It was a banner day in the bear woods
It was a banner day in the bear woods
By Tyler Frantz
The rifle’s incisive crack echoed through the hollow immediatly after I had nestled into my comfortable creek bottom vantage point. I hadn’t even pulled on my jacket when the nearby shot rang out, producing a racket of rustling leaves and snapping branches barreling down the mountainside above me.
I peered through the dense laurel, listening intently with gun at the ready for that which may emerge. But a shock-calmed voice soon came across the radio: “Hey guys- if anyone can hear me, I just shot a bear. It’s down.” That voice belonged to first-time bear hunter Jason Brown, who, twenty-five minutes prior, we had given instructions to follow a steep mountainside bench toward a known bear crossing- a prime location he would stake out all day long.
Brown never made it there; for while sneaking along the bench, he walked head-on into an unsuspecting bruin walking the same bench in his direction.
Forget that Brown was still wearing his fleece sweat pants, that he was less than an hour into his wet-behind-the-ears career as a bear hunter, or that it was already breaking dawn and neither of us had even made it to our hunting spots yet. None of that mattered when Brown sealed an opportunity to place his harvest tag on a Pennsylvania black bear- an honor less than three-percent of hunters get to experience each year- if ever in a lifetime of hunting.
So when I heard the call, I knew it was a big deal. I promptly packed up my gear and set out to give the lucky hunter a helping hand. While snapping photos, Brown retold his story in grateful disbelief. His face expressed a sense of sincere joy and gratitude for my willingness to help; I was tremendously happy for him. As we quietly laid out our two-man extraction plan, a volley of shots pierced the opposite hillside. Before long, fellow camp member Keith Fessler radioed to announce that he too had downed a bear. The eight hunters in our party responded with exuberant congratulations from various stand locations along the mountainside. It was a terrific day for Mill Run Camp.
My brother, Travis, told Fessler he would slowly hunt his way over to assist in getting his bear up the mountain, while Brown and I began the long arduous drag to the top on our side, after which, we’d still have a mile-and-a-half across the flat before reaching the truck.
Hours later, Brown and I had finally conquered the top ridge, and I was feeling confident we’d get his bear out in plenty of time to salvage an afternoon sit. We had paced ourselves to prevent excessive overheating, and the worst of the drag was behind us. Besides, another camp member had already retrieved the game cart, further simplifying our journey over the remaining terrain. But just when we thought it was smooth sailing, more shots erupted from the same deep hollow we had finally escaped. Half hopeful, half terrified to hear the report, we placed our silent radios to our ears. Sure enough, Travis had scored.
“Keith, I’ve got good news and bad news,” my brother exclaimed. “The good news is I have a huge boar down by the creek! The bad news is I don’t think I’ll be making it over to help with your bear.” Knowing three bears in one morning is a terrific problem for a camp to have, Fessler promptly responded, “I’ll take the good news buddy! Congratulations!”
At this point, we all realized the towel was officially thrown for the day’s hunt, and we shifted complete focus toward taking care of the bears our friends and family members were fortunate enough to harvest.
Brown, Jody Natale, Brad Fessler and I double-timed Jason’s bear to the truck, ditched our packs and headed back toward the hollow, while Keith Fessler, in a super-human effort, removed and loaded his bear all by himself.
Our remaining comrades, Bobby Wolfgang, Keith Fessler Jr. and Dan King made their way down the thick and treacherous hillside to where Travis waited with his large male ursid. It was nearly two o’clock by the time we all convened.
As done before, we rigged several hand-loops on a long, heavy rope, assembled our human dogsled team and stacked all remaining gear and guns on our voluntary two-legged pack mules. On three-count commands, six of us dug in and heaved the hefty beast up the mountainside by its two hind legs, while Brad and Jody humped the luggage and cleared paths.
We reached the top by 4:30, and 45-minutes later finally arrived at the truck, exhausted, sweated, and yet completely ecstatic for the day’s good fortune. It was a total group effort, and I am proud to be part of a camp that works so hard for each other.
Eager for a hot meal and cold beverage, we set off for camp, but upon arrival, found a completely empty cabin. With 28 hunters in camp, this was initially puzzling, but it made perfect sense when we discovered Keith’s brother, Blaine Fessler, had taken a big male of his own earlier that morning. The distance to remove Blaine’s bear was even farther than the three we hauled out, and it weighed nearly 300 pounds, so the whole camp went to help retrieve his bear, though Barron Line and George Skripko had carried it on a pole most of the day. They only returned to camp around 8:30pm, but it was definitely a struggle well worth it.
The four bears tallied on opening day this season tied our best year in camp history, 2001, when we also killed four. Travis took the 50th bear for Mill Run since 1957- an impressive statistic for a camp rarely performing organized drives.
The savory meat will be shared with family and friends at our springtime bear roast, but the memories of the hunt will last even longer. Without a doubt, the best part of the camp experience is sharing in the joy of the hunt with others.
Heck, I probably only hunted a total of five minutes, and it was one of the best days of bear hunting in my entire life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything… Well, perhaps I’d settle for a shorter drag next time.
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