There is only one 1st black bear harvest
FRANKLIN, Maine — Registered Maine Guide Mike Clough had only two words for me as he made his way from the bait barrel back toward the truck.
"Be ready," he said in a hushed voice.
I nodded, said thank you and hurried to put on a camouflage head covering to get situated in the treestand.
Clough, the owner of Green Lake Guide Service in Ellsworth, had a good feeling about the spot. In recent days, two large bears weighing at least 250 pounds had shown up at the same site.
It was a little after 2 p.m. and legal shooting time ended at 7:26. That potentially meant five hours in the stand, which makes being ready a challenge.
The stand was set up against a hemlock tree overlooking a small shooting lane and a white, plastic, 55-gallon drum containing tempting bear treats. Set up for bowhunters, it was barely a 20-yard shot.
I would be using my dependable, bolt-action Savage .30-06 composite rifle that has served me well over the years.
There was plenty of activity at the site. Red squirrels took turns raiding the bait barrel and quickly racing back to their food stashes in the shadows.
One of the little buggers must have completed the run 100 times. And every once in a while, a squirrel would sound its trilling alarm. Those instances caused me to listen a little more intently, just in case there was another animal approaching.
At one point, I swore that I heard a breathing sound, but no bear or other creature materialized. Clough later said it may have been a nearby bear sniffing the air, trying to decipher the smells at the site.
It was a gorgeous day with blue skies and temperatures in the low 70s, but it became a little chilly. Two hours in, I carefully pulled a jacket out of my backpack and quietly slipped it on. It made a huge difference.
Two or three times, I caught myself starting to nod off. Dealing with the lack of activity, coupled with anticipation, can be difficult. As time passed, I became increasingly skeptical about my chances.
It was a battle trying to remain positive and alert in the face of the mind-numbing quiet that occurred when the breeze slacked and the animals were silent.
By the time 6 p.m. rolled around, what limited sunlight that had fallen on the site was sinking below the tree tops. My hopes also were beginning to dim.
In my head, I could hear the voice of my great friend John Holyoke, who would have stressed the importance of optimism.
"Don't have a 'baditude' (bad attitude)," he would say.
I couldn't help it. I was stiff, logy and tired of sitting. I was prepared to return home empty-handed, as I had done two years earlier , but happy.
With barely an hour of shooting light remaining, I was ready to accept defeat. Suddenly, I detected movement down past the barrel and to the right.
A black bear slowly walked into view, sending adrenaline coursing through my body. I brought up my rifle and put the animal in my crosshairs. Within perhaps five seconds, I squeezed the trigger.
The bear did a "mule kick," jumping upward and kicking its rear legs behind it. It wheeled to the right and ran into a small opening.
With my heart pounding, I listened. It wasn't 30 seconds before I heard the first of the telltale moans bears make as they take their final breaths.
I pulled out my phone and texted Mike.
"Shot fired! Heard the death moan!"
"Yes!!!!! he replied. "On my way. I didn't hear it!"
Mike had been waiting within a short drive of the sites where myself and two other sports were hunting. He arrived within a few minutes, grabbed the Jet Sled and we headed back down the hill.
We checked out the impact point, but didn't find any blood. Mike poked around in an adjacent patch of dark, dense woods where I thought I had heard the bear expire.
Then, he saw something. "Last year, one of the bears stole my bait barrel and there it is," Clough said, laughing.
As he approached, there was the bear, lying just on the other side of the blue barrel.
It wasn't one of the big ones, but it was a handsome boar weighing approximately 145 pounds.
"He's not very big," I offered, having selfishly hoped for a larger specimen.
"That's a nice bear," Mike said, reassuringly.
We took some photos, but with darkness imminent, he quickly began performing the field-dressing chores — one of the perks of hunting with a guide.
Mike removed the gallbladder, which contains valuable bile that can be used in a variety of traditional medicines, and saved it in a plastic bag to be sold later.
We loaded the bear into the sled. Mike did most of the dragging (I was carrying my rifle, backpack and the recovered barrel), but I did give him a hand over the last stretch of the uphill climb.
We picked up the other hunters, dropped them off at their vehicles and tagged the bear at Tideway Market in Hancock. The last stop of the night was Hoof and Hammer Farm in Amherst, where affable meat cutter Jan Stevenson was waiting.
We placed the bear in the walk-in cooler to await processing. The only challenge was stepping around the enormous, 500-pound bear another hunter had dropped off earlier.
My first experience harvesting a bear was memorable for all the right reasons. I am indebted to Mike Clough for his expertise, effort and encouragement throughout the process.
The most important lesson learned was you have to always be ready, because you never know when a bear might step out.
