Hunting the Bruins of Penn’s Woods
Guest Article by Mark Horst of PA
After four long years of undergrad lectures, exams and papers, I was more than ready to resume one of my greatest passions—hunting. Although the university I attended was only a few hours away from some of the best trophy whitetail hunting in the country, three or four days of hunting each fall just wasn’t cutting it. In addition to a Missouri deer hunt and a fall turkey outing, I decided to try something new—a Pennsylvania bear hunt. I could feel the call of the wild, and I finally had the time to answer.
Due to low temperatures and blustery snow showers, the trip north took me and my long-time hunting partner and friend, Ryan, significantly longer than either of us had predicted. We arrived in the once-booming coal-mining town of Morris Run, Pennsylvania, at around 8 o’clock on Sunday night. We were hosted by my distant relative and friend Bob, a local pastor who is well acquainted with the surrounding mountains and the whereabouts of game. He told us what we had expected to hear—the bears were there, but they were almost impossible to get on. “We’ll both tag out tomorrow,” boasted Ryan sarcastically. “Ha! Dream on, flatlander!” laughed our doubtful host.
By 5:30 the next morning, the alarm clock was already blaring. My muscles still ached from my Missouri deer hunt the week before, and getting out of my sleeping bag was no easy task. The thermometer on the porch was stuck at the number seven, and the north winds violently wiped a wintry mix of snow and ice around the skeleton trees at over twenty-five miles per hour. Visibility was extremely low, and the chance of game moving was even lower. Returning to my sleeping bag, I fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of all the bears that were most likely passing by my tree stand at that very moment. The anxiety of what I might have been missing pried me from sleep, and Ryan and I layered up for what was sure to be a day of painfully cold conditions.
Morning was almost half over by the time we got out of the truck. Already-numb fingers loaded my 7mm Remington Magnum. The wind had slowed, and the temperature had risen ten degrees. We agreed to sit at least three hours in our stands and then still-hunt the thickets until dark. After a short hike, I found my ladder stand, conveniently nestled into the side of an old hemlock tree.
Thirty minutes into the hunt, I began to wonder why I had ever thought this would be a good idea. I was tired, and the rhythm of the snow and ice falling on the pine trees sent a chill down my spine. Thoughts of surfing the Hawaiian coast or fishing shirtless while soaking in the summer sun only made the sting of the ice blowing against my chin burn even more. Suddenly, a single rifle shot echoed like a wave across the ridge, snapping me out of my uncomfortable daze.
Confident that it was Ryan who had shot, I packed up and climbed down the ridge to his stand. He was standing no further than fifty yards from his ladder stand admiring a large boar that dropped dead in the snow after the first shot. Both of us were in shock—we had only left the house an hour earlier. In the back of our minds, neither of us expected that we would get on any bear that quickly, but here was a mature boar, dead in the snow. All we could do was laugh in excitement as we admired the size of his head, teeth and claws. Our laughter faded as we realized we were going to have to find a way to get the beast out of the woods.
It took a significant effort from both of us just to roll it over. Unlike a deer, the fur was thick and dense. Icicles still clung to his stomach from crossing the Tioga River about a half-mile below us. Neither of us had ever field-dressed a bear of any size before, and it proved to be a job that was, quite honestly, not for the faint of heart. Once the job was done, I rubbed out the empty chest cavity with snow and used a nearby stick to prop open the ribcage to allow for rapid cooling.
An hour later, we returned with 400 feet of thick logging cables and help. Bob constructed a travois out of two thick saplings and a web of rope. We rolled the bear onto it, and to no surprise, could hardly drag it. Out of breath, sweating and smelling of bear, we finally had the bruin within cable range of the truck, seemingly straight uphill from our location. Ryan sat on top of the bear and steered it through the snow past fallen trees and rocks as Bob’s truck did the rest of the work for us.
It was just past three in the afternoon when we got back to the house. The snow was beginning to fall heavily, and nothing sounded more comforting than a hot shower. “We’ve been seeing bear consistently on the hill behind our house,” roared Bob in his heavy northern accent. “You should walk slowly out the ridge to look for tracks. Maybe if you find a decent-sized set, you could follow them until dark. Mark the location and follow them again in the morning.” With how hard the snow was falling, I had my doubts that I would be able to find any tracks. The comforts of civilization were beginning to win me over when I remembered something my Grandpa always told me: “You’re not going to get anything sitting in the cabin!” Fine, I thought. I’ll take my gun for a walk.
The woods began fifty yards from the house. Stepping beneath the trees, I began to realize how truly beautiful the weather was. About thirty minutes into the hike, Ryan and I followed the ridge down to a beautiful mountain stream. Crystal clear water danced over smooth stones shadowed by the snow-laden hemlocks overhead. The beauty of the moment was overwhelming. For several minutes I had completely forgotten why I was there. Hunting a bear somehow seemed meaningless compared all that I was trying to take in. We stopped long enough to catch our breath. Climbing an adjacent ridge, we found a fresh set of bear tracks leading up the hill. It was possible we had pushed the bear from its bed, but we both decided the tracks were too small to follow.
Light was fading quickly, and we turned around, anxious to get back. Along the way, we walked through dense patches of mountain laurel and hemlocks. A bear could have been twenty yards away, and we could have missed it; we almost did. Walking up the ridge toward the house, we were just close enough to see the light pouring through the windows. The smell of the wood-burning stove filled the air. I stopped for a brief moment. Save the sound of the snow falling through the branches, all was quiet. Something felt strange.
I glanced to the left, the right, and right again. Something caught my eye about thirty yards up the hill from our position. On top of a dense patch of mountain laurel lay what was left of an old oak tree that had fallen long ago. On top of the tree was a silhouette. With the amount of snow in the air, I had a difficult time making out what it was. Several seconds passed. Then, I saw the silhouette drop its paw down to the log it was standing on. It was a bear, and it was staring right at me!
My heart raced wild. I could feel every ounce of adrenaline my body had pulsing through my veins. I struggled to take the snow covers off of my scope. The bear dropped off the log and began to walk diagonally toward me. With no ease, I finally managed to get the snow covers off my scope and shoulder my rifle. Through the dense brush and falling snow, I found a black shoulder in the scope and squeezed the trigger.
Fire erupted from the barrel; a loud crack echoed down the mountainside. The bear turned 45 degrees toward me and ran directly down the hill. There was only a fraction of a second to think. I worked the bolt as quickly as I could and chambered another round. All at once, the bear was tearing through the brush twenty-five yards directly in front of me. I shot again, and then a third time. The bear ran out of sight, and I could hear my heart pounding like hammer in my chest.
My mind was racing. Ryan was shouting in excitement. I reloaded and ran up the trail to the spot where I had taken the second shot. Dark red blood speckled the white snow up to twelve feet behind the tracks. I knew the shot was good. I also knew I didn’t want to track a bear after dark. Following the tracks a short distance, I could see the snow-dusted back of a bear through the brush on the hillside. Confident that it was dead, I made my approach, poised and ready to take a follow-up shot if necessary. Finally standing over it, I confirmed that it was dead.
The moment was euphoric. I picked up its head and admired its thick, beautiful coat. It was a 5-foot female, most likely out looking for a snack before denning up for the winter. Once again, Ryan and I shouted and laughed in a state of excitement. Daylight was fading quickly, and we could almost see the house through the trees above us. Bob met us as we finished field dressing it. “You guys are crazy,” Bob jeered. Ryan laughed. “Bob, I told you we’d tag out today!”
It was dark by the time we had my bear out of the woods. The snow was still falling as we loaded up the truck for a long drive to the check station. Into the evening, Ryan and I arrogantly joked with Bob about the details of our success. In the back of our minds, we knew the truth: we were extremely fortunate to have been so successful, and both of us would carry the memory of the hunt with us for the rest of our lives.
Pennsylvania Bear Hunting
According to the Pennsylvania Game Commission, there are approximately 15,000 bears in the state. During the 2009 season, over 125,000 sportsmen purchased a bear tag. A record harvest occurred during the 2005-2006 hunting season, when sportsmen took 4,164 bears. Even so, the success rate for bear hunters was only just over 2.6%, or 1 in every 38.
Annual success rates within Pennsylvania are generally contingent upon weather conditions during the three-day season, as well as the availability of food. In years of food scarcity, most bears will go into hibernation prior to the season, resulting in a lower success rate. However, during years when food is readily available and temperatures are cooler, the success rate is higher.
Since Pennsylvania first legalized bear hunting, it has banned the use of baits, lures and hunting with dogs. Most bear habitat within the state is made up of dense hardwood forests, steep and rugged terrain, and thick, impenetrable swamps. Even within State Game Land boundaries, many bears are simply beyond the average hunter’s reach, allowing them to grow to mature trophy sizes. Due to some of these factors, hunting authorities like Outdoor Life magazine predict the next Boone and Crockett world-record black bear to come from Penn’s Woods.
Most bear hunting in Pennsylvania is done using organized drives. Game laws cap the numbers of drivers at 25. While many organized drives result in successful hunts, it is unusual that more than one or two members of the drive find themselves with an opportunity. Quite honestly, this method is often dangerous and rarely offers ethical shot placement. Also, it displaces, spooks and interrupts the habitat of other small and large game. In my opinion, hard scouting, iron-willed patience and strict perseverance are the primary skill sets hunters need to successfully hunt these elusive animals. With weather conditions taken into consideration, still-hunting, tracking and selectively hunting from ground blinds and tree stands in bear habitat are the most effective and ethical methods of hunting bear.
Bear Hunting Check List
√ Remington 700 BDL chambered in 7mm Magnum
√ Leupold VX1 3-9X40
√ Winchester SuperX CXP2 150 Grain Power-Point
√ Butler Creek scope covers
√ Rocky Stealth stalker boots
√ Cabela’s silent suede weatherproof parka and overalls
√ Under Armour Cold Gear baselayer
√ Cabela’s synthetic polar fleece
√ Columbia polar fleece jacket
√ Cabela’s fingerless wool gloves
√ Surefire flashlight
√ Detailed topographical maps
√ Compass
√ Field-dressing tools
