Measured Success
We turned onto the side road and drove along a standing oat crop until some trees created a pinch point. We stopped to drop off the first bear hunter and marveled at the active bear trails that looked like highways pounded into the ground through the oats. A treestand had been erected at the narrows, where a woodlot within the field jutted towards the road. The local bruins had beaten several paths through the standing oats, traveling between dense forest and the productive farm field and back to forest. The game paths were like a spider web dissecting the crop into a kaleidoscope of trails. Understandably, the farmer was anxious for us to hunt, with crop insurance adjusters estimating 60 percent wildlife damage and no end in sight.
Mark Belchamber of Big Spruce Outfitters walked the first hunter to the stand. From the truck, we watched a big black bear cross the road 400 yards ahead, disappearing into the oats that quickly engulfed the huge black body. Mark returned to the truck and smiled as we told him of the bear sighting. We drove along the crop, past the bear and two others we could see, and parked at the far end. The goal was to head downwind of the bear and try to intercept it as it fed.
I was hunting in Saskatchewan with friends on a unique waterfowl and black bear combination. The plan was to fill the days with morning goose hunts and evening bruin adventures. We had shot a limit of big honkers that morning and were excited by what we saw in the first five minutes of the bear hunt.
The goose hunting was ridiculously good, proving to be a torture test for my Super Black Eagle 3 shotgun that sported a hot barrel for the first hour of daylight. The shotgun never missed a beat and cycled flawlessly. A low-lying fog made for interesting conditions when the geese started flying as the sun tried to break the eastern horizon. The small flocks of honkers were flying by instinct instead of having a visual on their breakfast table. The decoys and excited calling focused their attention, and they approached like kamikaze pilots with reckless abandon. The flocks were often so close together that there wasn’t enough time to completely reload. It was the perfect way to start the adventure, with laughter and banter coming from both ends of the A-frame blind. When we stopped shooting, there were 48 geese and two ducks to celebrate.
We returned to camp, cleaned birds, enjoyed a tremendous home-cooked breakfast, and prepared for the afternoon. The morning excitement had filled us with adrenaline, and nobody complained about needing a nap.
It was hard to believe that I was trying to track the black bear in the oat field a few hours later. Initial thoughts were that it would be easy to locate the big bruin, but it was challenging. Every few minutes, the bear would stand up and check the wind with its nose pointed skyward. It was a good sign that other big bears were using the same food source. The black head would appear above the grain without warning, only to disappear within seconds. The erratic movements and peeking above the tall crop made it look like a game of Whack-A-Mole.
We worked our way down the field’s far edge, where it met dense bush. The trails from the flat-footed bears were unbelievable and looked like they had been created from years of use. We were glassing the field to find the boar when I looked behind us and saw a black bear walking directly towards us at under 20 yards. The young sow had tracked us down the edge of the field and was somewhat annoyed by our presence. Within seconds, the bear closed the distance, lowered its head, and started drooling. What created the bruin’s angst is unknown, but the bear did not approve of our existence.
Mark turned to the bear, held his arms up, and whispered sternly, “Get out of here.” The posturing worked, and the bear turned and disappeared into the trees. We kept tabs on the agitated bruin as it snuck past us in the trees, only to appear in the field about 150 yards farther down. Another bear appeared upwind from the sow, sending her back into the trees, looking even more annoyed.
The field had come alive with bear activity, and we glassed another sow crossing the road. Minutes later, we watched a big bear heading for the narrows and crossed our fingers that it would be visible from the treestand and our hunting buddy. We did not have to wait long to confirm, with a rifle shot echoing across the field. Day one was in the books.
Day two started in the goose blind against a large rock pile in the field. Big honkers filled the skyline as they headed out in sequence, as though deployed by air traffic control. We burned through more of our Fiocchi Golden Goose shotshells. A pleasant surprise was two adult blue geese that decoyed beautifully and never left the field. The morning activities were fun, but getting the bears off my mind was hard.
The weather was unseasonably warm, and on the second evening, we watched the field and hoped the wind would die down. The bears were invisible with wind gusts up to 30 miles per hour. The sun had started to set, and as my binoculars scanned the edges of the trees, I noticed a dark blob in a tree. A second, then third blob appeared, and it didn’t take long to determine that they were bear cubs. Young bears scampering for safety likely meant a big boar was too close for comfort, and we quickly closed the distance.
We edged through the standing oats and looked closely at the cubs from 50 yards. We spotted the sow in the oats feeding, but she did not stay long. The wind covered us, but the mama bear knew something was happening and soon joined her cubs in the tree. We could hear walking in the trees but never saw the cause for alarm. As the sun set on day two, we snuck away from the tree-bound bears and drove back to camp.
On day three, I opted not to hunt geese but to spend the morning after a bruin. As we drove along the edge of the oats, a huge black head popped out of the grain to watch us. It was a huge boar that dwarfed anything we had seen. We kept driving, and the bear went back to feeding. We snuck back along the edge of the field and watched the bear pop up occasionally to check its surroundings. The bear was 150 yards into the field and almost 600 yards from the main bush. I set up shooting sticks and tried to follow black ears that occasionally poked out of the oats. The boar was closing in on a scrub edge where trees had been cleared. I lined up my Lupo rifle on the edge of the crop, anticipating the bear transitioning into the thin tree regrowth. My crosshair no sooner found the black blob when it disappeared into the woody cover. The bear had evaporated in less than a second. We watched and waited but did not see the big brute again.
I was anxious to get set up for an evening hunt, and we walked across a quarter section to get along the edge of the big bush where we figured the bear had headed after its morning feed. The trails coming into the field were unbelievable, and it was obvious the bears had been feasting in the field for weeks.
Mark and I found a rise in the field and stood in the grain to watch the edge for movement. The wait was interrupted by a major rain event, forcing us to take cover under a spruce tree for half an hour. When the sky cleared, we took vigil on the shooting sticks and stood like statues, watching our surroundings. The sun dropped below the western horizon, and as the minutes ticked by, darkness descended fast. With six minutes to go in legal light, I caught sight of a rotund black bear sneaking out of the grass and onto the edge of the grain. I clicked off the safety on my Lupo rifle and found the bear with the scope’s crosshair. As it walked towards us, three more black furballs appeared behind it, letting us know it was a big sow.
The old mama bear was big, and as the cubs frolicked, she slowly ambled toward us until three yards away. I was getting nervous when the old bear sensed something was wrong, turned, gathered her cubs, and bolted for cover. It was another close encounter to end the day, and we chuckled with excitement as we headed back to the truck.
Morning would provide one last kick at the can to find the big boar we had seen. We were up early and loaded the side-by-side to access the area after the heavy rains. In the pale morning light, we parked the machine and headed out on foot to return to the far corner of the field. We silently covered about 800 yards of field edge before reaching our lookout from the evening before. The rains had dampened bear activity, and there was no fresh sign. It was the only trip to the field when we didn’t see a bear. We watched the area until the sun warmed the landscape before returning to the lodge. The big old boar had outfoxed us or was lucky enough to evade us.
The hunt had been exciting and filled with adrenaline-pumping encounters. It was an experience where I left camp wanting more. The adventure had been a success in many ways, and although I did not fill my tag, it was one of the best bear hunts I have ever strategized and enjoyed. Success was measured by the experience and not by shots fired unless you consider the goose hunts.
