone, with criminal negligence, “causes bodily harm to another person by means of a weapon or other instrument or thing likely to produce bodily harm.” It’s considered a Class C Felony and is punishable by up to five years in prison and a $10,000 fine.

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The flash of black caught my eye as a bear walked through an opening in the alders, triggering a surge of adrenaline. 

“A bear’s coming, get ready.” 

I whispered instructions in Jed’s ear as he was picking almonds out of the small plastic container I was holding. I slipped the snacks into the backpack between my legs and helped him move the rifle stock to his shoulder. I quietly toggled the tang safety on his gun—an excruciating feat on a Ruger American rifle—while the bear was still approaching through the brush. 

“Alright, just hold still and be ready to aim. He’s going to do just what I told you he would. Be patient.” 

A Boy Like Me

I’d heard people talk about seeing themselves in their kids before, but I didn’t fully understand what they meant until I watched my own kids start growing up. Since I can remember, I’ve been infatuated with hunting and fishing. My entire existence revolved around it. My dad would bring me hunting with him long before I was a useful companion, and I still remember being with him when he arrowed a mule deer doe when I was five or six years old. I’d be crying mad if I woke up to find that he’d gone hunting without me. So more often than not, I came along.

Since before he was born, I hoped that my son would share that love of hunting. I never forced hunting upon him, and I always want him to be his own person. But I didn’t have to force anything. For Jed the world is Power Rangers, civil war documentaries, playing cowboys, and hunting. He’s been pretending to shoot bows and rifles since he could walk.

Living in Alaska, I want to spoil him with the opportunities we have, many of which I only dreamed of as a youngster living in Colorado. I’ve eagerly awaited the first time I’d sit with him on a bear bait since before he was born. This season, we both decided he was ready. 

How Does a 7-Year-Old Get Ready to Shoot a Bear?

Every kid is different, and I think as parents and mentors, we need to let them move at their own pace. Some kids are ready to start shooting at a very early age, and some adults will never be competent with a firearm. I started Jed, my oldest son, out on a single shot Savage Rascal .22 with a red dot optic at age 3. While he practiced his shooting, we constantly drilled on gun safety even more than marksmanship. With the rifle resting on a tripod, he was able to kill some grouse—at just three years old.

In sort of reverse order, I got him a BB gun at age six. He quickly learned how to shoot with iron sights and has been hell on aluminum cans. His shooting, cognisance, and general hunting instincts improved a lot over the last summer, and he showed maturity beyond his age when I set him up to shoot a bull caribou in September. He had the bull in the crosshairs, but because it was moving too much, he decided not to chance a shot and told me to shoot the bull instead. It was our first shared big game hunt. After that, I decided he would probably be ready for bears the following spring.

In Alaska, there’s no minimum age to hunt big game, but youngsters must be supervised by an adult and their animals count against their mentor’s bag limit. I’m more than happy with that arrangement. 

Picking a Kid’s Bear Rifle

Bears aren’t really hard to kill, and many mild-tempered cartridges are perfectly adequate. A good bullet and knowing where to shoot a bear are the most important factors. I’d have started him on my uncle’s old Remington Mohawk .243, a rifle that’s killed piles of black bears, but we no longer have it. I also considered using a monolithic Barnes TSX load in a .223-chambered AR-15, which would work fine too. But after testing a bunch of .350 Legend rifles and .350 Legend ammo, I settled on having him shoot the .350 Legend. Jed regularly accompanies me to the range, and while testing those .350 Legend rifles, I found them to be very accurate and light recoiling. He tried a few shots, and liked it. He was very comfortable hitting targets at 100 yards, so a bear at close range should be no problem. 

For a specific rifle, I decided on the Ruger American Ranch rifle, which averaged 1.5-inch, five-shot groups in my testing. Initially, I was going to chop down the stock and do some garage-gunsmith modifications, but he was able to shoot it comfortably as it came. I like that the rifle has a short 16.38-inch barrel and ½-inch by 28 muzzle threads, making it suppressor-ready. Because shots would be short, and I didn’t want to distract him with eye relief or magnification, I mounted a Leupold VX-Freedom red dot sight atop the Picatinny rail. That optic sits fairly high when mounted on the rifle, so I taped a piece of foam to the stock for a cheek pad. I finished the setup with my Silencerco Hybrid 46 suppressor. For ammunition, I loaded up 150-grain .355” Lehigh Defense Controlled Chaos bullets, which I was eager to test.

Setting up this rifle and ammunition was fun for me, but admittedly, it was overthought. The important thing was to have a low recoil rifle that he would be able to shoot easily and with confidence.

Practice Makes Perfect

The most important factor in my son’s hunt would be a well-placed shot. You have to know where to shoot a bear to get your bullet through the vitals. Even in a relatively controlled situation such as a bear bait site, things can go sideways when it comes to shot placement. Many adults let nerves get the best of them, or make mistakes. Long before the snow melted, my son and I practiced by looking at pictures of bears in different positions and I quizzed him on where he should shoot. 

A fun step for both of us, I made a lifesize plywood cutout of a black bear for a practice target. I cut out the vital zone, taped cardboard to the back, and painted it all black. Under the black paint, I even hid a 3-inch Shoot ‘n See target right where I wanted him to aim—confirming a perfect hit with a fluorescent yellow spot. On every trip to the range, we brought along a .22 and his .350 Legend, set the black bear up at 15 yards. He shot it hundreds of times. He quickly tightened his groups down to focus right where they needed to be, and imprinted the image of shooting at a bear. It was fun, and I like to believe there’s practical value in having him shoot at a realistic target.

Bear Season Finally Arrives

In interior Alaska, I primarily hunt bears at a bear bait site. Bear baiting is an incredibly useful management tool for areas where spot-and-stalk hunting is impractical if not impossible. It allows for good shot placement and, more importantly, selective harvest—we can focus on taking mostly boars and easily avoid shooting a sow with cubs. I usually access my baits via jet boat, so once the ice finally broke and flushed downstream, I brought Jed along to help set up our bait and tree stand. It’s important to me to introduce him to the fun of hunting, but also to all the work that goes into setting up for success. 

We hauled bait, set up the tree stand, and I explained why we were doing things the way we did. I reminded myself that he’s a sponge and, although I’ve been at this for over 20 years, it’s all new to him. We hung our stink bucket, mixed our dog food and grease, and I let him wander around smearing sweet-smelling paste on brush and trees—half of it ended up on his jacket. I explained why I wore rubber gloves when spreading bait and separate gloves when hanging the trail camera, and why we covered up the bait with limbs and spruce boughs. I wanted him to experience not just shooting a bear, but the whole process along with the time-earned wisdom that dictated what we were doing. 

The First Sit

There’s always something special about the first sit of the year on a bear bait. Everything’s fresh, and the anticipation of all the previous months can finally be satisfied. About a week after setting our bait, Jed and I returned with my dad, and quietly shuffled into the tree stands in a procession of three generations. The trail camera showed that there had been at least a couple black bears and a big grizzly on the bait within the last 24 hours. Conditions were cool and calm—perfect. 

We settled into our two-seater ladder stand, with Jed’s rifle firmly nestled into the game changer bag that I’d bungeed to the shooting rail. He dry fired a couple times, then we chambered a round and let the woods quiet down. 

It was surreal, finally sitting next to my son in a tree, listening to all his new observations while gently reminding him to whisper quietly. He counted squirrels and the woodpeckers we could hear rattling away in the evening air. I quietly pointed out the two areas that bears typically came from. 

“If they come from there,” pointing to the right, “they’ll walk toward us on a trail, and almost always stop under that big tree for a minute. Then they’ll walk to the bait and walk around it, cautiously looking around for other bears. After that, they’ll start eating.” 

I’d spent many nights sitting alone in that tree, and I couldn’t believe how quickly my son had grown old enough to be sitting next to me now.

A Flash of Black

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My heart skipped a beat when I saw the jet-black coat of the bear moving through the brush. That feeling has never waned in all my years of hunting bears. He was coming from the right, and as I finished helping Jed get ready to aim, he paused under the big spruce tree. He cautiously approached and surveyed his surroundings like I’d seen many bears do before. 

Jed sat ready, and I looked over his shoulder with my mouth next to his ear.

“Just wait, he’ll give you a good shot” I whispered to him. 

He held steady as the bear sat, then it turned back to lay down and start eating. We’d rehearsed both our shooting routine and shot placement for different ways the bear might be positioned. He wasn’t to put his finger on the trigger or shoot until I said “OK,” and as the bear laid on his belly, I considered pointing out a mosquito on the bear that would be the perfect spot for Jed to aim. Too easy for him to misinterpret or pick the wrong mosquito I thought. “Be patient,” I whispered instead. 

After a few seconds, the bear lifted his body up slightly and I whispered: “Aim a little bit behind the shoulder, right in the middle. OK, whenever you’re ready.” 

At the supersonic crack of the bullet, I saw the hair part exactly where I wanted him to aim. The bear sprung to its feet and loped about 15 yards, then fell over dead. 

“I just want to scream,” he said quietly, bursting with excitement. 

Hooked Forever

I want my kids to forge their own paths, but seeing my son’s excitement and passion for hunting is special to me. As I anticipated, I feel like Jed crossed a threshold when he shot that bear. He’s got years of learning ahead of him, but I’m convinced that he’ll always remember that experience. I’m also convinced he’ll be putting a lot more meat in our freezer in years to come. 

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