September morning was chilly with the temperature down near
45F. It was still dark when I had awakened at 4:30 am and I
was in the kitchen sipping a mug of Russian Earl Grey tea and
finishing a hearty breakfast of poached eggs and pork shoulder.
On the couch in the living room was the gear I would need for
the day: my faithful recurve bow with a 60-pound draw, a deep
back quiver with four broadhead arrows in it, and a large fanny
pack containing rations, a tiny long-range radio, compass, emergency
matches and a few other oddments. I was dressed in a complex
pattern of camouflage from cap to boots.
finished breakfast and slipped the gear on. All in all it weighed
only about 10 pounds, pretty light compared to the 70-pound
packs I sometimes take to trek into the bush. But I would only
be gone the day, no further than five miles from our cottage
in the deep Highland forests, and if worse came to worse I could
radio the cottage for assistance. I kissed my wife, Daphne,
goodbye and headed out at half past 5:00 a.m. I wanted to be
deep in the woods long before the sun rose.
archers' deer season had arrived; a special season set aside
for those few of us who like to do things the hard way--we of
the bent stick. And among archers, I probably do things hardest
of all. No ATVs to scoot to my hunting grounds, no compound
bows with their mounted pulleys to make the bow's draw weight
lighter. Sometimes I used a horse to chase game and track, but
not today. I feel that hunting in this most traditional way
honors the game, and the spirit of the Green Man, whom I follow.
Today I was going into the Old Forest, a vast forest of virgin
timber that grows north and east of our hollow.
hiked east, following a barely used dirt road up the shallow
mountainside. Our homestead is already near the top of the mountain
and I needed only ascend the height of the hollow. About two
miles up the road I took a left and crossed a meadow of wild
blueberry. There I stopped at a thicket of birch and slipped
into the shadow, checking the surrounding meadow for deer that
might cross my path. In the dim light every young white spruce
and old stump looked like game but nothing moved and I determined
after half an hour, in dawn's first light, that the meadow was
well and truly empty.
dropped to my right knee. "Green Man, the deer and bears
are yours. You know I only hunt for meat and use hide and hair
and sinew and nothing goes to waste. And the forest this year
holds too many deer and bear. They will starve a slow death
if their numbers are not culled. Grant me a deer or send bear
my way, as you wish. So mote it be." I rose and left the
birch thicket, taking hidden trails north to the foot of the
ancient maples and birches that are the staple trees of the
sun had barely risen and the forest rose rapidly to my left,
blocking any view of it over the horizon. The canopy was thick
and except for the whitening sky overhead, I had re-entered
honor the Green Man with the deeply nature-oriented way I live,
and I have found he is often quick to answer me. But he has
a sense of humor and often his answers, while beneficial, come
in ways I don't anticipate, and so it was to be this day.
was yet two hundred yards from where the little used trail entered
the dark forest, watching the ground for tracks as I had already
come across coyote and fox spoor and the odd deer track, when
I glanced upward as I was rounding a thicket of raspberry canes.
About 150 yards off was a black bear beating up the path fast
in my direction. I was being charged by a bear again, entirely
unprovoked, for the fourth time in my life. But this time, unlike
my years in the Alaskan wilderness, I had no gun. In the face
of situations I find I become strangely cool. The first thought
that passed through my head as I prepared to fight off the bear
was, "Hmm, this will be different."
am a big guy. I'm tall and built somewhat like a barrel, and
living most of my life in the wilderness and on a farm has made
me far stronger than the average person. I'm no weightlifter
or superman, but I am fast and capable, a lot more so than most.
And I've spent my whole life with animals--so I am pretty confident
around them. Thus, encountering a charging bear was enough to
alarm me but nothing like panic. I stepped aside into the thicket
to do what had to be done.
bear can move fast--up to thirty miles per hour. I knew I had
only seconds till it was at my position. I drew an arrow from
my back quiver and knocked it to the string. Then I pushed back
the flap of my jacket so I could get fast at the 17" Bowie
knife I always carry into the deep woods. I knew it would come
down to a hands-to-claw fight even if I could put an arrow into
what you know of archery you learned from watching Legolas in
The Lord of the Rings, it would seem that you shoot something
and it goes "Ooomph!" and drops. In reality, arrows
kill by bleeding out your target and even a well-placed shot
can take half a minute to drop anything substantial. That's
a long time to duke it out with a bear. I am a good shot with
a bow, and I figured I'd have time for one good shot then it
would be down to holding it off with the Bowie.
waited. Seconds passed. No bear. This made me more concerned
because I've been hunted by a bear before--a grizzly in the
Alaskan wilderness. But I'd never heard of such clever hunting
behavior among black bears. I listened. A black bear is a big
animal and it could not just sneak up on me. I would have heard
it crashing through the thicket, but there was nothing. Finally,
I stepped from the cover of the thicket and looked up the trail.
There was the black bear, standing on his hind legs--a posture
a bear does when it knows something is amiss. It was sniffing
for me. Then it burst left and took off into the forest.
is going on?" I wondered. First it's charging me then it
turns tail and runs? That would be really weird behavior for
a black bear. They are far less inclined to charge than grizzlies,
but if they do they are far less inclined to stop until something
is dead. But this one had senses me, stopped, then lit out.
arrow still knocked, I continued up the trail. A gentle breeze
wafted through the air, bearing scents of summer life, of deep
living forest and of autumn all at once. I eyed the raspberry
thicket carefully but there was no sign of the bear. It had
bolted deep into the forest. Stranger and stranger. Another
hundred yards and I was satisfied the bear was gone. I dropped
the arrow back in the quiver--it's dangerous to walk with a
razor sharp broadhead on your bow--and continued on up the trail.
I had not gone another hundred yards and just entered the woods
when surprise number two met me as, once again, I was eying
the trail for tracks.
black bear was on the trail, bent over and eating something.
It was so invested in its meal that it had not even noticed
me, though I was only about fifty yards from it. But the ground
was moist, the breeze from out of the north, so my steps were
ghost silent and my scent did not waft over to the bear which
was east of me. Now I knew what had happened--the first bear
had not really been charging me at all. The first one had been
a smallish black, one hundred fifty, maybe two hundred pounds.
The bear in front of me now was about twice that. Bears don't
tolerate each other well and the first bear had probably been
run off from the food by the bear now in front of me. It had
been running up the very trail I was approaching the forest
on, saw me, probably thought some dung-related expletive, and
beat it northeast into the Old Wood.
now there was this second, much bigger bear in front of me.
I was really after deer but I had a bear license in case luck
brought me across one, and luck--or the Green Man's pranks--had
just done exactly that--twice! Out from my quiver came the arrow
and I knocked it to the string. Then began a slow cat-and-mouse
game in which, over the space of a half an hour I covered twenty
yards, moving so slowly the movement could not be perceived,
going silently over the forest duff. Bears have poor eyesight
and if it did not see or scent me, I figured I could get within
twenty-five yards of it. At twenty-five yards I am deadly with
a traditional bow.
thirty-five yards I espied fresh bear droppings on the ground.
I walked intentionally through them in order to increase my
bear scent, making me more invisible to the creature. At thirty
yards I began to ponder taking the shot, but thirty is a big
difference with traditional bows. They don't have sights--you
shoot by instinct, and I go from deadly to hitting my target
about 50% of the time in just that five yards difference. So
I decided to do the ethical thing and wait. I respect the game
by not taking a shot unless I know there will be a quick, nearly
painless kill. So, the long minutes passed as I ever-so-slowly
closed the distance.
yards came. I was nearly there. Then the black stood up from
where it had been eating fallen apples and scented me. A random
shift in the wind had betrayed me. It darted right and lit out
south into a raspberry-thick glade that led into the Old Wood
beyond. I pondered taking the shot as it ran. My bow is traditional,
no sights. Such bows can be aimed fast, and I'm good with it
and could have put two arrows in the air in a moment. But I
might just have easily only injured the bear. Not today, I decided
and lowered the bow.
a deep sigh, I placed the arrow back in the quiver, leaned against
the trunk of a massive maple probably a century old. I had asked
the Green Man to show me bear and within ten minutes of that
request he had showed me two, and with the first one he made
me think we'd be locked in mortal combat, with the second one
he let me stumble almost on top of it then have it slip away.
time, brother bear,” I whispered into the forest in the
direction the bear had gone, deciding not to track it through
the thorny thicket of raspberry. It had earned its escape. Then
to the Green Man, I whispered, "Ha, ha, very funny. Now,
let's go find a deer, you prankster."