Thursday the 12th started out fine. I loaded the tent and hunting stuff into my truck and drove the 30 or so miles into the Lick Creek unit where I intended to hunt. I set up my little camp and let my boots do the work. Not 30 minutes out of camp I spotted a bear at about 1.25 miles in a saddle with a recognizable tree. I didn't even set up my spotting scope to judge quality; it was A bear, and that's all that mattered; he was digging in a wild onion patch, so I didn't think he'd go far. I didn't plan on shooting the first thing I saw, but I wanted to try some calling with a cool call that I made from Bearmanric's call blanks.
I covered the 1.25 miles and 1000' of elevation to get close to the saddle in record time. Somehow I didn't have a heart attack, but I did manage to fall many, many times in the hour or so it took me to scramble up the mountain.
The bear wasn't there by the time I got to the saddle, naturally. I had approached the saddle with a steady breeze in my face, so I had a good wind advantage. I set up next to the only bush there and nocked an arrow and set my rifle down; I had both in hopes of using the bow (I am a bowhunter after all) but didn't want to miss an opportunity.
I hit the call with about a 10-15 second sequence of rabbit distress. Not 30 seconds later the bear popped out of the thick brush about 100 yards away and came to the edge of the brush at 80 yards. As he came into the open I saw that it was a huge bright red cinnamon boar with a melon head and a belly that drug in the short grass. I didn't think he would come any further, so it was a rifle chance.
I threw up the .50 Beowulf on my AR-15 and shot. I thought it was a decent shot, but with a 350 grain hollow point I expected him to get laid out hard and fast. Apparently the shot wasn't as good as I'd hoped. He took off down the mountain. I gave him a few minutes and called some buddies to calm myself down and share the good news.
I looked for the 30 minutes left before dark and then continued until midnight covering a very steep hillside but found nothing. I returned to camp a very whipped puppy. I returned the next day (Friday the 13th) covering the same country again much more thoroughly. I did find a little blood (shown in the photo below) about 150 yards from the shot and then followed tracks for about a mile down into the steepest and deepest country man can possibly traverse. I also did find a couple tiny drops of blood here and there along the way for the first 800 yards or so but nothing worthwhile. He got to the bottom of the next canyon, and I lost his trail among the myriad elk tracks.
I ended up hiking many miles and around 8000' of elevation, and today I can't move my legs! In hindsight, I should have called more and shot him with my bow. I'm a bowhunter not a rifle hunter!
Here are some pictures from the couple of days.
Where I saw him from:
The rifle I shot him with:
The canyon he ran down into:
Looking up the terrain I had covered looking for him:
The only real blood I found:
The call I made:
