DANGEROUS DAYS

DANGEROUS DAYS TERRIFYING ENCOUNTERS WITH GRIZZLY BEARS DURING A MOOSE HUNT

Author Paul Atkins and his buddy Carl got an up-closeand-personal encounter with a grizzly bear during their moose hunt. Even for a seasoned Arctic adventurer, it was a bit too close for Atkins’ comfort – and a reminder of the dangers of recreating in wild Alaska. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

Sometimes tales of past experiences get put aside like an old pair of boots, but they’re hardly ever forgotten.

I think about them often and to tell the truth, they define who I am and what I’ve done here. They were events where mistakes were made. If not for a lucky decision here and there, things could have turned out quite differently.

I’ve been a part of many here in Arctic Alaska. Honestly, there have been times when I didn’t think I’d make it home alive. I definitely learned from them and quite frankly, there are a few that are hard to write about. The struggles of each were real and the sheer closeness to sustaining bodily harm was a little too close for comfort.

Many people shake their heads and wonder why I put myself in these situations. Looking back, I wonder myself sometimes. Was it the challenge? Or the adventure? Or maybe the sheer obsession with 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 will freeze to death. Crazy, to say the least. This is one of those stories – a flash from the past in my “Surviving the Arctic” series. 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. I carried 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

The same flat riverside country that moose inhabit is home to bruins, but the scrub brush and willow make it difficult to see far into it from streams’ banks, hiding both prey and predator. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

he is going to stop!” The only comfort we had 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 out of do-ityourself-type camps on the many rivers that line the tundra here in Northwest Alaska. This particular hunt began no different than any other year.

We were in a place where I had taken moose before and on occasion a caribou or two. The fishing was exceptional there as well, and in 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 situations, though. 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 Alaska – one with clear skies. We knew we had plenty of time to set up camp and prepare for the next day’s hunt. The longer-than-normal flight to our destination was fun, especially being able to see the ground from a different vantagepoint. Before, most of my views had been from either a boat or snowmachine, so to see from above how the country comes together was really special.

When we reached our hunting area, you could tell this was the place to be and why it is so coveted by most of us who live here. It’s a long river lined with willows and gravel bars that go on for miles. This was moose country for sure, and we could see several big bulls feeding in the high willows as we passed overhead.

We were excited, almost to the point of thinking that this was going to be a slam dunk. Looking back, that was something we should never have done. 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 that this area would be perfect, and to drop us off.

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 willow we could find and covered our firewood supply with a tarp. We then brought out the portable raft and blew it up. Having a small raft to float up or down the river

would be a big plus, especially if we happened to take a moose or wanted to search out other areas.

When we were finished, we had a look around 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 be a lot of bears around, so we had better keep an eye open.

Carl was from Arkansas and this was his first trip to the Arctic. As he was a longtime friend of my family and a person who likes to hunt, I told him to just come up someday 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 drew a tag.

This is the track of the bear that charged the guys that night and ate their raft. A big track usually means a big bear, but sometimes it’s the smaller ones – the juveniles – that can cause the most harm. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

He did, we planned and now he was with me in Alaska. He had never seen a moose before – let alone a bear – so I knew that, 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 in Alaska. After a few drinks the conversation ended and we headed for the sleeping bags. It was hard to sleep through the night in anticipation of the coming day. But finally the sandman found us both 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 around. At first I had no clue what it was, but once my mind cleared I knew exactly what was outside our tent.

All that separated us from the beast

After the raft was destroyed, the hunters had little choice about how they were going to continue their search for moose, so their waders came in quite handy. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

Big game hunting in Alaska takes you to great places to fish. The river is well known for the incredible Arctic char it holds and anglers come from all over the world to try to catch them, perhaps even a world record. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

was a thin layer of nylon that was tied down with a bunch of cord. Not wanting to become a tent sandwich, I pulled my pistol from its holster and waited.

The bear came crashing towards us, stopping inches from our door. With his 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.

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We could hear the bear circling our tent again, and although my instincts told me to have a look, I didn’t dare stick my head outside.

Finally, the bear stopped. With an immense rush we 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 to who knows where.

Talk about a scary moment! Carl was visibly shaken and 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 out to see where the bear had been. Bear tracks bigger than my size 12s 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 also a bit nervous due to the previous night’s events. We walked down the bank to where our raft was and

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thinking that we might drag it upriver and paddle down in hopes of catching something on the bank. No raft!

We looked frantically and found it down the bank about 200 yards away. It looked as if the bear had ripped it to shreds with his immense claws. It was destroyed. Now, even more rattled and a little pissed, we decided to head across the river to look for moose on foot. The further 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 wished I had brought my rifle.

Venturing into the willows I caught movement to my right. It had started to rain and things were a bit blurry, but I thought 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. We stopped and waited for whatever it was to appear. Finally, a head popped into view, but it wasn’t a moose; it was a bear – a big bear! Was this the same guy that had given 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 is like slow motion; even though things are moving quicker than you’re imagining, your instincts take over and defense mode kicks in.

In a reverse motion, I dropped my bow and handed Carl my pistol while grabbing his rifle at the same time. We were stumbling backwards when Carl got caught up in a tangle of willows.

I heard a loud bang but couldn’t comprehend the thought of what was happening. The pistol had gone off right behind me! In his frantic state, Carl had pulled back the hammer and when he stumbled, it fired. I gathered myself, raised the rifle and at 20 yards squeezed the trigger at the charging bear before watching him disappear into the bush.

Shaking uncontrollably, we slowly backed out and waited beside the river. Carl was downright distraught and apologized 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 event 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 didn’t see us. Finally, the bear moved off and we proceeded into the willows to where the charge had taken place.

Now, 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. Looking back, this felt very much like that. When we did get to the spot, I saw something big and brown lying in the willows.

I have walked up to downed bears before and I can tell you it’s something you’ll never get used to. As I walked up slowly, I nudged him with the end of the barrel and thank goodness he didn’t move.

"We were all smiles when it was all done," Atkins (left), says of his trip with Carl. "But a couple hours before this photo was taken, we were not. Bears are dangerous and if you get one that doesn’t like you, even more so.” (PAUL D. ATKINS)

He was big, squaring about 8 feet, and heavy. We took a few pictures and then I set to skinning him while Carl watched for other 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. But the hunt was a true adventure and while it was a bit scary at times, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Carl and I learned a lot on that hunt too. It was 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. ASJ

Editor’s note: Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and author from Kotzebue, Alaska. He’s written hundreds of articles on big game hunting throughout North America and Africa, plus surviving in the Arctic. Paul is a regular contributor to Alaska Sporting Journal.

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