The Trip Up The Mountain

I have a dear friend in Holland who is a gentle soul. In reading about the possiblity of taking the grandkids on a hunting trip, he wisely reminded me to let them be kids, and don't take them hunting. Too bad, I didn't read his wise words until Monday.

Jennifer is visiting with the family. On Saturday, she wondered if we could find some animal footprints to show the kids. I said we could take a drive up the mountain and look, and I would bring a rifle along, too.

We found moose tracks, deer tracks, and bear scat. We paused at cut-blocks to glass the surrounding hills up and down. Higher and higher we went. Then, there was that curious shape, dark and rounded some 300 meters away. We stopped and looked at it. The kids had the binoculars and before they could figure out which end to look through, I saw it move.
“Bear!”, I said. I ramped up my emotions a little to work up some excitement among the kids.

We got out of the truck, and continued to look at the bear. It was exciting for them to actually see a bear in the wild. I reached into the truck and picked up the .45/70 and thought, “oh well, what will it hurt to try to get closer?”

The thermal wind drafts were carrying scent up hill, and the chance of getting within gun shot seemed slim. But, I started up the mountain. I lost sight of the bear, but kept on climbing. I took a couple of sit down breaks to try to manage my heart and breathing. Now and then, I would see the bear. It seemed to be walking away, going up hill, but more like in a feeding pattern, not really trying to escape.

I kept climbing. When I got to about what I thought was about 200 meters, the bear popped up and looked down the hill at me. Maybe it was looking at the truck further below, but I knew I couldn’t climb anymore with it looking at me. I aimed the rifle and watched the cross-hairs dance and wobble all over the place. My heart was pounding too much to shoot without a rest, so I laid down and put the rifle on a tree stump. With the rest, the gun laid out just as quiet as a bench rest at the range.

Well, shall we say that the kids got a bit more than a look at bear foot prints. Soon we were headed home with a yummy bear in the back of the truck.

I wondered how the 6 1/2 year old would react to the skinning and butchering operations. She stood there watching and asked, "Can I have a claw and a tooth?" (I guess she wasn't offended by the butchering at all.)

So, in the end, the kids did see some deer and moose tracks. They also got to see a bear in the wild, and enjoy BBQ bear ribs for supper.

"My friend, I didn't read your note earlier, but the grand kids don't seem to need therapy, from their trip up the mountain."