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 From
Sapling To Shoulder
By
Allan McGuire
Photo:
After killing a sapling on his 1997 hunt, Allan McGuire decided
to leave his scoped rifle at home when he returned to Maine’s
bear woods. His shot at this bruin wasn’t nearly as difficult,
but he still advocates iron sights.
I booked
my first-ever black bear hunt for the week of Sept. 8, 1997. After
several long months of anticipation, I flew from Ft. Lauderdale,
Fla., to Maine, where I hooked up with my guide, Eldon Jandreau.
From the airport, we drove to the cabin near Portage that would
be home for the week. I would be sharing it with two other hunters.
I arrived at
my stand about 2:30 p.m. on my first day afield. It overlooked a
55-gallon drum filled with bait — a combination of doughnuts
and hog feed. Nothing visited the free buffet during my watch, but
the barrel was robbed sometime between 8 p.m. (when I left) and
2:30 the following afternoon (when I returned). Eldon refilled it
before leaving me.
A couple of
hours later, just as I was turning my head to look left, I spotted
a bear less than 10 yards from the barrel. I was amazed that I’d
never heard him coming. I eased my Remington to my shoulder (the
scope was at its lowest setting) and aligned the crosshairs on its
shoulder.
The bear was
small — probably a 125- or 150-pounder. I wanted something
bigger!
After only a
couple of minutes, junior beat a hasty retreat. And about 10 minutes
after that, I saw why. A bigger bear was coming to the bait. Before
it reached the can, however, it stood on its hind legs and sniffed
the air. Then it dropped down and ran. I thought for sure that it
had somehow winded me.
But I was wrong!
Less than 2
minutes later, the biggest bear that I had ever seen in the wild
appeared. He was larger than the bait barrel, which meant that he
had to weigh at least 300 pounds.
I have to admit
that I was a nervous wreck. My heart was beating too fast, and I
had trouble breathing. It was the worst case of buck — or bear
— fever I’d ever experienced.
When the bear
reached the barrel, he was facing the trail that I had taken to
the stand. Eldon had told me that bears have poor eyesight, but
I’m convinced that this one (from a distance of 40 yards) looked
straight at me at least twice.
Once I got my
breathing somewhat under control, I started thinking about raising
my rifle. Every time the bear went to work on the bait, I started
bringing my gun to my shoulder. Whenever it raised its head, I stopped.
After the third and final move like that, I was almost ready. But
as soon as the stock rubbed against my jacket, the super-sensitive
bear swapped ends and hit the gas pedal.
I fired of course,
but my bullet whacked a small tree. I was devastated, but relieved
that it had been a clean miss. Better to have my shirttail cut than
wound an animal.
I didn’t
get a second chance that week, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself and
assured Eldon that I would return the next year. I would have, too,
if my wife’s career had not forced us to move to Louisiana
the following summer. Eldon was kind enough to apply my deposit
toward the fall of 1999.
It seemed to
take forever, but I finally got back to Maine — this time with
an unscoped 7mm Mag. A scope is great for deer hunting over open
ground, but impractical for the thick woods of northern Maine.
Eldon greeted
me at the airport and introduced me to Lewis Hazel of Miami, Fla.,
who would be my roommate. Lewis and I were among 15 hunters there
for the week.
When I heard
that 24 out of 33 hunters had scored the previous week, I became
excited over my prospects.
That first day
was unseasonably warm for Maine, so I wore lightweight clothing
and sprayed myself with scent-killer. Eldon walked me to my stand
just after 1 p.m. For the next 6 hours, I saw only ground squirrels
and birds. In the two years since I’d been there, I had forgotten
just how uncomfortable the stands can be.
When it was
nearing 7:00, I thought about getting down at 7:30 and walking back
to the main logging road. Moments later, however, I ditched the
notion as a bear appeared behind the bait barrel. I wasted no time
in shouldering my rifle. I was not about to be caught flat-footed
again!
As the bear
got closer, it seemed to grow even bigger. My heart started racing,
and I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I’m sure that he
could hear me breathing, but the bear couldn’t smell me. As
he moved forward cautiously, I had my sights on him the whole time.
The only reason I didn’t shoot sooner was because it was a
head-on target.
The bruin stopped
and turned broadside at one point, but a tree was blocking his midsection.
All I could see was his head and rump. He stayed frozen that way,
sniffing the air, for several minutes.
He knew something
was wrong, but he REALLY wanted those doughnuts. Blinded by hunger,
the bear started toward the sweets. Before he reached them, I fired.
Obviously hit, he spun around and charged into the brush. I heard
him crashing through the undergrowth before everything fell silent.
After waiting
15 minutes, I got down and started walking toward the logging road
to get help. I’d traveled maybe a half-mile when I saw Eldon’s
truck coming.
Together, we
trailed the bear, which had only made it 15 yards before collapsing.
He was a good one, too, weighing in at 375 pounds and green scoring
more than 21 inches.
Editor’s
Note: To book a fall black bear hunt in Maine, call Eldon Jandreau
at (207) 435-2231, or write him at P.O. Box 147, Portage, ME 04768.
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