By Paul D. Atkins
Sometimes tales of past experiences get put aside like an old pair of boots, but they’re hardly forgotten. I think about them often and to tell the truth, they define who I am and what I’ve done here in the far north. Events where mistakes were made, and if not for a lucky decision here and there, things could have turned out quite differently. I’ve been a part of or at least participated in many of these here in the arctic and to be honest there have been times when I didn’t think I’d make it home alive. I definitely learned from them and to be honest there are few that are hard to write about. The struggles of each were real and the sheer closeness to receiving bodily harm was a little too close for comfort.
Many people shake their head, wondering why I put myself in these situations. Looking back, I wonder myself sometimes. Was it the challenge, or the adventure or maybe the sheer want of an animal that propelled me? All I know is that most people can’t comprehend what it’s like to come face to face with a sow grizzly or the sinking feeling that if something isn’t done soon, you’ll freeze to death. Crazy to say the least.
This is one of those stories. A flash from the past where we became the prey and not the predator. Sometimes it’s better to just shake your head, back out and say nope.
It was pitch dark and the big grizzly was rushing full speed towards our tent. With a flashlight in one hand and a 44 in the other all I could say was, “here he comes again and this time I don’t think he is going to stop”! The only comfort was being inside the tent or so I thought. This was like a bad dream.
Back in the old days I used to fly everywhere to hunt. Do it yourself type camps on one of the many rivers that flow through the tundra here in Northwest Alaska. This particular hunt began no different than any other, taking us to a place where I had taken moose before and on occasion a caribou or two. The fishing was exceptional there and on good years, you might see Muskox or even a band of sheep in the lower mountain ranges to the east. Bears were always prevalent, and I had encountered many during previous hunts. Those encounters were usually pretty low key, and most times a person could easily scare them off by being cautious and using a little common sense.
The morning we left was a rare day in the arctic. With clear skies and an early start, we knew we would have plenty of time to set-up camp once we got there. The longer than normal flight to our destination was fun, especially being able to see the country from a different vantage point. Most of my views were from either a boat or snow machine, so to see how the country comes together was really special.
When we reached our hunting area, you could tell from the plane that it was the place to be and why it is so coveted by those that hunt there. Lined with willows and gravel bars that braid out like a spiderweb, the river goes on for as far as the eye can see. It was definitely moose country, especially after seeing several bulls feeding in the high willows as we passed overhead. We were excited, almost to the point of thinking that this is going to be a slam dunk, something we probably should’ve done, but it looked easy. We were even more excited when we saw a huge bear feeding right along beside them, which was perfect, since I had a bear tag in my pocket. Over the headphones, I told our transporter this would be perfect, and to drop us off here.
Once on the ground we unloaded our gear and began to set-up camp. We cleared a place for two small tents and even though the day was clear, tomorrow would probably bring rain, so we gathered all the dead wood we could find and covered with a tarp. We then brought out a portable raft and blew it up. Having a small raft to move up or down the river would be a big plus, especially if we happened to take a moose far from camp or if we wanted to search out other areas.
When we were finished, we grabbed the rods and tried our hand at fishing. The river is known for big char and catching a few was high on our list. Standing on the bank, flipping lines and talking I noticed several bear tracks in the soft mud, but thought nothing of it. I had seen it before, but the more I looked the more tracks and fresh scat I found. I told Carl, my hunting partner, that there seemed to a lot of bears around, so we better keep an eye open.
Carl was from Arkansas, and this was his first trip to the arctic. Being a longtime friend of my family and a person that likes to hunt, I encouraged him to apply for a moose tag and if he drew it, he could come up and I would take him. He wanted a moose in the worst way, and I told him that I could probably get him on one if he was lucky enough to draw the tag. A few years later he did, so we planned, and now he was here standing on the bank with a rod in his hand trying to catch a fish. Carl had never seen a moose, let alone a bear, so I knew, like many, this would be a trip of a lifetime for him.
With a clear sky and chilly conditions, we sat around the fire eating dinner, and discussing the ins and outs of family life back home and me here in Alaska. After a few drinks the conversation ended, and we headed for the sleeping bags. It was hard to sleep though with the anticipation of the coming day, but finally, the sandman found us, and the snoring commenced.
Early that morning, long before the sun made its appearance, I woke to the sound of “woof” and the clatter of our gear being tossed and turned like someone digging through the trash. At first, I hadn’t a clue what it was, but once my mind cleared, I knew exactly what is was and what lay outside our tent. The only thing that separated us from the beast, was a thin layer of nylon, tied down with a bunch of cord. Not wanting to become a tent sandwich, I pulled pistol from its holster and waited.
The bear came crashing towards us stopping inches from our door. With deep growls and popping teeth you could tell he wasn’t happy. I just hoped he wouldn’t get tangled in our tie downs and drag us off into the willows. What an awful experience that would be.
We could hear the bear circling our tent again and though my instincts told me to have a look I didn’t dare stick my head outside. Finally, the bear stopped and in an immense rush you could hear him coming a second time. As my thumb found the hammer on the Ruger, we started hollering and shining the flashlight in all directions. The bear brushed our tent and headed off into who knows where. Talk about a scary!
Visibly shaken, I could see that my good friend wasn’t having any of it. To say the least, it was a long night with no sleep. Daylight finally arrived, so we crawled outside to check the damage and see what the bear had done. Bear tracks, bigger than my size 12’s circled the tent. We then checked our food supply and thankfully our coolers and dry bags were intact but strung out across the tundra.
After breakfast we geared up and prepared to go look for moose. We were excited, but a bit nervous due to the previous night’s events. We walked down the bank to where our raft lay, thinking we might drag it upriver and then paddle down in hopes of catching something on the bank. No raft! Looking frantically this way and that we found it down the bank about 200- yards. It looked as if the bear took his immense claws and ripped it to shreds, it was completely destroyed.
Now even more rattled and a little pissed, we decided to head across the river to look for moose on foot. The farther we traveled, the more bear sign we found, and it was fresh. Tracks of all sizes lined the river, so we knew there were multiple bears in the area. Carl was carrying his 338 while I was carrying a bow, but at this point I wish I had brought my rifle.
Leaving the gravel bar and into the denser willow I caught movement to my right. It had started to rain and was coming down quite hard making things a bit blurry, but I thought for sure I saw something brown moving in one of the deep ravines in front of us. I thought it might have been a moose or at least the back of one, but I wasn’t sure. So, we stopped and waited for whatever is was to appear. Finally, a head popped into view, but it wasn’t a moose it was bear, a big bear! Was this the same guy that was giving us all the trouble the night before? I don’t know, and still don’t, but when his eyes met mine, I knew we were in serious trouble.
Without hesitation he immediately came for us in a rush. Most people will never be charged by a bear and if you have, it’s something you will never forget. It was like slow motion and even though things are moving quicker than you’re imagining, your instincts seem to take over and a defense mechanism kicks in. In a reverse motion I dropped my bow and handed Carl my pistol, grabbing his rifle at the same time. In one fluid motion we were stumbling backwards through a tangle of willows where Carl got caught up in their low-lying branches. It was then that the sound of an explosion rang in my ears, but I couldn’t quite comprehend what it was or where it was coming from. Awe, the pistol, my pistol, somehow went off right behind me. Carl in his frantic state, which by the way was easy to understand at the moment, had pulled back the hammer and when he stumbled it fired. Gathering myself I raised the rifle and at 20 yards I squeezed the trigger at the charging bear, watching him disappear in the bush.
Shaking uncontrollably, we slowly backed out and waited beside the river. Carl was downright distraught, apologizing profusely about the pistol incident. I told him it wasn’t his fault due to the circumstances we had just experienced. After gathering our wits, we gave it an hour and then circled a few hundred yards downwind from where the charge occurred. As we inched forward our luck worsened, we ran into another bear! Was this the original? Had I missed? Was he wounded? Or was this just another chapter to this nightmare? He too was huge, but luckily, he didn’t see us. Finally, the bear moved off and we proceeded nervously into the willows trying to be brave.
I’ve been to Africa since then and have tracked wounded buffalo into the bush as well as many of the horned species. It’s scary, and looking back, this felt very much the same. When we did get to the spot, I saw something big and brown lying in the willows. I’ve walked up to downed bears many times and I can tell you it’s something you’ll never get used too. Walking up slowly, I nudged him with the end of the barrel, and he didn’t move, thank goodness. He was big, squaring about 8 foot and heavy. We took a few pictures and I then set to skinning him while Carl watched for bears. I must have set a new world record for skinning a grizzly, as we were out of there in record time.
After four more days and 11 bears later, we ended up not getting a moose, which was a bummer, but the hunt was a true adventure and even though it was a bit scary at times I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Carl learned a lot on that hunt too, as did I. An experience like no other. Years later when I visit him back home, Carl still talks about that day and the incredible, but dangerous experience we had. Something you can only have in Alaska.
Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and author formally from Kotzebue, Alaska. He’s had hundreds of articles published on big game hunting in Alaska and throughout North America and Africa, plus surviving in the Arctic. His new book “Atkins’ Alaska” is available at Barnes and Noble, Amazon and everywhere good books are sold. It can also be ordered through his website www.paulatkinsoutdoors.com and if you want an autographed copy contact Paul atkinsoutdoors@gmail.com