“A MOMENT IN THE SUN”

As we neared the Mackinaw Bridge, heading south, with a huge black bear securely tied to the trunk of the car.  I envisioned surging throngs of captivated envious fans lined up and down the full length of the bridge, the masses cheering so.  The volume was such as to drown out the whistles of the ships below, streaming water from their fore hoses, confetti blackened the ski.  All through junior high and high school, Steve Miller and I ere known as “The Hunters.”  It was common knowledge, whenever one of us was absent during the hunting season, the other would be absent also.  We had always been quite successful deer and small game hunters, so it was only natural that bear hunting would gain our attention, especially since it was considered the ultimate hunt in Michigan.  Sure, WE had aspirations and dreams like most others who loved this sport, of one day hunting elk or moose out west, or lions and elephants in Africa, the fulfillment of such faraway dreams would have to be set aside for awhile.  During the first three years of bear hunting we didn’t have much success, actually we didn’t have any, in fact we hadn’t even seen a bear.  There was just something about the beauty and solitude of the Upper Peninsula, how else can one explain the need to return year after year?  Even today I could still hear the musical baying of the bear hounds deep in the woods, hounds that I would never see, nor be able (PRIVILEGED) to hunt over.  We baited, but in all fairness, it was usually done the day before the opener, hardly a way to establish a bait station.  Looking back on it from today’s perspective, I have to smile at our lack of preparedness, scouting?  There was no such word in our vocabulary.  In an effort to educate myself, I spent long hours at the local library, reading all that I could find about the habits of bear.  I couldn’t wait until the bear season opened, to put my new found education into play.  Our destination would be somewhere near Pike Lake, not to far out of Tahguamenon.  We arrived two days before the season opener with over 150 # of now bloated, ripened chicken innards, along with some empty cans.  We discovered some well traveled bear runs, now the real work begins, we had carried in the bait and the cans just to avoid disturbing the area as much as possible.  We set about stuffing the cans with as much innards as we could, then we tied series of cans together.  (Boy what a nasty, nauseating job that was, but if the bears find it delectable, so be it) I guess our reasoning may have been that a big hungry bear would find this feast and work very hard and noisily for the next couple of days.  Then in the dark of the morning we would sneak very quietly into the area of the bait, or within gunshot range, then wait for first light.  Of course we wouldn’t need a flashlight because we wouldn’t be guided by the noise of the cans, or from the fragrance of the now three-day-old bait.  Then when we could see the Hapless Beast, boom, boom, and on to glory.  I know our grandiose plan was more of a fantasy than reality because when it came right down to the actual hunting plan, nothing, and I mean NOTHING, went accordingly.  We started our quiet journey into the dark woods two hours before daylight, every now and then we would stop and listen for the bear working the cans over, as time went by we could neither hear the expected noise the bear should have been making, nor should we detect the expected aroma, the factual dilemma was not only could we not find the bait, but we were hopelessly lost.  No compass, no sun, and no brains.  We were doomed to be eaten alive by relentless swarms of mosquitoes.  As we stood with indecision, a miraculous heaven sent miracle took place in the form of a lone hunter, we were saved.  After following him for quite some time we realized we had been walking in circles, he was lost also.  He was about as bright as we were; he had no compass either.  Imagine that, a blind hunter leading two blind hunters?  So much for miracles.  We struck off on our own, at least we had a canteen of water and some sandwiches, and we sure the hell didn’t want to share it with a useless guide.  Then lo and behold we walked into a clearing of high weeds, while pondering our next move the sweet music of baying hounds reached us, at first it came from a great distance, the hounds must have been on a super hot trail, the action was most definitely coming our way.  Steve and I took position back near the wood line; we were about 30 feet apart.  Steve had a 35 Marlin, and I had a 30 06.  We could hear the hounds very clearly, and then just when we thought we should see the bear with the hounds close behind, the baying changed pitch, we didn’t know what that meant.  Now the action was shifting out and away from us.  I looked over at Steve; he shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “ What happened?”  Before I could respond, I heard a fantastic crashing noise coming from directly behind and toward me that scared the hell out of me.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t bashful, and then I saw a huge black monster plowing through the small clearing.  He was moving as if the Devil himself was in hot pursuit, I was electrified, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  I couldn’t get him in my scope, but I could see exactly where he was by the parting of the heavy foliage as he labored through.  Then, for some odd reason the bear took to jumping high above the tall weeds as if to see where he was going, then disappeared, only to reappear, this reminded me of a shooting gallery, with the target bobbing up and down.  I knew my shot would have to be timed; unknown to me at the time, Steve had come to the same conclusion.  The next time he popped up I fired for the lung area, I didn’t feel the kick, but I did noticed the shot sound exceptionally loud, I kept swinging in the direction I expected him to reappear in, but instead the bear turned and headed straight away, once again he took to bobbing up, then down, when I picked up his rhythm again I fired, (again I noticed the noise of the shot) the bear went cart-wheeling head over tail, I was shocked, it was as if something had pulled an unseen rug out from under him.  This whole sequence was played out in slow motion, now everything was so very quiet.  After the surge of adrenalin had returned back to normal, I turned to ask Steve, why didn’t he shoot?  His answer was a shock to me, “I did shoot, twice.  Why didn’t you shoot?”    Then I realized we must have shot both of our rounds simultaneously, now I had the answer as to why the shots had sounded so loud to me.  Cautiously, we advanced, guns ready, we could see amazing amounts of blood, once again my adrenalin began to surge, calling for red alert.  We were scared; anything that could lose that much blood and still keep going gave us just cause for alarm and fear.  Then, we saw the big bear face down and unmoving.  We stood transfixed for ten minutes, watching for any type of movement, there was none.  We couldn’t believe the awesome size of him, he looked like a Grizzly Bear.  We were elated, shaking hands and really whopping it up, the bear had absorbed two shots to the lungs, and one of our rounds caught him in the back of the head, causing the pulled rug affect.  When we tried to turn him over we learned how truly enormous he was when we could hardly budge him.  Steve turned to me and said, “Now what?”  I understood, we were still lost.  It was decided that I would stay with the bear while

Steve would try to find his way out, and hopefully return with help in dragging the bear out.  If there ever were a need for a miracle, now would be the time.  That’s exactly what we got when six (hounds men) bear hunters appeared (guided by our shots and noise).  They too were impressed with the size of the bear, they had known of this bear for three years, and thought he could very well be a new state record.  As they spoke our heads began to swell, along with our chests.  They had been running this bear together with a smaller one all morning, then when the bears split up the hounds shifted their full attention onto the smaller bear, allowing the bigger bear to almost escape, yet virtually pushing him to his demise.  The other bear hunters were true sportsmen, insisting on helping us drag the bear out, and even helped us lift and tie the bear on the truck, a most grueling task; unforgettable.  While gassing up for the return home, we were interviewed by the local newspaper, who in turn must have wired the news of our luck to the world, we even heard it on the radio during the ride home.  Upon reaching Dearborn we were treated like liberating heroes, all Detroit and Dearborn papers carried the story.  We were even invited to tell our story on “Michigan Outdoors.”  The bear officially weighed in at 550 pounds on certified scales, ranking him as the second largest bear ever taken in Michigan, at the time.  Live weight may have put him close to 700 pounds.  We didn’t know about skull measurements, in fact, we don’t know what became of the skull.  But I do know, whatever my calling would be, it sure wasn’t to be a television star, just ask my wife, she won’t hesitate to tell one and all how I embarrassed her in front of the whole world when I blew my T.V. debut by nervously flopping all my lines while chewing gum at 50 m.p.h., Steve must not have fared much better as Mort Neff was frantically motioning for a commercial.