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A Loud Bear

This is NOT the LOUD bear, but one that came close to being the same size. Please note the absence of a flintlock muzzleloader and the presence of a centerfire rifle, and the fact a big bear is down!
This is NOT the LOUD bear, but one that came close to being the same size. Please note the absence of a flintlock muzzleloader and the presence of a centerfire rifle, and the fact a big bear is down!

No way was I going to believe the breaking of limbs, rolling of logs, and the deep guttural grunts were being made by a black bear. “Gotta be the guys messing with me!” I said loud enough so if they were, they would certainly hear my comment. The noises continued, and getting closer.

I was not a rookie black bear hunter! During the past twenty-plus years I had hunted black bears from New Mexico and Arizona northward through the Rocky Mountains to the coastal islands and inland in British Columbia and Alaska, eastward in several Canadian provinces to Maine, and along the Flambeau River in Wisconsin. I had hunted America’s bear watching late afternoon waterholes, spot and stalk, following well-trained hounds, blowing on a predator call, and hunting them over bait as I was doing at the moment in northern Maine waiting in ambush watching a bucket filled with Hostesses Twinkies, over which had been poured cooking grease and a beaver-tail appetizer.

Even being chased by hounds, a bear moves without hardly making any sound at all. Sitting on baits, I had always been amazed at how quietly bears, small to monstrous, approached without hardly any sounds. Never had I heard one breaking limbs, rolling logs, making every effort to let anything in the area know he or possibly she was approaching a bait site.

The “sounds” kept getting closer. I strained to see any movement that might be coming my way. Nothing! Just more noise, ever closer!

I was sitting against the base of a tree on a small knoll ten feet above where the bait bucket was hung, fifteen yards away. 

“If it’s not French or Fears messing with me,” they were supposedly eight and twelve miles away, “maybe it’s a blind moose stumbling through the woods,” I said to no one. “That’s gotta be what it is. Making too much noise to be anything else.” The noise continued, getting ever closer.

Maine’s KI, Katahdin Ironworks land, was known for big moose. But it was and is also known for big black bear. 

Two years earlier, while hunting the same area, I had met a local who had taken a bear that weighed fifteen pounds shy of six hundred. The bear’s tanned hide covered the entire interior wall of the camp where it was hung. No doubt it had squared in excess of 8 feet. One big black bear!

I thought whatever was making the noise had to be a blind moose. I relaxed but continued watching to my right, the direction of the breaking limbs and logs.

At the time, I was in charge of media relations for Thompson/Center Arms hunting with Ken and Pam French and J. Wayne and Sofee Fears. I had hunted with Ken and Miss Pam several times and a lot with Fears. Our primary objective was for Fears to take a bear to write about in the various publications where he served on staff. Secondarily, I hoped to take a bear with a new stainless steel .50 caliber T/C flintlock muzzleloader. Until this hunt, I had shot a flintlock a total of four times. But, I had hunted considerably with caplock and inline muzzleloaders, including taking a 563-pound White Mountain Apache Reservation black bear shot with the then-new 209×50 Mag Encore inline muzzleloader barrel.

If we were going to promote the new flintlock, I felt it necessary to have hunted with one and to have shot a big game animal with it using a Hornady “slug.” A Maine black bear seemed the perfect animal!

I did not take a handgun with me on the bear hunt, flintlock only. I loved hunting with handguns.   But I knew if I had my .30-06 Encore handgun at my side, I would end up shooting a bear with it rather than the flintlock!

So there I sat, leaning against a tree, watching the small opening around the bait bucket, listening to what had to be a blind moose staggering through Maine’s Deep Woods.

Just then, I saw a patch of black through the evergreen boughs to my right. I watched in awe when the most gigantic black bear I had ever seen stepped from behind the branches! He was extremely tall of shoulder, and so long he nearly filled the opening. I watched as he approached the bait bucket. He was huge, “ginormous”; no other way to describe him. I had previously taken an Alaskan grizzly, a brown bear, and a nearly 600-pound black bear. This bear made those seem small!

The enormous black blob turned his tail toward me. Slowly I raised the .50 flintlock to my shoulder, then pointed it toward the bear. I cocked the hammer. 

I looked down the barrel’s open sights. As I did, the bear turned broadside. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat. 

“Settled down!!! Do not pull the trigger until you’ve calmed down! Shoot him just behind the shoulder!”  I took several deep breaths, but with concern, the big bear might hear me breathe or my heart beating.

I thought…“Steep angle on the shot. The bullet should pass through, leaving an exit hole in the lower opposite part of his chest cavity and leaving a good blood trail to follow…One more breath. Squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it!”  Followed by, “Oh my goodness, he’s HUGE!”

The bear continued eating, looking down at the bucket even though it was tied up off of the ground. Again to myself, “Properly align the sights. Hold sights in place until after the flash in the pan ignites the powder in the barrel. Slowly…Squeeze….”

Hammer hit the frizzen. Flash! Sparks! Fire! I gripped the flintlock tightly, waiting for the powder in the barrel to ignite! It did not! The flintlock did not fire! 

Within milliseconds of the flash in the pan, the bear swung his head and stared in my direction, laid back his ears in a threatening manner, and peered at the source of his interrupted meal. I waited, gun pointed at the bear, then realized my flintlock was not going to send my Hornady lead ball on its deadly mission… 

In those seconds following the mere flash in the pan, I so wished for my handgun. Had it been at my side, I would have quickly grabbed it and killed the bear. The same bear of monstrous stature that now menacingly stared at me while I madly tried to re-prime the flintlock.

Just as I again got powder in the pan, the bear of a lifetime, nay several lifetimes, walked away.

There I sat, questioning why I had chosen to hunt with a flintlock. A flintlock that did not go “bang” the one time I needed it to! And why had I not taken my Encore handgun with me that afternoon?

Until the sun went down, the bear stayed just out of sight, walking circles around where I sat, breaking limbs and grunting angrily, but out of sight.

With precious daylight remaining, I decided to walk to where I would be picked up nearly two miles away. I left my ground blind, flintlock grasped tightly where it could be used as a club rather than a firearm! Just in case the bear decided to attack.

Wish I could tell you that was the last time I hunted with a flintlock. While it should have been, it was not.

I should have learned my lesson! 

Remind me to tell you about another encounter with a Maine black bear when I foolishly hunted with a flintlock!

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