A Hunter’s Alaska Bear Of A Lifetime

The following appears in the December issue of Alaska Sporting Journal:

BY SCOTT HAUGEN

You guys unpack; I’ll head up to the crow’s nest and start glassing,” said renowned Alaskan brown bear guide Bruce Hallingstad. His ace guide George Joy and I were barely nose-deep into our first bag when Hallingstad erupted.

“Big bear! Really big bear!” Hallingstad shouted from the platform, the best vantage point for miles and part of the dilapidated two-story cabin that would serve as our base camp for the next 10 days. We’d been in bear camp for seven minutes, having just arrived from a boat ride across Egegik Lagoon.

I rushed up the narrow stairway and peeked out the window that led to the crow’s nest that Bruce built specifically for spotting bears over 20 years ago. I could see the brown form well over a mile away with my naked eye. Looking at the bear through binoculars, it was obvious it was a giant. “It’s over 10 feet!” Hallingstad exclaimed as he looked through his spotting scope. “Get your gear on; I’ll keep watching the bear.”

Joy pumped up a two-man raft and I got ready. Then I switched places with Bruce while he suited up.

LOOKING AT THAT BEAR through the spotting scope for the first time was an image I’ll never forget. The initial feature to catch my eye was its blocky head. The bear’s hindquarters were massive and gyrated independently from the front half of its body with every step. The front legs were thick, all the way to the feet. It was a beast and roamed the tundra as it had done for decades.

Quickly, Hallingstad was ready and we were both sitting in the crow’s nest while continuing to glass. “It’s getting dark about midnight, so we have plenty of time,” Hallingstad said. It was only 10 a.m. on this sunny day in May.

For more than 30 minutes we watched the bear, anticipating where it might go. It was in no rush as it grazed on grass and slowly moved our way.

“I’ve seen a lot of bears travel this line over the years, and I can just about promise you it’s going to that bench behind those willows,” Hallingstad pointed out.

Two hours later Hallingstad and I were in position. But just as we prepared to slip the raft into a 60-foot-wide creek and paddle across, the wind changed. “Let’s get out of here, fast!” Hallingstad said. The bear was still over a mile away, but Hallingstad made the right call.

“I’ve seen this bear several times over the past few seasons, and I guarantee, if it smells us, we’ll never see it again,” he whispered. I agreed, and we headed back to the crow’s nest where Joy awaited.

I USED TO LIVE in Alaska, and as a resident I took grizzly bears and even a polar bear that killed and devoured a man in 1990 when we lived in Point Lay. I’d taken black bears and a brown bear too. But the 10-foot brown bear that I’d always dreamed of eluded me.

Now a nonresident, I hired the services of Bruce Hallingstad, owner of Becharof Outfitters (becharof.com), situated on the Egegik River south of King Salmon. Hallingstad is one of the best-known outfitters when it comes to big brown bears on the Alaska Peninsula.

Back atop the crow’s nest for the next several hours, we never took our eyes off where we’d last seen the giant brown bear. We alternated between spotting scopes and binoculars.

“It’s bedded down and when it gets up, it’ll either start working that ridge or pop out where we had to abort the stalk,” Hallingstad said.

It was almost 9 p.m. when I found myself seated alone in the crow’s nest.

While glassing the same ground we’d been watching all day, I was struck when the big bear suddenly materialized in the spotting scope. Its slow gait and massive size left no doubt it was our bear, and it popped out on the end of the ridge, just as Hallingstad predicted.

We wasted no time and grabbed our gear. Traveling along the graveled beach allowed us to swiftly cover ground. A small, elevated seawall separated the beach from the tundra where the bear was walking; it was perfect.

Hallingstad and I moved across a grassy flat and reached the edge of a stream. I ranged the bear at just over 700 yards. We crossed a creek in the tiny raft we’d been pulling behind us and closed to within 600 yards. The tide was out and two hours of daylight remained.

An inch of thick, pasty black mud covered the rocky creek bank, which made for slippery going. I crawled up to the edge of the bank and parted the tall, yellow grass. The brute of a bear was just over 400 yards away, and for the first time it felt like we had a chance at closing the deal.

Then the bear suddenly turned 90 degrees and kept walking. “If it goes out there we’ll never catch up to it,” Hallingstad said as he grabbed his pack. The chase was on.

Even walking as quickly as we could, the bear was now over 800 yards away. My heart sank as I felt the reality of a shot opportunity slipping away.

AFTER STOPPING TO CATCH our breath, Hallingstad whispered, “It just laid down.” With less than an hour of daylight remaining, we stuck to the edge of a creek bed. Soon we were 600 yards from the bear; then 500; then 400.

I was shooting a .338-378 Weatherby Magnum topped with a Trijicon 3×9 AccuPoint scope. The bullet of choice was a 225-grain Triple Shock. With this setup, combined with a three-legged Bog Pod shooting stick, I felt comfortable shooting out to 400 yards, but on a bear of this stature, I really wanted to get within 300 yards.

We finally caught a break. A sharp bend in the creek funneled us to where we needed to be. Belly crawling into position, I struggled to get a range on the bear, which was still bedded amid tall grass. When its giant head slowly lifted, it took my breath away. Twice the range reading came back at 290 yards. The bear was laying broadside, its head facing to the right toward the ocean. All it had to do was stand to clear the tall grass; then I’d have a shot.

For 15 minutes we sat and waited. I was solid in the sticks, but my heart continued beating faster. Finally, the bear rolled on its side, pivoted on its hindquarters, lethargically gained footing, and started walking directly away. My heart sank, and the emotional roller coaster continued. I had no shot.

Soon the bear was 400 yards out. “We’re running out of time,” Hallingstad said with a groan. “We have to walk right at that bear as fast as we can and just hope we can catch up. “

When the bruin sauntered into a creek bed and dipped out of sight, we ran as fast as we could; that wasn’t easy to do in waders on the tundra. Then we hit a meandering creek. It was too wide and deep to cross, and we’d ditched our raft in order to quickly cover ground. If the bear came out where we last saw it, I might get a shot, but beyond that I wouldn’t have a chance.

I set up the shooting sticks and hoped. Right then the massive bear sauntered out of the creek bottom and quartered away. It was the perfect shot angle, but the grass was too tall to thread a bullet through. The giant was 295 yards away; it was the closest we’d been yet.

“As soon as it turns, I’ll shoot,” I whispered to Hallingstad. But the bear didn’t turn. It kept slowly walking straight away; not a shot I wanted to take on this enormous creature. My dreams of tagging the true bear of a lifetime were fading, and there was nothing more I could do.

But then, at 325 yards the bear sat on its hind end. At that angle, the bullet would hit the bear’s spine and continue into the left lung. When the rifle roared the bruin dropped, and though it wasn’t necessary, I let go with two more insurance shots.

More than 12 hours after spotting the bear, our hunt was over.

I APPROACHED THIS GRAND bear, and it was one of the most moving moments of my more than 40 years of big game hunting, something I can’t even begin to describe with words.

When Hallingstad reached down and lifted the bear’s upper lip to inspect the teeth, we were speechless.

The animal’s incisors were worn flush to the gum line, and every canine was busted. Each molar was cracked and abscessed. The claws were worn, some barely 2 inches long. The hide hung loose, covering what was less than 1,000 pounds of flesh. In its prime, this boar would have likely tipped the scales to 1,500 pounds.

The following day, while fleshing and preparing the hide for a life-size mount, we took measurements. The hide of the old bear squared a mind-boggling 10 feet, 9 inches. When dried, the skull measured an astounding 29 5/16 inches, the third largest bear Hallingstad had taken in his camp. The bear was aged at 23 years, one of the oldest that’s ever been recorded on Alaska’s Upper Peninsula.

I’ve been fortunate to experience some incredible hunts in my life, but this brown bear hunt with Bruce Hallingstad was extra special. If, for some reason, my hunting career ended today, I’d be content. ASJ

Editor’s note: For signed copies of Scott Haugen’s best-selling book, Hunting The Alaskan High Arctic, send a check for $38 (free shipping and handling), to Haugen Enterprises, P.O. Box 275, Walterville, OR 97489, or order online at scotthaugen.com.