Has anyone ever had issues with black bears getting into your kills? While I have seen bears many times while elk hunting in Colorado, I have only had one negative encounter over the years. I shot a bull late in the afternoon a long way from the truck. After gutting and skinning the bull and removing the quarters, I hiked out in the dark. The next morning I made the return trip (about three miles) with my pack and my father's pack.
The plan was for me to finish butchering the bull, take one trip out, and then go back out to meet with my father in the afternoon when he was finished hunting to each carry a load out on the return trip.At the truck in the morning I put both packs on my back, made sure I had game bags and other equipment, and then decided to leave my rifle in the truck to save on weight (stupid).
As I approached the north facing slope where the kill was located I started looking for the line of flag tape that I put up to make sure I could find my kill again. When I reached the tree where I had hung the furthest flag from the kill, I found it on the ground in tatters.
At first I thought another hunter was messing with me. Everyone hates to see that ugly tape hanging in the woods which is exactly why I always am sure to take mine down if I use it. When I got to the second flag location, again I found the flag in multiple pieces on the ground.I proceeded up the mountain and at every flag point the tape was destroyed. Now I was getting a little ticked off because if this other person did this to my whole line I might lose my elk. At about the fourth or fifth flag location I noticed something.
The flags had been chewed. Every one of them chewed to bits. What was chewing them? Certainly not another human. I immediately went from being ticked off to being a bit paranoid. I felt naked without a rifle in my mitts, but I was 2.5 miles away from it and wasn't about to go back. I found a stout stick about the size of a ski pole and about as thick as the handle on a canoe paddle. This I started to carry with me just to have something in my hands. I cautiously continued up the slope.
When I was 200 yards from the kill I stopped to listen and watch the open lodgepole above me. After a few minutes I heard a snap. In a few more moments I saw movement. However, it wasn't a bear, a lion, or a squach. It was a spike elk and it was standing within 20 yards of my dead elk. This brought me some comfort because I thought there was no way that elk would be standing there if any large predator was around. After watching the spike walk away I started for the kill again. I could tell from looking into the open timber that my last two flags were torn down, but the spike gave me confidence to continue. So I walked steadily up the slope, watching, listening, and clutching my stick.
At 100 yards from the kill there was a small knob in the slope that was covered in boulders and dead timber. At the base of the outcrop was a steep drop of about 15 feet. Once I had climbed up the steep drop I caught movement in the pile of boulders and dead timber. When I turned to look I was met with a snarling, pissed off, black bear that exploded out of the dead timber 50 yard away that ran directly at me down the hill. It only took a few seconds for the bear to make it down the hill but in memory it seems like those few moments lasted a lot longer. I remember a lot of details about those few moments.
I remember seeing the dirt breaking loose from the slope and rolling down in front of the bear, I remember it popping its teeth, and I remember noticing a big scar on its muzzle and wondering how he got it. If that bear had wanted to it could have kicked my ass. It came close enough that if I would have held my 270 I would have shot it. It was close enough to see the pupils of his eyes and to notice he had broken one of his lower canines. He also had a very large frame but looked skinnier than a bear should look in October, and had a grey face and muzzle.
Since he was up hill from me his snarling mouth was right in my face. All I could do was scream/yell and grip my stick like a baseball bat. Luckily, just out of stick range he stopped briefly, looked me in the eye, turned, and ran away.
He ran maybe 50 yards then stopped and looked back. I continued yelling and started smashing dead branches with my stick. The bear kept running down the mountain stopping several times to look back at me inquisitively.
When the bear was gone I sat for a while and shook from adrenaline. I contacted my father and told him what had happened. When we got to my bull later we found that the bear had only eaten the liver. I had plucked the heart from the gut pile the day before and set it in the ribcage. Strangely, MR. bear had stuck his head into the ribcage, took the heart out and walked it 20 yards away and set it on a rock without eating it. He must have been too busy chewing on all my flag tape.
I never go back to a kill without a weapon or spray anymore. In hindsight, I should have just called my dad and waited for him to show up with his 300 H&H before approaching the dead elk. Especially after noticing the chewed flag tape.
The bear was obviously very old, and I am lucky he wasn't quite cantankerous enough that day to want to chew my ass off. I like to imagine that he died in his den that winter and maybe some day I will find a bear skull with a broken lower canine on that north facing slope.
The plan was for me to finish butchering the bull, take one trip out, and then go back out to meet with my father in the afternoon when he was finished hunting to each carry a load out on the return trip.At the truck in the morning I put both packs on my back, made sure I had game bags and other equipment, and then decided to leave my rifle in the truck to save on weight (stupid).
As I approached the north facing slope where the kill was located I started looking for the line of flag tape that I put up to make sure I could find my kill again. When I reached the tree where I had hung the furthest flag from the kill, I found it on the ground in tatters.
At first I thought another hunter was messing with me. Everyone hates to see that ugly tape hanging in the woods which is exactly why I always am sure to take mine down if I use it. When I got to the second flag location, again I found the flag in multiple pieces on the ground.I proceeded up the mountain and at every flag point the tape was destroyed. Now I was getting a little ticked off because if this other person did this to my whole line I might lose my elk. At about the fourth or fifth flag location I noticed something.
The flags had been chewed. Every one of them chewed to bits. What was chewing them? Certainly not another human. I immediately went from being ticked off to being a bit paranoid. I felt naked without a rifle in my mitts, but I was 2.5 miles away from it and wasn't about to go back. I found a stout stick about the size of a ski pole and about as thick as the handle on a canoe paddle. This I started to carry with me just to have something in my hands. I cautiously continued up the slope.
When I was 200 yards from the kill I stopped to listen and watch the open lodgepole above me. After a few minutes I heard a snap. In a few more moments I saw movement. However, it wasn't a bear, a lion, or a squach. It was a spike elk and it was standing within 20 yards of my dead elk. This brought me some comfort because I thought there was no way that elk would be standing there if any large predator was around. After watching the spike walk away I started for the kill again. I could tell from looking into the open timber that my last two flags were torn down, but the spike gave me confidence to continue. So I walked steadily up the slope, watching, listening, and clutching my stick.
At 100 yards from the kill there was a small knob in the slope that was covered in boulders and dead timber. At the base of the outcrop was a steep drop of about 15 feet. Once I had climbed up the steep drop I caught movement in the pile of boulders and dead timber. When I turned to look I was met with a snarling, pissed off, black bear that exploded out of the dead timber 50 yard away that ran directly at me down the hill. It only took a few seconds for the bear to make it down the hill but in memory it seems like those few moments lasted a lot longer. I remember a lot of details about those few moments.
I remember seeing the dirt breaking loose from the slope and rolling down in front of the bear, I remember it popping its teeth, and I remember noticing a big scar on its muzzle and wondering how he got it. If that bear had wanted to it could have kicked my ass. It came close enough that if I would have held my 270 I would have shot it. It was close enough to see the pupils of his eyes and to notice he had broken one of his lower canines. He also had a very large frame but looked skinnier than a bear should look in October, and had a grey face and muzzle.
Since he was up hill from me his snarling mouth was right in my face. All I could do was scream/yell and grip my stick like a baseball bat. Luckily, just out of stick range he stopped briefly, looked me in the eye, turned, and ran away.
He ran maybe 50 yards then stopped and looked back. I continued yelling and started smashing dead branches with my stick. The bear kept running down the mountain stopping several times to look back at me inquisitively.
When the bear was gone I sat for a while and shook from adrenaline. I contacted my father and told him what had happened. When we got to my bull later we found that the bear had only eaten the liver. I had plucked the heart from the gut pile the day before and set it in the ribcage. Strangely, MR. bear had stuck his head into the ribcage, took the heart out and walked it 20 yards away and set it on a rock without eating it. He must have been too busy chewing on all my flag tape.
I never go back to a kill without a weapon or spray anymore. In hindsight, I should have just called my dad and waited for him to show up with his 300 H&H before approaching the dead elk. Especially after noticing the chewed flag tape.
The bear was obviously very old, and I am lucky he wasn't quite cantankerous enough that day to want to chew my ass off. I like to imagine that he died in his den that winter and maybe some day I will find a bear skull with a broken lower canine on that north facing slope.
