Experiencing The Sound Of Family Fun: Hunting Bears, Fishing, Shrimping

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

BY LANDON ALBERTSON

Alaska is home to one of the largest black bear populations in the world, with an estimated 100,000 to 200,000 bruins roaming its vast wilderness. One of the best places to find them is in Prince William Sound, where remote islands and thick coastal forests create the perfect habitat. It is a wild and stunning place, untouched and rugged, and an ideal setting for anyone who loves the challenge and reward of hunting.

In many parts of Alaska, including in and around Prince William Sound, the season runs from late summer until June 30. But spring is one of the best times to chase black bears in the Sound. As they emerge from their winter dens, they begin moving along the beaches and glacier slides in search of easy food. Green grass, ocean mussels and whatever the tide has left behind draw them out into the open, offering solid opportunities for a well-planned stalk.

We decided to make the most of Memorial Day weekend. My wife Jen and I took an extra day off work and loaded up the boat with our kids – Leo, Caleb and our youngest, Fisher. Our goal was simple. We planned to hunt bears, drop shrimp pots, catch some fish and – most of all – enjoy quality time together in one of the most beautiful places Alaska has to offer.

For our family, the experience goes beyond the hunt. We do it with purpose. We use everything the animal provides and follow the laws in place to help protect the future of Alaska’s wildlife. The bear feeds our family, the hide gets used for practical and traditional purposes and the memories last forever. That’s how we were raised, and it’s how we raise our kids.

QUITE A BACKDROP

We pushed off into the Sound with the salty wind on our faces and the quiet hum of the motor behind us. The water was like glass, mirroring the snowy mountains that towered in every direction. A light mist hung over the shoreline, softening the rugged edges and making it all feel like a dream. This place doesn’t just look wild. It feels wild deep down in your bones. Every mile we traveled pulled us further from the noise of the world and closer to something real.

We headed toward a remote bay tucked behind rocky bluffs and thick alders. This was bear country – the kind of place where nothing feels disturbed and every sound is worth listening to. That evening, it didn’t take long before we spotted a black bear working the beach in the distance.

The wind was perfect. I climbed to the top of our Weldcraft, unstrapped the 12-foot dinghy from the roof, and lowered it into the water. Jen and I climbed in and quietly paddled toward shore, staying low and keeping our movements smooth and silent.

As we neared the beach, the bow of the dinghy scraped against the shoreline, causing shale rocks to shift and crunch beneath us. Jen stepped out and tied the boat to a drift log on the edge of the beach. We grabbed our gear and I handed Jen the rifle. The stalk was on.

We moved carefully, stepping over driftwood and pushing through thick brush, all the while doing our best to stay quiet and out of sight. Everything felt right. The wind was steady, the bear was still feeding and we were closing the distance. But just as it felt like it was all coming together, the terrain threw us a curveball. A steep rock wall dropped straight into the ocean and blocked our path. There was no way around it without being seen. We were pinned down.

At just over 120 yards, the bear was still working the shoreline, completely unaware of us. I whispered to Jen to get steady on a rock ledge and take her time. She eased into position, standing boot-deep in the ocean with the tide rising around her legs. We only had a small window before the opportunity slipped away with the water. She steadied her breathing, focused and squeezed the trigger when she was ready.

The rifle cracked and echoed through the steep mountain walls surrounding the bay. But instead of a solid hit, we saw dirt explode just above the bear’s back. It looked like a clean miss. The bear bolted into the alders and disappeared without a trace.

We paddled over to where the bear had stood and confirmed what we already suspected. No blood. No sign of a hit. Just a narrow escape. Jen was frustrated but calm. She let out a breath of relief knowing the bear wasn’t wounded, though missing is never easy. No hunter likes to walk away empty-handed, but that’s part of the process. We headed back to the big boat, quietly reflecting on the stalk, the miss and the hope that tomorrow might bring another chance. And it did.

FISHING, SHRIMPING, SALTWATER FEASTS

I have found that bear hunting is often better in the evenings, so we take it easy in the mornings. We usually start the day with a hearty breakfast of premade moose sausage and scrambled egg burritos. After breakfast, we make the most of our time in Prince William Sound.

We drop shrimp pots in the morning and pull up full baskets later in the afternoon. The kids love it. Watching the lines come up heavy and seeing the pots overflowing with bright pink shrimp fresh from the deep never gets old.

We grab the biggest ones and toss them straight into a hot skillet with garlic butter. Cooking them right there on the boat, with the salt air, the sound of the waves and the smell of shrimp sizzling over the burner, is something special. Honestly, there is no restaurant on Earth that compares.

As Jen cooked, the boys grabbed their rods and started casting off the side of the boat. They pulled in a few solid rockfish and even managed to hook a couple of lingcod hiding in the rocks below. If you’ve never seen a lingcod, picture something between a camouflage-covered dragon and a deep-sea alien. They have a mouth full of sharp teeth that you definitely do not want to mess with.

They might not win any beauty contests, but they are fascinating to look at, fun to catch and when they are in season, absolutely delicious on the table. The boys lit up every time one came flopping out of the water, adding to the excitement of another unforgettable day on the Sound.

These moments between the hunts, sitting on the water eating fresh shrimp and swapping stories, are what make trips like this unforgettable.

REDEMPTION TIME

That evening, we headed to a familiar spot tucked deep in a quiet bay and far from boat traffic and noise. Over the years, we’ve harvested several bears from this area. A large glacier slide looms above the beach and grassy slopes.

We sat for a while glassing on the boat without seeing much, but then finally spotted one. A very dark black bear emerged onto the shale and moved through patches of bright green grass. There was no mistaking it – this bear was bigger than the one Jen had missed the night before. The look in her eyes said it all. She was ready.

We climbed back into the dinghy and paddled toward shore. The tide was low, which left a wide stretch of slippery ground between us and the bear. We moved quietly across mussel-covered rocks and seaweed that had been underwater just an hour before. We crossed a shallow stream and crept over slick stones, using every bit of cover the terrain gave us. The wind stayed steady in our favor, helping us close the distance.

Jen found a driftwood log to brace against and got into position. The bear was still feeding and unaware that we were there. She slowed her breathing, lined up her shot and squeezed the trigger.

The bear dropped instantly.

It was one of those quiet, powerful moments in the field. Jen had stayed composed, learning from the day before, and she made it count when it mattered most. Watching her walk up to that bear, smiling from ear to ear, filled me with pride.

We radioed the boys from the boat, and soon the whole family was walking across the beach together. We skinned and butchered the bear right there, saving every piece of meat along with the hide and skull. We packed it all into the dinghy and hauled it back to the Weldcraft.

Jen didn’t let the miss from the night before shake her. She didn’t get discouraged and she never lost hope. Instead, she stayed focused, trusted the process and stepped right back into the hunt with grit and determination. This time, she connected with an even bigger, more beautiful bear.

We brought back to the boat more than just meat that day. We brought a story of perseverance, redemption and a moment our family will carry with us for the rest of our lives.

CLOSE CALL WITH A BOW AND A BRUIN

On the third day, it was my turn. After Jen’s success, I was itching to get out there.

The weather was calm and cool, perfect for a stalk. We spotted a bear meandering along a rocky beach, then watched it disappear into the alders. As I grabbed my bow, Leo and I climbed into the raft.

We rowed across the bay and stepped out onto the gravel shoreline. We moved slowly, walking in shin-deep water to muffle our sound. The spruce forest above us stood silent and dark, with patches of green seaweed tangled in the driftwood at our feet. Every step felt electric.

Just ahead, we spotted the bear again tucked into the alder brush. Leo leaned in and whispered, “There he is.” I nodded, nocked an arrow and began moving in.

At 30 yards, the bear stepped out of the alders and started making its way toward the beach. I drew my bow, thinking it would keep walking and give me the perfect shot. It was a later-than-usual spring, and the alders were just beginning to bloom. The bear paused every few steps to feed, using its long tongue to pull in the fresh white flowers. My arms started to burn as I held full draw; my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

The bear kept feeding, head down, completely unaware. At 25 yards, I hoped for a clean angle, but it stayed facing toward me. I didn’t want to risk a poor shot. I held my draw for nearly three minutes before my muscles gave out, and I had to let down. Thankfully, the bear didn’t notice.

It stepped onto the beach at 20 yards and moved even closer. Leo and I crouched motionless at the water’s edge, with nothing between us and the bear but a stretch of gravel and green grass. At 15 yards, the bear finally turned broadside and fed calmly in a thick patch of new growth.

I drew again, pushing through the fatigue. My muscles were already worn from the long hold, but I managed to settle my pin just behind the shoulder. Right then, the bear looked up and locked eyes with me. It had caught the movement. This was the moment.

I released the arrow; it hit the shoulder and the bear bolted into the brush. As it crashed through the trees, I saw the arrow snap off. My heart was still pounding as I looked over at Leo. His eyes were wide. He had filmed the entire encounter.

We waited, then followed the trail. A clear blood trail led us up the hill. Just 60 yards later, we found the bear. Relief washed over me. Getting that close to a wild black bear with a bow in hand is an experience you never forget. There is no adrenaline rush like it, and no deeper respect than standing that close to such a powerful animal, knowing you made a clean and ethical shot.

CLOSING OUT A WILD SOUND JOURNEY

This trip gave us everything: a tough miss, a powerful redemption, full pots of shrimp, fresh fish, and a close-range bow hunt that tested every ounce of patience I had. It fed our bodies and our spirits.

As we motored back toward camp with the sun sinking behind the mountains, I looked around at my family, our boat loaded with meat and the wild beauty of Prince William Sound surrounding us. My heart was full. I felt thankful for these moments together and deeply grateful to call a place like this home. ASJ

Editor’s note: Author Landon Albertson grew up in Lakeview, Oregon, but now chases hunting and fishing adventures as an Alaskan transplant. Check out some of them at preyonadventure.com and on the family’s YouTube page (search for “Prey On Adventure: Alaska Fishing & Hunting”).