# Wicked Winds and Rainbow Bears



## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Like all good hunting stories, the beginning can be hard to pin down. But one version of this starts with me sending a deposit for the lodge nearly a year ago, with the intent of finding some unexpecting idiot to come out bear hunting with me. It took a few months, but one frigid day in early March I threw out an invite during a family ice fishing trip and Mark decided to bite. We met last year when I sold Mark my side by side, and other than that one ice fishing afternoon this would be our first outing together. The poor ******* had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. 

Over the next 9 months Mark and I dreamed, schemed, and tried to ignore the small voice of reason screaming in terror at the back of our minds at the prospect of trying to punch holes in thousand-plus pound murder beasts. As the months flew by, the excitement grew. Two weeks before I started hearing rumblings that the regional airline that flies to Cold Bay was having a hard time getting folks gear to them on time. Mark and I got together and shipped out pretty much all of the gear we would need, except for our guns and my dog Ava. 

The day finally arrived, we would be flying in the day before the season opened and staying a week. We checked Ava in, checked our guns and an extra bag each and wandered off for some breakfast at the airport. As we made our way to the gate, it was obvious that the flight was going to be full of hunters.

I lean over to Mark and mutter, “Watch all these guys going on $40,000 bear hunts lose their minds when Ravn bumps their bags. So glad we shipped our gear out last week. And guns have to fly with you.” Not five minutes later the gate agent announces that the only bags making it onto the plane were a dog (Ava) and some firearms. Old rich people start descending on that poor gate agent like flies on a carcass. I can’t speak for Mark, but I for one enjoyed the show knowing that our gear was already at the lodge.

We get on the little Dash 8 turbo prop plane for the 900 mile flight southwest to the end of the Alaska peninsula. I was seated in the window seat of the exit row as I enjoy watching the ground go by like a giddy 4 year old. This was a terrible mistake.









I have been on some pretty sketchy small planes, landing in the middle of nowhere, and I have never been nervous about it. Well, there’s a first time for everything. I spent 3 hours as we fought that headwind trying vainly to ignore the solid ¾” gap in the emergency door that let me see air and feel a breeze the whole way down. I was straight up anxious all the way until the wheels were back on the ground.










“Weather’s supposed to be pretty good today. No rain, 48F and 10 mph winds.” said Mark.

“Dude, it’s Cold Bay. I don’t care what the forecast says. $20 says it’s gonna rain today. I might have to wait up until midnight…but it will rain.”

“We’ll see.” was all I could muster in reply.

I tried to keep expectations realistic, “Hey, we’ve got a week. I’m really confident we’ll get one bear, and have a good chance at getting two—but two bears is a really tall order. Most of the bear hunters in this whole unit are guided nonresidents, and still there is only a 30% success rate. What we really need is to find a dead whale on a beach somewhere. That would be perfect.” 

“Hey man, it’s all good. We’re going to have fun either way.” 

“Just a fair warning, I may be short and pudgy, but when I spot an animal I’m hunting I get serious target vision. I tend to do really stupid things, and manage to convince the idiots with me to go along with it. You need to be the voice of reason here, because I won’t be. And even if you are, I’m just going to say it now, it’s probably not going to work.”

“You got it. I’ve read a few of your stories. I know what I got myself into” was Mark’s reply. 

All I could think was, yeah, poor Mark—not even reading my ramblings will adequately prepare people for the sheer mountain of stupidity that I can convince myself and others to climb in order to kill stuff. This Mark guy seems like he’s going to work out. We deplane, meet up with Pat (one of the owners of the Izembek Lodge) and go to the counter to get Ava and our guns. 

“Dude, they just said the guns got bumped.” Mark said calmly.

“WHAT?! They can’t do that.”

“Well, they did.”

“When are they going to get here?”

“Supposedly they are coming out on ACE Air Cargo later this afternoon.” Mark said.

“Yeah, that’ll happen.” I reply dryly.

Mark gave a level reply, “I’ll get Heather on their ass. She’ll get it done.”

Sure enough, our guns (and everybody else’s) didn’t make it on the plane. The only luggage on the flight was Ava in her kennel, and a backpack that was taken from a passenger as it was too big for a carryon. 

“But hey, at least we’ve got waders and ammo! How’s your throwing arm?” I quip, trying to suppress my murderous rage before I unleash it on some undeserving airport employee.

“Well, what are we going to do now?” Mark asked.

“We’ll figure it out. Let’s get settled at the lodge, and go scouting. Maybe we can find a rifle to borrow.”

I was glad I had brought a spare change of clothes and my rain gear in my carry one. Poor Mark didn’t have his good rain gear in his carry on. Oh well, send it.

Pat drove us for a bit to show us a few places and help us get our bearings, and started calling around to find a gun we could borrow for the morning. Mark’s wife Heather began to transform into Ravn Airlines worst nightmare. We got settled in at the lodge, and were given our vehicle for the week, the same blue pickup that was my salvation on last year’s trip (but thankfully running much more smoothly this year). The lodge had changed ownership since I was there last year, and it was pretty clear that the new owners were a bit skeptical about us going out and chasing bears. The doubt about our odds of success was palpable. With that lingering in the air, Mark took the wheel and we were off to the races.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

“Hold up.” I call out not even 20 minutes after leaving the lodge. I throw my binos up and start looking out at the tundra.

“What are you looking at?” Mark asks innocently.

I had been waiting for this, and I prepared my favorite wicked answer, “At the bear.”

To my surprise, and to Mark’s credit, he very quickly picked it out, “Got it.”

“There’s two. The one out in the middle of the grass, dark brown with blonde shoulders and a bigger super blonde one---ope, she just disappeared at the bank of that lake.” I whisper.










“There’s a third one to the left. Really blonde too. Small bear though.” Mark called out.










I will admit, I was impressed. Not only did I not have to explain where I was looking, but Mark also found a bear I hadn’t seen yet. This was shaping up to be a great hunt.

“Hey, these two are smaller bears, maybe 6-7’, let’s try to go down the road a bit and see if we can relocate that bigger really blonde one.”

“Sounds good.”

We rolled down the road a half mile, and I tried to convince Mark to walk out on the tundra towards where the bear had disappeared with me. 

“Uhh…really?” Mark questioned the wisdom of my thinking.

“Yeah, I think if we just pop out over the edge of that ridge there, we should be able to see it. I bet it’s just right there at the edge of that lake.”

“We don’t have guns, and you want to go creep in on a big brown bear and the season doesn’t even start until tomorrow?”

“Yep. That’s future Jonathon and Mark’s problem. Come on, the wind is right, let’s just do it.”

And so I took off into the tundra with Ava at my side, and a reticent Mark following behind. I made it a few hundred yards, and it became apparent that the tundra sloped more gradually than I had hoped meaning if the bear was where I thought it was, we would be right on top of it before we could see it.

“Ok, fine. This is a dumb idea. Let’s go back to the truck and not stink up this area.” I concede.

We drove back towards where the other two bears were, and quickly relocated the small blonde bear. Then we notice that the super blonde bear had moved down the shoreline the opposite direction and was now just sitting on the tundra 500 yards off the road. She was a nice bear. As we watched these two, suddenly Ava gave her grizzly bark—she has a very distinct bark that she gives me as a warning for grizzlies (and the occasional moose). 20 yards behind the truck that darker boar with blonde shoulders and what can only be called a mullet was trotting parallel to us. 










“Huh, he’s a nicer bear than I thought. Maybe 8.” I remarked as we watched him run up the road. 

We followed him for a few hundred yards as he loped effortlessly along the road, startling up a flock of 30 ptarmigan. 










“Well, what are we going to call him?" I asked as we drove off. "We’re going to need some names to keep all these bears straight.” 

“Two-Tone.” said Mark immediately.

“Nice. I like it. And that bigger one is Super Blonde, and Little Blondie. Would you shoot Two-Tone tomorrow?” I asked Mark.

“Yep.”

“What about Super Blonde?”

“Yep. What about you?”

“Yeah, I think I would. I think Super Blonde is probably an 8’ bear, Two-Tone might be close to that too.”

Now we just needed to find a gun.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Back at the lodge we met our house mates. A couple of guided bear hunters waiting to get flown over to Volcano Bay and a bunch of folks up chasing birds. Ole Jeff can drink—and he had his heart set on an 11’ bear…yeah, that’ll happen. This ain’t gonna be like his 458” high fence elk hunt he was so proud of. We had no intentions of being picky. Neither of us had shot a bear—not even a black bear—so we were looking for legal bears. A 7-8’ bear is still a huge animal. I’ve helped on a number of black bears, and always have found reason not to pull the trigger on them. I’ve been close enough to smell the breath of more grizzlies than I can remember, but whenever I had a tag in my pocket, a gun (with bullets), and was in an open area during the season the grizzlies have avoided me like the plague. This was going to be an adventure.

Pat came over and let us know that he had found a gun for us to borrow. Turns out it was one of the employees of the local electric company that is my client. Henry hadn’t shot it in a few years, and we had a box of reloads that we had no idea on the specs. But what could go wrong?

“Here’s the plan Mark, we sight in the gun, and we go shoot Two-Tone and Super Blonde first thing. Then we hunt birds for the rest of the week.”

“Works for me.”

“We gotta do a coin flip to see who is on deck first.”

“I mean, if you want first shot, that is fine with me.” Mark said, ever the gentleman.

“Nope. We are both paying the same, both equals, we’re flipping a coin.”

“Ok.”

“Mark, if you had the choice, which do you want: Two-Tone or Super Blonde?”

“Probably Super Blonde. You?”

“Maybe Two-Tone. He’d match my bull bison really nicely.” I noted with a grin.

Shortly after midnight, I had to admit I was wrong. It had not rained, and Mark went to bed $20 richer. The morning came. I tossed the coin, Mark called it in the air, and Mark was in the hot seat.

“Let’s go get you Super Blonde!”

If any of you have gone hunting with me, you might have noticed I get a bit giddy about the prospect of doing horrendously stupid things in my attempts to kill animals. A borrowed gun with questionable reloads, stiff breezes, and a guy I’ve never hunted with before seemed like the perfect recipe to chase after brown bears. We took off in the opposite direction of Super Blonde to quickly sight in the gun. 

The wind was rough, ~30 mph sustained with gusts up to 60. “Dude, this wind sucks. Not sure how reliable any sighting in is going to be.” said Mark.

“Oh well. Just send it.” I laughed, I wasn’t in the hot seat today.

We set up a piece of cardboard in a gravel pull out, smudged some dirt and berries in a dot in the center, and Mark took two shots at 25 yards to check the zero. He managed a very tight group, albeit a bit low and to the right, but we decided good enough. 

As we stood up from sighting in the gun, the sun broke out a few miles away across the tundra.

“Well look at that, a rainbow. And hey! The other end is practically right on top of Super Blonde.” I quipped.

“Yep, Super Blonde’s my pot’o’gold. Let’s get it.” Mark's eyes began to shine with predatory delight. This, this is what we live for. 










As we drove back towards town, I spotted a whale breaching out in the bay. It leaped out six times in less than a minute as we drove. What an incredible place. We got on the other side of town, and were less than halfway to the lake where Super Blonde was the night before when I called for a stop. 

“Bear. Two.”

“Yep.”

“Cubs. Where’s momma though?” I wondered

“I can’t see her.”

We watched the two siblings wander off alone. They were likely 3-year-old bears that had only recently been kicked to the curb. Roly-poly little fellers.

“C’mon. They were less than 100 yards off the road! And hey, that would be a seriously easy pack out compared to a stinky old 10-footer. You know you want to pop a cub; you could make a teddy bear for your kids with it! It might even be kinda tasty! C’mon, just send it.”

“Yeah right. Would you shoot one of them?”

"No.”

“Exactly. Let’s go find Super Blonde.”

Like I said, this Mark guy seems promising. 

Mark stops the truck as we get sight of the lake where we found Super Blonde the night before. I spot her immediately.

“There. She’s over there on the far side of the lake. Just to the right of the isthmus.”

“Yep.”









“You want to go after her? We can do it. She’s definitely in a stalkable location.” I ask.

“Yeah, I want her. Let’s see what she does for a bit though,” replied Mark.

As we sat and watched her for a bit, it was clear she was going to stay put for a while. She was tucked into some willows and alders in a protected cove on the edge of the lake, content to stay put. We began to debate how best to stalk this bear.

“Mark, I want to check something a bit up the road before we commit to a stalk. You sit here and watch her, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mark unloaded from the truck and bundled up against the wind and driving rain. I took off and looked at the tundra on the far edge of the lake, confirmed that we’d be both down wind and out of sight of Super Blonde for the final ½ mile of the approach. But it should let us pop out on the ridge around 200 yards from the bear. I turn around and explain the plan to Mark when I get there. 

“Send it. Let’s go” Mark grinned.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

We quickly cross the tundra where we are exposed to Super Blonde’s sight, trusting in her inability to see us well from nearly a mile away. Thankfully, we were down wind. As we reached the far side of the lake we began to slow our pace, cautiously crossing each rise. Mark kept angling in towards the lake, as I insisted Super Blonde was farther in front. Suddenly, Mark stopped.

“She’s on that far bank facing that way.”

“I can’t see it from here. The shore of the isthmus is 200 yards.”

“Yeah, I think so. Aim small, miss small”

“Do your best just don’t screw it up. That’s a whole lot of teeth and claw.” I said as helpfully as I could muster.

The look Mark gave me at that moment was priceless. 

“Do you have a shot from here?”

“Yeah I think so.”

“Send it.”

I began backing up as Mark crept forward a little, still unable to see the bear. I kept Ava on a tight heel, knowing that, if need be, I might have to send her in to protect us and distract a charging bear. I really did not want to do that, but I reminded myself that this is the number one reason I got her. No turning back now.

Mark fired the first shot, and I finally could see the bear. It began to run toward us, unsure of where the danger was coming from. Mark quickly fired off another shot, and another. I lost sight of the bear as it approached the base of the hill below us, still running directly at us.

“You got more bullets ready?!” I call out, slightly panicked as I began to walk backwards. I didn’t even have a pocket knife as I had packed those in the gun case like a trusting moron. This was not good.

Mark stood his ground firing a fourth and final shot. I caught a glimpse of the bear just as it turned the corner and ran out of sight. The wind prevented us from hearing any impact.

“Well, I couldn’t see very well. Did you hit it?”

“Definitely. I hit it good at least a couple of times.”

“Ok. Reload. I want a full magazine and one in the chamber as we go look for blood.”

“Already done.”

We sat in the wind watching the shoreline and the ridge for what seemed like an hour. After looking at the clock, it couldn’t have been more than a minute. 

“Look, let’s get up on that ridge and see if we can see the bear running down that other part of the shoreline.” I whispered. 

As we made our way over there, I kept struggling to keep Mark in front of me. My internal dialogue kept running along these lines, ‘Great move there Johnny, you want to be first in line on a potentially wounded +8’ coastal brown bear even though you are unarmed? Brilliant move buddy.’ To which I would reply to myself ‘that sounds like a future Jonathon problem’ as I forced myself to slow down and allow Mark to get in front. 

We crest the ridge to peer down the steep bank to the shoreline 30 feet below us. There was very little cover on this hillside, at most 24” tall grass for a couple feet right at the edge of the lake. Looking to the left at the corner where the bear disappeared revealed nothing. Looking to the right we could see nearly a mile of shoreline where the bear was headed. Nothing. I knew what had to be done next, but I didn’t like it. 

"Mark, I’m going to take Ava over to where the bear was when you shot and see if we can pick up a blood trail. I am very confident she’s not in that cover on that cove as we would have seen her run back into it as we made our way over. If you post up here on the ridge you should be able to cover us almost everywhere on the trail. Just be ready to shoot quick and don’t shoot Ava. Or me. This really sucks not having a gun right now.” The .45-70 in my checked luggage would have been perfect for this situation, but courtesy of Ravn Airline’s incompetence it sat in a warehouse in Anchorage +900 miles away at that moment.

Ava and I made our way down the spine of the ridge and began to search for blood when I caught a glimpse of movement on the shoreline to the right of the corner where we last saw the bear. I put Ava on a down command and dropped to the ground myself. Mark was already prone with the rifle up.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

“That’s her, she’s on her back in the lake. Should I put another one in her?” Mark whispered.

“Yes. No. Hmm. Let’s just watch, but be ready.” I muttered indecisively, as I watched a paw flail at the air. 

After a few minutes it was clear that the bear’s head was submerged and its chest wasn’t moving. The only movement we could see was a result of the waves pushing the bear against the shoreline. I have never been more relieved in a hunting situation than I was in that moment.

“She’s done. I’m going to take Ava and let her finish the track, since she had already started. Good job bud! You just shot a coastal brown bear!”

Mark was all smiles cutting his permit when I got back from finishing the last 60 yards of the track with Ava.










“So I’m not sure what to do here Jon, do we skin it out in the water? Do we get it up on shore? Can we?” 

“Yeah no matter what this is going to suck. Even if we had a come along or rope, there’s nothing to anchor it to on the shore. I don’t know if we can get it out of the water, but we need to try.”










We heaved and pulled, gradually getting the bear’s head on the shore then rolling her on her belly. After 20 mins we had managed to get her half out of the water. We took some pics, thought about giving up, and gave it one more effort. I’m still not sure how we managed it, but we got Super Blonde out of the water. I was just glad that Mark had shipped two knives in his gear cooler. 





































After some more pictures, I noticed Mark watching the shorelines closely. “What’s the matter bud, worried that Two Tone might show up for a nibble?” I quipped.

“Man, we’ve got like zero visibility here. The downwind side is the worst. If another bear is coming its going to be right on top of us before we can see it.”

“Sounds like a future Mark and Jonathon problem. Besides, we’ve got Ava—she’ll let us know if something else is coming.”

As I explained the cuts we needed to make for Mark’s rug, I couldn’t help but notice something.

“Dude, this bear smells GOOD. Like, really clean. I did not expect that. Look at how white this fat is? And see, it is melting in my hand. You know, if it weren’t over a mile to the truck and we had another pack and it wasn’t blowing 30mph and raining we might think about taking some of this meat and fat back with us, even though we only have to take the hide and skull.”

“Yeah, maybe, we’ll see.” Mark is a pretty sharp guy, not to commit to some unnecessary suck before we know what the whole situation is.

“That was just a textbook stalk though. We spot the bear last night, find her again this morning—”

“Don’t forget the borrowed gun and shooting it to see if it at least grouped!”

“Right. Sighted in the gun, which grouped but was low and right, found the bear, made a plan, did a mile and a half stalk, and bam. Flawless!”

This refrain would be repeated again and again throughout the rest of the trip, and I suspect for the rest of our lives.

We finish skinning out the bear, load it up on my pack frame which I had thankfully used as my carry on. We get it on Mark’s back and he stands up, takes two steps, and it is clear that this isn’t going to work. It didn’t help that I had bent the bottom shelf a few years back on a fall packing out a certain ill-advised black bear a guy hunting with me shot. And of course, that tubing broke as we put the bear on the frame.

We undo the pack, and Mark starts fleshing off sheets of fat while I skin out the skull. At this point, it was very clear that we were not going to be packing any meat or fat out from his bear. An hour later we’ve removed at least 60lbs of fat and tissue, plus the 20lbs for the skull. We stuff the bear in my dry bag, strap it to the frame and try again while I carry the skull and gear. This time, Mark’s got it. We begin to make our way back right as the wind picks up driving the rain with an unrelenting fury that only those who’ve been in southwest Alaska can really understand. 

No other way around it, Mark is a tank. After the trimming and without the skull, the pack weighed close to 100lbs, and Mark had to take it nearly a mile through swampy shoreline and flats followed by ~600 yards uphill on tundra tussocks. There’s a reason that walking on tussocks is typically described as walking on basketballs covered in memory foam: because it is, and it just plain sucks.

With 200 yards to go, the wind flattened Mark. I told him to just stay put while I grabbed the truck and dropped off gear, and that I’d come back and we’d figure out how to get it the rest of the way. 

This is where my health comes in. I caught a “mild” case of COVID-19 in late July 2020, but after months of feeling like I couldn’t breathe fully my doctor did some lung scans in May 2021. Apparently, my lungs look like I had a serious asbestos exposure with scar tissue reducing my lung capacity to only 75% of my pre-COVID state. When I’m just hiking, it isn’t really noticeable, but even putting only 20lbs on my back and I start to notice it. Anything over 40lbs and I’m gasping pretty quick even on flat ground. It just sucks, and we’re not sure how long, if ever, it will take to recover.

When I got back to Mark, we saw that the broken pack frame had ripped the drybag. We undid it completely and just draped the bear over both of our shoulders, as we hobbled through the rain across the final stretch of tundra. That really sucked, and I just couldn’t believe how far Mark had taken the entire load.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

We celebrate at the truck, and returned to the lodge before 2pm. What a morning! Pat greeted us asking if the gun was sighted in. “See any bears?” Pat asked.

“Yep. Saw three this morning. Shot one.” Mark replied levelly.

The shock on Pat’s face was palpable, “Seriously?! Is it still out there?”

“Nope, we’re already back with it. She’s in the truck” said Mark, nodding toward the truck.

“I told you, Pat. We don’t mess around. We kill stuff.” I said with a grin.

We laid the bear out and got some preliminary measurements before folding and bagging it up to stick it in one of the freezers at the lodge. It rough measured 8’10” claw to claw and 7’10” nose to tail, for a “square” measurement of ~8’4” without any greedy stretching. We’re still waiting on the taxidermist to confirm the size, but either way it is an excellent bear with a stunning hide.

“Now we just need to go get you Two-Tone!” Mark grinned as we ate a late lunch after getting all cleaned up.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be honest—we’re not shooting another bear today. I don’t have it in my to hike, let alone skin another one, and I didn’t even pack it out! Like, even if it were right off the road, I dunno that I could do it.” I admitted.

“Yeah I’m pretty beat.”

“Let’s just go out and scout around, see what we can find for tomorrow. I’m not even going to put on my boots, I’ll just wear my crocs to help future Jonathon not feel empowered to make a stupid decision. It’s your job, Mark, to remind me of that and keep future Jonathon from doing stupid stuff.”

Thankfully, our guns showed up. But not our other checked bags. 

As we pulled out of the lodge there was another rainbow, this time ending way off in the tundra near a road I hadn’t spent much time on last year. For a place that routinely feels like a hellscape, it has a way of opening up just often enough and overwhelming you with a shocking beauty that helps you get through the next period of brutality that she throws at you. It’s downright abusive, and I love it.

25 minutes after leaving the lodge I call out, “Hold up. Back up a bit. There.”

“Where you looking?”

“Where I shouldn’t. Way out there. See that flat grass way past the ridge on the far side of this lake? Look at the left edge, where you can just see it. There’s a dark bear out there that you can barely see the top of its back. That is a big bear.” I whispered. 










Mark couldn’t quite pick him out, and he was way too far out to even consider, so we kept driving. A half mile later we had a better view of the bear, 3 miles away across the flats. 

“See? I told you there was bear there. He’s enormous. Holy crap, that is a big bear. Mondo. Just absolutely huge. But how? How do we get there? Worse, how do we get him OUT?!” I kept muttering over and over.


















After a few minutes we decide to go to the end of the road, we look at some emperor geese and turn back around. The wind was whipping, leaving us scrambling back into the truck after only a few minutes. As we roll back down the road we look at the big bear, watching him laze about in the wide open flat, grazing his way towards a beach.

“Hold up, there’s a road up on the hills behind him. That looks doable, maybe only 800-1000 yards away.” I started pouring over my OnX trying to figure out where we could connect.

Mark found it. “Look here, I’m pretty sure this is it. Let’s go check it out.”

Mark took a very responsible pace as we headed down the main road. We passed a gravel pit and we noticed some good-sized bear tracks right up the main pile, just before a two track that we hoped would wind its way over the tundra to Mondo. 

“Well what do you think? Think this is it?” Mark asked.

“Send it” I grinned. I could already feel the target vision settling in.

The two track was pretty good honestly. “While I appreciate you taking good care of the this truck, Mark, I’m just sayin’—I’ve done worse in a Camry chasing elk and antelope back in Utah and Wyoming. A lot worse. Just frickin’ send it!”

“Look man, I don’t know how deep some of these mud holes are and I don’t want to break anything. We need this truck the rest of the week.”

“Pshaw. Sounds like a future Mark and Jonathon problem. The lodge has other vehicles. The pedal on the right makes it go vroom vroom. Daylight is fading, let’s go! Besides, if we break down, we can just walk +12 miles back to the lodge through bear infested tundra. At least now we have guns!”

While I’m sure Mark did in fact speed up, at the time it seemed as though I would be faster waddling my portly frame down the road in my orange crocs. Finally, we made it out near the end of the road where we could see the grassy plain we though Mondo was hiding in.

“There. See the bear to the right of that green patch?” I whisper, even though we are in the closed cab of the truck.

“Yep.”

“Ope. There’s two. That’s a sow and a cub. And look left, there’s another cub.”

“Got’em”

“Now where’s Mondo…” I thought aloud as I worked my binoculars to the right. “Got him. Maybe 800 yards, still headed generally towards that beach on the far side of the lake.”

“I see him.”

“I want him. I want him bad. He’s enormous!”

“How are you going to do that? Even if you could get to the edge of the tundra, he’d still be at least 500 yards away?” Mark asked.

The wheels begin churning in my head, and I take stock of the terrain and the remaining daylight. I am out of the truck, gun on my shoulder looking for the rangefinder before I see Mark’s bewildered face.

“Mark, we can do it. I don’t think it is quite that far. I bet I could be in shooting position in 25 minutes. Just enough time to kill Mondo, confirm it, get some pictures, and then we’ll come back in the morning to skin him.”

“Yeah right. With three other bears just a few hundred yards away? We both know you’ll talk us into skinning him and packing him out tonight. Come on.” 

“Sounds like a future Jonathon and Mark problem,” I grinned. “Think of it! We could kill both our bears on opening day! We’d then take our time tomorrow skinning and packing him—maybe even find somebody to pack him out for us. There’s no way I can carry the hide on a bear that big, based on how much yours weighed. We can absolutely do this!” 

“Jonathon, look. You ARE WEARING CROCS!” Mark laughed in frustration.

“Yeah, so? That just makes the story better!”

“Come on. We can’t. You promised we weren’t going to kill another bear today.”

“So?”

“Even if we go after him right now, there’s no way you are close enough to shoot until just before dark—you want to be under 200 yards, right?”

“Yeah, I really want to be under 200 on a big bear,” I reply, “but I don’t think it will take us that long! We’ve got at least 45 minutes of light and I really think we can get out there and I can get a shot in 25 minutes. 35 tops.”

“See? You are already changing your estimate!”

I take a few steps towards the bears, and stop. Mondo had turned around and was now making his way towards the momma and her cubs.

“Look man, let’s just watch him for a bit, go back to the lodge and be back here first thing in the morning. I’m sure he’ll still be there and we will have all day to figure it out.” Mark gently urged.

“Fine. You’re right. Thanks. That would have been a really stupid idea.” I conceded. “Besides, this way we’ll get on Mondo in the morning, kill him as he’s feeding on the cub he murdered in the night, and with any luck, I’ll get to have two skulls to bring home! A 10’ monster and a teensy little cub!”

We watched the bears for a few more minutes before I urged Mark to leave so I couldn’t talk us into doing something dumb. I was pretty sure I could get a 200-300 yard shot within 15 minutes of leaving the truck. We make it a half mile back towards the main road when a fox appears just to the left of the road, 30 feet in front of us.

“Want a fox, Mark?” I ask “You know you want a fox buddy.”

“What would I shoot it with?” Mark wondered looking at the collection of high-powered rifles in the truck: .300 Winchester Short Mag, .300 Weatherby Mag, and the .45-70 lever action with 405 grain bear rounds.

“That .45-70 will zip through no problem without screwing up the hide too much.” I reply. “We really should have grabbed one of the shotguns, as I just used BB in a 3” shell last year on mine—one shot and done.”

“Really? The .45-70? Won’t it run away as soon as I step out of the truck?” Mark asked.

“Nope. The foxes here are just plain dumb.” As if to prove my point, the fox began to trot directly at the truck. Ava gave it her full attention, starting to whine in anticipation. She likes retrieving foxes.

Mark steps out and takes a shot, with the fox now less than 15 feet in front of him. It stumbles off with what looks like a perfect shot behind the shoulder. But no. It stopped and sat. Clearly, hit hard, but not dying.

“Now what? Do I shoot it again?” Mark asked.

I begin laughing so hard I could barely respond, “Ha! Yeah, shoot it again! How did you not kill a little fox with that giant gun from only 10 feet away?!”

Mark shoots again. The fox stumbles off farther, still not dead. I lose it. Mark shoots again. Fox still is breathing. After a little bit, it is clear that the third shot did the job. On closer inspection, looks like the first shot did something weird, entering behind the shoulder and exiting in the neck on the same side as the entrance. 



















As we got back to the lodge we drew a stir and some attention unloading the bed of the truck for a second time that day. “You boys are killin’ machines! Seriously. 1 day and you’ve got a bear—with a borrowed gun. Fox. Ptarmigan. Nice!” Pat congratulated us.

I looked Pat dead in the eye and gave my default statement, “We don’t mess around. We kill stuff.” 

That night at dinner, I regaled our hosts and fellow guests at the lodge with the thrilling tale of the immortal, Jesus Fox and Mark’s marvelous marksmanship skills. Mark took it gamely.

“Careful man. Karma. Laugh it up. Better watch out, karma might get you tomorrow. It would be pretty terrible if you missed a chip shot on Mondo tomorrow. Just sayin’.” Mark said with a smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. Just watch, we’re going to find that bear that left those tracks in the gravel pit, a nice 9-footer—”

“You mean an 11-footer, right?” Mark grinned

“Right, 11-footer. Right at the top of the gravel. And I’m gonna miss him because I made fun of you shooting the Jesus Fox.” I laughed. “Which is a real shame, ‘cause he would be able to be rolled right into the bed of the truck!”

We continued on through the night, with me wondering how in the world I was going to manage packing out my bear, thinking about how I might find some willing helper with big shoes and a small hat band.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

That night the wind began to howl. We woke to a starlit sky and 60 mph winds. Just great. After breakfast we load up the truck as it starts to cloud over and rain, and then make our way back to that two track to find Mondo. As we pull out of town I look in the bay and catch sight of another whale breaching in the waves. 

“Hey look, another rainbow. Looks like it ends right over Mondo.” Mark grinned. “I’ve been thinking. Every time we’ve found bears they’ve been at the end of a rainbow.”

“Ha! You’re right. And they’ve also often been right after I see whales. I’m not superstitious or anything, I’m just a little stitious. But…I mean, whales + rainbows = bears. The whales need our help to get revenge on the bears for eating their beached relatives.” I laughed.

“The math checks out.” said Mark with a shake of his head. 

As we head down the two track toward Mondo’s lair, the anticipation—and the wind—began to build. We reach the end of the road and quickly start seeing bears in the flats and on the beach. Lots. Of. Bears.

Twelve bears, to be precise, including a couple sows with cubs. One of which was between us and Mondo. Mamacita and her two cubs did not seem like a fun obstacle course to navigate. Mondo, by the way, had now moved farther out into the middle of the grassy plain, with no apparent cover for at least 1000 yards. Not to mention a minimum of 7 bears that we’d have to pass and put behind us to get in range of Mondo. In crazy wind and rain. Not even I am that stupid. Probably.

“Yeah, this just ain’t going to work bud.” Mark said.

“I know. Let’s go see some new country before I try to convince us otherwise. This is a really bad idea right now.” I replied dejectedly.

“And you know that those bears were probably all laying out in that grass last night, right?”

“Yeah yeah yeah…you were right. Thank you Mark…but still, we could have killed him.”

“Maybe. Let’s check on Super Blonde’s carcass, see if anything’s there.” Mark suggested.

“Send it.” I tried to grin, but honestly, I had a giant hole in my optimism at that moment. I am convinced that we could have killed a truly enormous bear the night before. I have seen a lot of grizzlies and brown bears over the years, and been close to some really big bears. I am convinced that none of them were as big as Mondo. Not even close.

Brooding in my thoughts I kept a half-hearted eye out the dirty window as the tundra rolled by. Shortly before the two track ended at the main road I saw something. “STOP! BEAR!” I called out. Mark hit the breaks, and poor Ava tumbled onto the dash.

“I just want a good look at it.” I said as I watched this large blonde bear, clearly a boar, loped along the ridge 300 yards to our right, headed towards the main road.

“Dude. It’s big. Let’s go. It’s moving quick but we can get in front of it.”

“Yep. Send it.”

Finally, Mark learned to drive. It was a thing of beauty to bounce down that last half mile at a proper speed, watching the bear every now and again as we plotted our interception course.

“He’s headed right for the gravel pit bud.”

“I know, right? That’s just nuts! This might actually play out just how we joked last night.” I was giddy. Doing my best to control my heart rate. 

We pull off the road right before the gravel pit on a track that ended in a gravel pad a couple hundred yards off the main road. 

“Get ready, he’s going to be right here any second.”

“How far to the top of that rise?” I asked looking for my trekking poles to make a rest, before remembering they were buried beneath gear in the back seat. 

“220.”

“You’ve got Ava? Here’s the controller for her e-collar if you need it.”

I step out of the truck wearing just my down jacket, verifying that I had 4 extra rounds in my pocket plus the 4 in the gun. I began fighting the cross wind with the door, right as the bear stepped out on the gravel pad. He was big. Not Mondo-sized, but still, big.

I set up with the truck door, window down, as a rest. The bear stood on all fours, just staring. I tried to settle the crosshairs on my .300 Weatherby, but that crosswind was catching the door like a sail. Finally, I felt like I had a shot and I squeezed off a round. I quickly reload and step away from the truck, firing free hand as the bear headed back the way he came. He ran down into a small draw and I dropped to my seat, setting the gun up on my knee like my dad taught me as a kid. I waited for him to appear on the far side of the draw, but nothing. 

Thinking maybe he had died, I walk forward 20 yards before I see him returning back to where he was when I first shot. I drop again and try to fight the wind and stay steady, firing a third shot at this bear. At this shot the bear flipped 90 degrees and started to run away from me. At this point, the wind is blowing directly from me to the bear.

Without hesitation I break off into a run after it. As I run, I quickly reload the magazine and chambered another round. 4 in the gun, and one more in my pocket. The bear began to veer off to the left, 300 or so yards ahead of me. I thought it might try to drop into the gulley and skirt around the hill, so I race up breaking off to the right trying to intercept him and get another shot and. Eventually, I think to look behind me, to see where Mark is, having assumed he had just followed me. No Mark. No Ava. I can’t even see the truck. That is when I realized that I’ve gone at least half a mile already. No turning back now.

I slow my pace as I approach the crest of the hill where I hoped to intercept the bear. There was a copse of alders roughly 10’ in diameter and 6’ tall at the top of the hill. I mount the rifle and begin to approach the trees. I get a few yards away and I can see that the bear isn’t in there, and so I begin to cast my eyes around the tundra, moving forward cautiously. Nothing. Again, I look back and cannot see the truck anywhere. No sign of Mark. My down jacket was soaked, and the chill of the wind was starting to get to me. I still have no idea how long it was from the time I left the truck to then. I finally see the truck, and realize that I wasn’t too far from the two track that headed to Mondo. I was well over a mile from where I had left the truck. As I got to Mark I spotted the bear more than a mile in front of us still running like a demon was on his trail.

“WHAT THE HELL MAN?! You just took off!” Mark said more gently than I deserve.

“Yeah…sorry about that. Probably shouldn’t tell Jessica about this. I sort of promised not to go off alone…I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until I was way out there!”

“No **** man. You were MOVING. Did you see me when I moved over to the gravel pit?”

“What? You did?”

“Yeah. And when I did, the bear was like only 80 yards behind you. I thought about taking a shot, but you were on the other side of it and it just wasn’t safe.”

“Wait. The bear was BEHIND me?!” I asked stunned.

“Yep. You were up on the ridge and it was in the little valley right below you. I was kind of surprised you didn’t see it.”

“Nope. I was so sure it was in front of me the whole time…Wow. That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” I admitted. Truly, I felt poleaxed by how that whole scenario played out. “Well, let’s go back to where I shot at it and see if Ava can find any blood. I’m not sure I hit it, it was moving just fine…but…I don’t know.”

“I thought that first shot hit it. Little far back maybe, but I thought I saw it flinch. Maybe that was just it reacting to the bullet passing by though. Not sure.” Mark confessed.

“Really? I was bouncing around big time on that shot. I shouldn’t have ever taken it. I think my third shot was good though…I don’t know. I kind of rushed it.”

“Dude, we had almost zero time to set up on that. That was fast.”

“Yeah.”

We spent some time with Ava crisscrossing the area where the bear was when I shot each time. Ava never hit blood, and neither could Mark or I locate any. We found his tracks in the packed gravel and I set Ava on that for a while, before it was clear there was no blood. I had missed. Thankfully.

“That was a nice bear. I could fit both my fists in his front pad and there was at least a half inch of room to spare. That’s +8.5” wide man. That’s like a 9-9.5’ bear.” I repeated over and over to Mark. “But I’m pretty sure Mondo is bigger.”

“Mondo’s definitely bigger.”

“BUT MAN! We could have driven to him had he dropped where I shot at him!” I lamented.

“You hear that Ava?” Mark said sweetly, “If only Jonathon could shoot we could be bird hunting for you now.”

We drove off to the end of the two track, not finding that bear again, and decided to head back to the lodge for lunch before going back out.

“Huh. I figured out what we’re calling that bear, Mark.” I said with more than a tinge of regret. 
“Karma.”

“Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Told ya.”

“Yep. I deserved that.” I said as I rolled down the window. “I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR MAKING FUN OF YOU MARK FOR YOUR EXCELLENT SHOOTING WHEN YOU KILLED THAT FOX LAST NIGHT. I HAVE NO RIGHT TO MAKE FUN WHEN YOU DID END UP KILLING IT, EVENTUALLY.” I yelled into the wind. “You know, I had to make sure the bears and whales heard it. Just in case.”

“After lunch we should check the zero on your rifle just in case.”

“Good idea. I don’t think that is the problem. I just whiffed it.”

“Yeah, but that wind was bad too.”

“Yeah, I know. But still, I whiffed it. You had a lot of wind on Super Blonde yesterday and you got it done.”

“True. We still should check your gun.”

After lunch we went for an evening hunt. The wind had only gotten worse. There was zero point trying to check the zero on the gun in those conditions. Mark spotted a ptarmigan vainly trying to walk in the wind. We decided we needed some blood to pick up our spirits, and besides, Mark had never killed a ptarmigan before. I handed him my shotgun and he made quick work of it, but not before the wind proved that trying to shoot a bear at any distance was pointless today.









+30-foot breakers on the other side of the lagoon









We made our last stand out near the end of the road watching over Mondo and Mamacita. “Let’s just go all the way to the end real quick” I suggested.

We reached the end of the road as the final rays of the sunset peaked through a break in the clouds. Immediately, I spotted a large blonde bear only 400 yards from the truck, that had been hidden from view by the terrain farther back on the road. It sure looked like Karma. Again, Mark managed to convince me that in that especially with that wind it made zero sense going after a bear with less than an hour of light left. “We’ll get ‘em tomorrow man. We’ve got time.” Mark reassured me.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Saturday began with a gnawing sense of urgency. Sure, we still had four more days before we left—and that was assuming the plane could get in and leave. Which was far from a sure thing, as demonstrated by the growing number of guests at the lodge that were “flying out today” for the third day in a row. But the forecast for Saturday was friendly, with mild winds and scattered showers.

As had become our habit, our day began with a drive to the end of the two track, to gawk at Mondo. “Mark, today we’re walking out on the flats. Weather’s good, let’s make it count.”

“Let’s do it.” Mark said gamely.

Strangely, as we made our way to the end of the road, the miles of flats and the beaches were devoid of bears. Ava never gave any warning of smelling an unseen bear nearby either. Somehow, overnight, more than a dozen bears that had been hanging out for 2 days in this section of the grassy expanse had disappeared. 

“Maybe they are tucked up in the brush on those hills, getting some rest after 40 hours of hellacious winds and rain?” I wondered. 

“Could be. You still want to walk out there?” Mark asked.

“Might as well. Seems odd leaving the truck without having seen a bear though.”

“No rainbow this morning either.” Mark pointed out.

“Good point.”

We grabbed our gear and started to creep out on the tundra to the edge of the grass.

“Told you it would have only taken 15 minutes to be in shooting position on Mondo Thursday night.” I said with a grin.

“Yeah, but you still would have made us skin and try to pack him out that night because of the other bears we could already see—not to mention the 7 or so we found out were there the next morning. Plus, you were in crocs.”

“And?” I replied, innocently.

With a roll of his eyes Mark kept walking. “Huh, I thought this grass was a lot taller.” Mark noted.

“Yeah I wasn’t so sure about that. I think there are areas that it is, like up ahead there, but most of it is pretty short. Not too bad.”

“I mean, yeah, in my head it was going to be like that scene in Jurassic Park with the raptors in the grass up to our shoulders. And that was not a great thought. This though, is very good. You’d see a bear coming from a long way off. But Mondo would see us too; that would have been tough to get in range on him.”

“I could have done it.” I insisted, while internally agreeing with him. “I might have had to loop to the far side of that lake, climb that ridge, then drop down on the far side hoping for a cross wind. Piece of cake.”

“Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Uh hmm. With less than an hour of light.”

“Let’s go just one more ridge, past where Mamacita and her cubs were Thursday night. I want to see what’s over there that we can’t see from the road.” I replied, ignoring Mark’s healthy skepticism.

As we reached that farther point, I finally spotted our first rainbow of the day, way over by the main road. Seconds later I spotted the first bear of the day. “I think that is Mondo. Way over a mile off the main road.”

“Where you looking? At that ridge? Or in the grass? I can see a bear over to the left of that cove in the grass, but I don’t think its Mondo.” Mark whispered.

As we discussed where each other was looking, it quickly became clear that we were looking at two bears: One was clearly Mondo, way out in the middle of the flats; the other was a very nice blonde bear. “I think that’s Karma.” I whispered. “Maybe not, looks a little too dark on the back end. But either way, it is a good bear—and it looks like its within 300 yards of the road!”

“What do you want to do?” Mark asked.

“Seems pretty clear, doesn’t it? No sense hanging out here when there are two really nice bears out closer to that road. Let’s go.”

“Yeah, but it’ll take us 45 minutes to get back to the truck, then another 45 minutes or an hour to drive over there, then 45 minutes to hike out to them, and all that time we won’t be able to see them. There’s a ton of bear sign out here, we could just stay put and see what shows up.” Mark argued.

“Yeah we could. But no. It won’t take us that long to get there. It’ll take me like 15-20 minutes back to the truck, and I could drive over there in 30, easy.” I grinned.

“Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Uh hmm. No way.”

“Watch.”


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

To be fair, it took us about 30 minutes to get back to the truck. And I’ll say nothing about Mark’s driving—he took that road at a respectable speed (helps having driven it at least a dozen times in the prior 48 hours). We make it out to the other road, debate about checking the zero on the rifle or just going for it with a backup gun.

“I think the bear was just over there. With the wind, I want to err on being too far to the south just in case.” I told Mark as we left the truck. I called Ava to a tight heel and we took a quick pace over the few hundred yards of tundra before hitting the edge of the grass. “Let’s go out farther to that ridge and look back, see if we can still see Karma or maybe Mondo,” I suggested.

Reaching that point, and still not seeing anything other than tons of fresh sign everywhere, yet again I looked wistfully just one more knoll out in the grass.

“You want to go farther, don’t you?” asked Mark shaking his head.

“Well, yeah…” I admitted sheepishly.

“We’re like, halfway to where we hiked out this morning at the end of the two track!” Mark said with just a tinge of frustration.

“So? It hasn’t been that bad. We’ve done what, a couple miles today is all?”

“A couple?! Dude. At least 6. Maybe 8. I run 2 miles a lot, this has been way farther than that.” Mark retorted.

“No way. A couple miles. Maybe three. If even.” I smiled, as I started walking with Ava farther out into the grass, not looking to see if he was following. After 50 yards I turned to look again at the ridge where I had seen maybe-Karma lie down. 

“Hold up. There. I see him. Over there just to the right of the marker on the road! He has to be less than 200 yards off the road right now!” I nearly giggled.

“Over to the left of that canyon? Dude, that’s a cub. No way that’s Karma.”

“A CUB?! That’s like an easy 8 ½ - 9 foot bear! Where are you looking?!” I stuttered.

“Over to the right of that canyon past the drainage pipe at the road. See that hump, right on top of that.”

“That island over there? Oh, I see. Yeah, that is a cub. Probably one of Mamacita’s. No man, look like a mile over to the right, right below the marker sign at the end of the road. Ope. Hang on. There’s Mondo. Farther right, still out in the middle of the grass, half a mile or so away from Karma.” I rambled. “Maybe not Karma, not sure that looks as big or as blonde as he was. Either way, it’s a good bear and it is still in a doable location.”

I start hoofing it in a straight line across the grass, trying to not lose sight of the bears. Unfortunately, there are dozens of hidden, windy creeks all through the grass—creeks with salmon, which is why there are so many bears hanging out in this flat. After getting frustrated by being unable to cross creeks, I began to realize that my direct march through the wide-open grass for a nearly 2 miles without cover was just not going to work.

I conceded, “Alright, fine, let’s just book it back to the truck and then drive to near the end of the road and then cut back out across the tundra.” This is major personal growth folks. I usually am unable to admit that the direct path, no matter what obstacles are in my way, is not the approach to take. This has led to many a stupid decision in the past, and likely will again in the future.

We make our way back to the truck, climb in, and take off. “Ok, fine. We went out farther than I thought we had. Maybe we’ve done 4 miles today.” I told Mark as he just shook his head. Minutes later we are bailing out of the truck half a mile short of the end of the road and fighting the tussocks once more. I hesitated at the edge of the ridge, as there was a small pond and grassy marsh between us and another tundra ridge before it opened to the wide plain. 

“I’m pretty sure this is the ridge we need.” I tell Mark, calling Ava to my side.

Turning into the wind we began to cautiously walk forward along the ridge. No sign of either bear. I kept pushing farther out from the road, wondering why Mark was hanging up higher on the hill. In my mind’s eye he was on the same level as the bear and wouldn’t be able to see it until he was right on top of it. After a while, I decided I need to touch base with him.

“I swear the bear should be right here,” I whispered. Just then I saw fresh tracks on the trail Mark was using to skirt the rim. “That’s fresh.” I remarked as I placed my fists in it. Not quite as wide as both of my fists. “At least an 8’ bear, maybe 8 1/2” I noted aloud, and immediately took Ava at my side and started following the trail. 

Eventually I had to admit, we were not on the right ridge. We had gone well past the marker at the end of the road. No sign of Karma, or Mondo, and the fresh tracks in front of me were headed straight through a patch of thick nasty brush before a beach that I really didn’t want to go through. “Ok, fine. Let’s head back to the truck.” I said deflated.

As we got back to the edge of the tundra a hundred yards from the truck, I looked at that hidden pond and marsh. “Mark, now I’m really sure that we didn’t take the right ridge. We wanted that one. We’re already here, let’s just go take a peak.”

“Dude. No. I’m starving. I don’t know that I have much more in me for today. We’ve already done close to 10 miles!”

“WHAT?! No chance. 4, maybe 5! Come one. It’ll take like 10-15 minutes. It’s not that late, right? Maybe noon?” I wheedled.

“That’s normal speak for 2 hours and another 3 miles. Nope. And man, it’s almost 3. Come on. Let’s just go, we’ll come back after we get some food. And let’s check the zero on your gun before tonight.”

Reluctantly, I started walking to the truck. I won’t lie, I very nearly just took Ava and went to take a look for myself. Only the memory of my stupid run after Karma the day before and a certain once-broken promise to my wife not to go off alone kept me back.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

At the lodge we wolfed down some food, and quickly turned around. 

“Let’s go down the two track just far enough to confirm if the bear is still there. Then there’s that old pot in the other gravel pullout, let’s use that to check the zero on my gun.” I suggested as we left the lodge. “Hey look! A whale.” I remarked as we headed out of town. Just then, a rainbow showed up at the end of the main road near where we had last trekked out on the tundra.

“Perfect. Now we’re good to go. Let’s get you a bear.” Mark pronounced.

We made it out most of the way down the two track, when I spotted the bear. “There’s Karma. Well, maybe-Karma. Laying right there on that island. See it? That is right next to where the other ridge I wanted to check out would have shown us. That’s doable.”

“Yep.”

Yet again we flew down that two-track in that old blue pickup. We reached the gravel pull out, confirmed my zero was on, and raced back down the road. As we got our gear together, Mark looked hesistant. “Look man, it’ll take us 45 minutes or so before we’re in shooting position. That gives us less than an hour before dark once you pull the trigger.”

“Assuming I can hit it.” I joked.

“Right.”

“It won’t take us that long. 15 minutes tops and we’re in range. And I promise, I won’t try to convince us to skin out and pack out the bear tonight.”

“Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Uh hmm.” Mark intoned skeptically.

“But just to be sure, you’ve got your headlight, right?” I asked as innocently as I could.

Mark just shook his head and patted his pocket, and we headed out to the tundra. Ava stayed on a tight heel, resigned to the fact that once again we were chasing boring bears and ignoring all the fun bird toys everywhere. Crossing that hidden marsh, and climbing the ridge it was clear it was a bit broader than I had thought at first. I picked up the pace not wanting to prove Mark right on how long it would take. I was close to jogging on that tundra, racing the clock. 

Finally, I could see the sea of grass and the island where the bear (hopefully) was. I slowed my pace and let Mark catch up. “See? We left the truck at 6:30 and it is 6:45 right now. The bear should be right there. What’s the distance to that side of the island?”

“Top of the island is 225.”

“Wow, ok. I’m going to make my way left a bit and up to that brush maybe 20-30 yards and see if I can see the bear. The wind is perfect. This is going to work!” I whispered. Before I had gone 10 yards I caught a glimpse of the bear’s back. I put Ava on a down, handed the controller to her collar to Mark and kept going forward. As I reached the brush I was hoping to shoot from, the bear lifted its head. I quickly dropped and set up my trekking poles for a bipod. As the bear’s head loomed in my scope I could see this was a nice bear and I just knew I was going to kill it. The bear sat up on its haunches, head to the left broadside to me. I began to pull the trigger, and had a momentary panic as I remembered botching the shots on Karma the day before. I flinched hard. Click.

“Safety!” I muttered

“Easy dude, you flinched so hard I flinched! Aim small, miss small.” Mark reassured me.

I flicked off the safety and resettled myself. I placed the cross hairs just to the right of the bears shoulder, a bit further forward than you would on a deer, and began to gently squeeze the trigger. 

The gun jumped in my hands and I didn’t even register the shot in my head until I heard the solid THWACK of the bullet striking the bear. I quickly reloaded and got the bear back in my scope. The bear had run to the left about 10 yards down the side of the island and was headed for the sea of grass. Just as I was about to place another round between its shoulder blades, I heard Mark, “She’s down.” And as if his words had willed it, I watched the bear rear onto its hind legs and roll over.

“I was about to put a back up shot in it when I saw it going down,” Mark whispered.

“Me too.” I quickly replaced the spent cartridge with a live round, tucking the brass into a pocket.

“Mission accomplished!” Mark grinned

“Not so fast…it isn’t mission accomplished until the bear’s back at the lodge.” I replied, as the scope of the task in front of us began to hit me. Especially with a bear, it’s not over until it’s over.

With raised guns we closed the gap keeping a close eye on the bear, yelling and whooping to try and scare off any bears that might be hiding in the brush. I stopped 10 yards away, and javelined my trekking poles at it, not exactly wanting to get close enough to poke it with the gun before I was absolutely certain it was dead. I can neither confirm nor deny whether there is video evidence of a terrified me throwing my poles at that bear.

It was dead. Ava and I approached and I noticed something, “Not Karma. It’s a sow.” I hollered to Mark.

“Really? Huh.” said Mark.

“She’s HUGE though! Holy crap! How am I going to get this out of here?! She’s a frickin’ butterball man! Look at her! This is gonna suck!” I laughed and began to wonder, as I looked at my bear facing the long mile back to the truck. Mark just shook his head and laughed along.










“Sounds like a future Jonathon problem.” Mark grinned. Touché, Mark, touché.

Right then, Ava tensed up and Mark stopped laughing. “BEAR! That’s Mondo. He’s looking straight at us.” Mark said urgently, but far more calmly than I could have managed.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

I whipped around frantically scanning the grass in the fading light. There. A huge, dark head looking right at us, 260 yards away.









We began to yell, and wave our arms. Mondo stood onto all four paws. We had watched him from a distance for 2 days, and knew he was a big bear. But the sheer enormity of this bear was terrifying up close in the fading light. Mondo made my bear—which was noticeably larger than Super Blonde—look like a cub. I am convinced I have never seen a bear this large. And that monstrosity began to walk towards us.










“You might need to give it a warning shot Jon.” Mark yelled as Mondo continued to casually cut the distance between us at an alarming rate.

“Yep.” I said as I placed my cross hairs just to the left of Mondo’s advance. He couldn’t have been much more than 150 yards when I fired a round 5 feet to the left of him with the .300 Weatherby. 

Mondo didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch.

“If he gets under 100 yards, I’m gonna drill him.” Said Mark. The standards for DLP flitted through my mind, but any objections I might have made in the comfort of my office chair wilted in the face of that gigantic bear plodding straight at us. Ava continued to give her low gruff, from her position at my left knee.

Finally, Mondo began to veer to the right. 

Mark stepped just downwind of my bear, and immediately said, “Ugh! Whew. She is ripe!” 

“Yeah she’s a stanky bitch. See what I meant when I said your bear smelled good?” I just laughed as Mark compared the smell of my bear to gym locker rooms mixed with a few million dying pink salmon rotting in the sun on the banks of the Kenai river.

We took our pictures and I cut my permit, all the while keeping an eye on that dark nightmare that kept moving around us with a 200-400 yard buffer. I looked at the time, and tried to remember when it got dark the night before. 
















































“You want to skin her out, don’t you?” Mark accused me.

“Well…” I began.

“Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Uh hmm. ‘oh no Mark, I’ll just shoot her, we’ll get pictures and we’ll be back at the truck well before dark and come back tomorrow to skin her.’ I should have put money on that one.” Mark said shaking his head.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t have taken that bet…” I admitted. “I promise we’ll be back at the truck before dark. I’m setting a 30 minute timer, and we’ll go.”

“Uh hmm. Uh hmm. Uh hmm.” Clearly, Mark didn’t believe me. But I meant it. I did.

My phone is a liar. I swear that 30 minute alarm went off after only 15 minutes. “I’m really close to getting the skull out. Then we’ll go. I’m just going to snooze it.” I lied, as I turned it off. Over and over again we’d need to stick our heads into the clean air of the oncoming breeze, or shake off the thousands of roundworms and trichinella parasites that were everywhere in the thick fat on my bear. 

“Just keep snoozing it right up until dark, so Mondo can come in and take a nice bite out of us.” muttered Mark in frustration—but to his credit he kept working.

Thirty minutes or so later I had the skull free, and we’d skinned half the bear. We tucked the half we’d done underneath the unskinned side of the bear. “You know, just in case Mondo wants to come munch on his girlfriend we’ve got her unwrapped for easy access. Worth a shot.” I joked.

Straightening up from the bear, I gripped the skull, gathered my gear and said to Mark it was time to go. We made it back to the truck with light to spare. “See? I promised it wouldn’t be dark by the time we got here.” I said with false confidence. Truthfully, when we had left the truck an hour and half earlier, I was convinced we’d be coming back in the dark. 

“I just figured out the name of my bear.” I told Mark, proud of myself for being so clever. “Goldilocks, ‘cause she’s blonde and just right.”

“Nah man, you already named the bear when we walked up on it. Butterball!” Mark laughed. He was right. I had already named Butterball. And it was perfect.

Back at the lodge the folks had been getting a kick at all the bears we had seen, and the names we’d been giving them. I returned to a lodge full of folks rooting for me to have killed a bear, and Butterball was received with howls of laughter. 

“You guys have killed two bears, fox, birds, and its only been what, 3 days?” Pat, Mike, and Jenny at the lodge would repeat again and again. All we could reply with was a smile and a simple, “We don’t mess around. We kill stuff.” 

After a shower and some food, the hunt for a bear packer began. Or at least a sled. It was going to be physically impossible for me to carry my hide out. Pat made a bunch of calls, and managed to find us a sled that the local school teacher’s father-in-law had used to pack out his “10.5 foot” bear a few days earlier. I wish I had remembered to grab a picture of it. We (Pat included) were under the impression it was a jet sled. What arrived was a 15”x24” bright yellow kiddie snow sled. It would have to do.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Morning dawned and still we had no willing bear packer. Mark thought that as long as we could get it in his pack, that we could use the handles on top and bottom and make it work. This discussion and strategy session came to a close as Pat said he’d come with us and help. This was incredibly welcome, not just to have another person to help pack, but to also have another set of eyes to watch for bears.

Yet again, we left the lodge and headed for our two track, hoping to be able to glass the carcass from a distance and get a feel for whether any bears had moved into the area. Thankfully, Mondo had moved about a mile away, back to the main corner of his lair. No sign of Mamacita or any of the beach bears, but we felt confident that we could get out and finish the job on my bear.

We got out to the carcass on high alert, but without incident dragging that bright yellow sled behind us. Just as we started to relax, Ava gave me an indication gruff right at the gap where Mondo had appeared the night before. Sure enough, there was a large blonde bear walking through. We hollered, but with the wind it was hard to say if the bear could hear. It certainly didn’t give us any clue that it did, or that it cared either way. A few minutes later, it walked into our scent cone downwind. It hit that smell and began to scamper away at high speed. Ava took her place up on the island keeping an eye out for us.

“Huh, I guess Karma remembers you” teased Mark.

“Yeah, he didn’t feel like getting chased across the tundra by a lone madman twice in three days I guess.” I laughed as I got my knife out to keep working. “Just look at how FAT she is! Serious, Butterball over here.”

We finished getting the hide off of Butterball, and Mark and I barely managed to drag it up on some brush a few yards away to start fleshing it out. 

“Good grief that’s heavy. We’ve got a lot of fat to take off before we try to pack this out.” I remarked.

The next several hours were spent with Mark and I carving giant slabs of fat off the hide while Pat and Ava kept an eye out for bears, and entertained us with stories of hunts past. Pat is welcome in my camp any time, and I genuinely can’t way to go back out and stay at the lodge and hang out with him in the evenings again. We easily removed over a hundred pounds of fat of the skin, before we decided it was time to try to stuff it in Mark’s pack. With a lot of effort, we just barely managed to get it in. Even packed up like that, I could not lift it.

We flopped the pack into the kiddie sled and found that that worked pretty good with two of us pulling and the third guy balancing the pack to make sure it didn’t fall out. We covered the half mile of grass quickly, only to be confronted by the horror show of the tundra, needing to climb a gradual hill and fighting tussocks most of the rest of the way back. 

“I’ll do it. Put it on my back and I think I can get it done.” Pat said.

I was incredibly grateful at Pat’s willingness to do what I honestly couldn’t. That guy is plain tough. As we reached the hidden pond and marsh he dropped the pack onto the sled so we could pull it across. 

“I think that is the heaviest pack I’ve ever had on my back. Definitely more than my packs on that moose back in Montana.” Pat admitted. Having packed out two moose up here, I believe it.

Mark and I grabbed the pack handles and team carried the load the last few hundred yards up the hill to the truck. As we got in the truck, the obligatory comment that all hunters know was made.

“You know, that wasn’t too bad. That was fun.” said Pat. And you know, Pat was right. “And now we know where to set up for geese. That was a lot of birds flying over us.” Pat continued. 

As we pulled up to the lodge Mark looked into the back seat where I snuggled my stinky self up with Ava and he said, “Now it’s mission accomplished! You want some birds, Ava?!” 

And Ava did, she REALLY did.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

We got my bear rough measured and in the freezer, got cleaned up then looked for some food. Butterball’s rough measurements went 8’7” claw to claw and 8’6” nose to tail.

“You guys want to go for emperors this afternoon?” asked Pat “I can take you to THE spot. Mark, you should bring your pistol though. The place is kinda beary.”

Mark and I looked at each other and grinned “Send it.”

Pat took us on yet another two track that we hadn’t noticed, that worked all the way to the beach. We drove down the beach for a ways until we stopped at a small creek coming out of of a lake. “Here. They love this spot. They fly in from the bay, stop at the point and sip the freshwater from the creek.” Pat told us motioning to where we needed to set up the decoys. He took the truck back down the beach a ways as we finished setting out the decoys and getting settled in the grass. Ava was in her element.









After 30 minutes of nothing, with the winds building I was getting fidgety. I hate waiting. I spoke up, “Hey, let’s give this like 10 more minutes and if nothing is flying let’s go chase ptarmigan or something.”

Not a minute later I spot three birds coming in far to the right. “Yep, those are emperors. Get ready.” Pat confirmed.

The seconds stretched into eons as we tucked into the beach grass. Ava was made of stone laying at my side. Finally, the birds came in. Perfect, two adults and a juvenile. “I’ve got right you’ve got left” I whisper to Mark. 

“Take ‘em” Pat calls out.

I pulled the trigger just a hair after Mark, and two birds dropped to the water. The juvenile flew off unscathed. 

“Nice! That’s how you do it!” hollered Pat.

The birds had fallen out farther in the water than I had hoped, so I decided to send Ava on the retrieve. She got my bird first, and was surprisingly gentle so I sent her for Mark’s gander. Again, another soft-mouthed retrieve. I did NOT expect that, especially after her putting up with us for 3.5 days ignoring birds.



























“We don’t mess around. We kill stuff.” I deadpanned at Pat, followed with a boast. “Tomorrow, we’re going to stack up the bodies. Just you watch. Geese, brant, ducks, and ptarmigan.”

“I believe you!” Pat laughed as we loaded up the truck and left the beach.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

The next day we took a bit slower start than I had originally planned. We went back to the end of the two-track and strategized where on the tundra we wanted to set up for geese. Pat had too much to do at the lodge, so he couldn’t join us. We picked a hill 500 yards out from the truck and set up our spread. We saw that Mondo was back in his corner, and would be about a mile away from us. Mamacita and her cubs were way out in the flats, and a few bears had returned to the far beaches.

The morning was great, with cackling geese, mallards, and widgeon falling to our guns and Ava getting her retrieves in. We were just off the X a hair to get into some incredible goose hunting, but we were satisfied. 



























We packed up and headed for a lunch at the lodge. Afterwards we went and set up for brant, laying out in the grass at the edge of the lagoon. Like clockwork, the birds came in and we dropped a few. Ava broke at the shot (understandable given her pent up frustrations the past several days) so I didn’t dare try for my second brant. Rather than wait around for the birds to return we decided to just head out and try for ptarmigan for the last hour of the day. 

On the way back I got a fox, and I refuse to incriminate myself by revealing how many shells I used before I was out of ammo and the fox was not quite dead yet. Suck it Karma, I’d already tagged out on Butterball.

We hit the brushier areas on the south side of town and within minutes we were on birds. Ava was thrilled. Over the next thirty minutes we shot a bunch of birds, got some good dog work and corrections in to fix her breaking at the shot, and managed to get Mark hooked on ptarmigan. The rest of the trip, nothing really sparked his interest quite like a suggestion of ptarmigan. I managed to get him out on one more goose attempt, but we got out there too late and again were not quite in the right spot. The winds had picked up again, making shooting very challenging. But the ptarmigan hunting was EXCELLENT!









Not a bad bag for a single day's work for two guns and one dog. I say it a lot, but that's because it is true. Cedarwood's Ava Aurora is just an incredible dog, and I'm lucky to have her. 

It is always bittersweet to end a hunt, but this one went off almost flawlessly. Both hunters tagged out on great animals. Nobody was injured. All that is left now is to figure out what the next adventure is. But that sounds like a future Jonathon and Mark problem.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)




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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Wasn't sure how much room I'd need...but this post #16-20 can be deleted. The new website design since last year lets me put more than 8,000 characters per post, that helps!


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## CPAjeff (Dec 20, 2014)

Simply amazing!! Your threads are classics - thanks for sharing!!


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## taxidermist (Sep 11, 2007)

Ok, that's it....I'm moving to Alaska.


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## 3arabians (Dec 9, 2014)

That was a super fun read as I anticipated! Congrats on an amazing bear and adventure! 


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk


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## flyfisher20 (Aug 5, 2011)

What a great story! Thanks for sharing and distracting me from my work for more time than my boss needs to know about 


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk


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## middlefork (Nov 2, 2008)

Great story and adventure! Thanks for sharing.


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## backcountry (May 19, 2016)

I mean this in the kindest way possible....you are a little bit crazy, aren't you, Thanos of the Rainbow Bears?

Great story.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

backcountry said:


> I mean this in the kindest way possible....you are a little bit crazy, aren't you, Thanos of the Rainbow Bears?
> 
> Great story.


A little bit crazy? Pretty sure the technical term is f#ckin nuts


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## Cruiser (Oct 4, 2020)

Great write up! I enjoyed the read.


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## turkinator (May 25, 2008)

I’ve been waiting for the story. Thank you for sharing!


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## CPAjeff (Dec 20, 2014)

Does anyone else think an adventure with JC would be a riot?? Like the kind of riot that one could laugh about 20 years after the PTSD subsided…


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## 3arabians (Dec 9, 2014)

CPAjeff said:


> Does anyone else think an adventure with JC would be a riot?? Like the kind of riot that one could laugh about 20 years after the PTSD subsided…


Yup, I have PTSD from just seeing the pics of mondo moving in. Yikes!


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

This is my favorite thread!


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

3arabians said:


> Yup, I have PTSD from just seeing the pics of mondo moving in. Yikes!


You have no idea. We came very close to killing Mondo that night. Colossal does not begin to describe him. 

Here he is on a beach a few days later. His front pad in hard gravel is 9.5" wide, and his rear pad is larger than a size 16 wader boot.


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## 2full (Apr 8, 2010)

That is quite a book......great write-up for sure. 
No way your getting me on that trip. I just don't have the conditioning for it. I'm envious for sure. 
Congrats.


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## Airborne (May 29, 2009)

Holy Sh!t Johnny! That was fetching amazing!!! Great job, perfect write up! Great pics! Love it!


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## colorcountrygunner (Oct 6, 2009)

This thread had me hooked since the "rainbow bears" in the thread title. That part was a little misleading, but it was still a fantastic read. A couple observations I made while reading. It was hilarious. That your hunting buddy was named Mark. " Mark" is a slang term for an unstreetwise person who is vulnerable to scams and trickery. It would take somewhat of a mark to be talked into going out into a rainy, windswept hell with an orange croc sporting shiftless, degenerate lawyer to hunt North America's apex predator with a borrowed rifle shooting reloads of unknown origin. But this mark seemed to do a very good job of setting boundaries and riding herd on your crayon munching, window licking ways.🤣 However, Mark seems unaware that crocs can be turned into sport mode where they then will become perfectly acceptable 🐻 hunting footwear. Great write-up and pictures as always JC. I like how some of it reads more like a Robert Ruark novel than the typical hunting report on a hunting forum. You're truly living the dream up there.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Stay tuned. I've conned Mark and another victim into joining me on a winter caribou hunt in a few weeks 8hrs North of where I live. Stupidity will abound, especially since I'm renting a snowmobile and I have no business operating any such toy.


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## colorcountrygunner (Oct 6, 2009)

Lol please be careful, cake. Or whatever your version of careful is.


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## TheOtherJeff (Oct 7, 2021)

"He died doing what he loved."
"What, being stupid?"
"Exactly."

I finally got to read the whole thing last night. Great story. Good luck with the caribou.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

colorcountrygunner said:


> Lol please be careful, cake. Or whatever your version of careful is.


You sound like you've been talking to Mrs. Cake.

I didn't actually think she'd read the pdf of the story I put together. 

She was not happy with some of my decisions.


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## Catherder (Aug 2, 2008)

johnnycake said:


> You sound like you've been talking to Mrs. Cake.
> 
> I didn't actually think she'd read the pdf of the story I put together.
> 
> She was not happy with some of my decisions.


I know your dream is to go back in time to the Pleistocene and try and take down an Irish elk and cave bear with a spear, so I know where you are coming from, but Mrs. Cake has a point. 

You have a cute family that needs you and we need a place to hang out if/when we get to have our own Alaskan adventures.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Catherder said:


> I know your dream is to go back in time to the Pleistocene and try and take down an Irish elk and cave bear with a spear, so I know where you are coming from, but Mrs. Cake has a point.
> 
> You have a cute family that needs you and we need a place to hang out if/when we get to have our own Alaskan adventures.


A trip isn't fun until you credibly think you might die at least twice. Mrs. Cake's second husband will thank me for the healthy life insurance policies we have. The morons at the insurance company let me buy a violent/tragic death rider with a 3x payout if I am killed by something like a wild animal or avalanche.


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## Catherder (Aug 2, 2008)

johnnycake said:


> The morons at the insurance company let me buy a violent/tragic death rider with a 3x payout if I am killed by something like a wild animal or avalanche.


They didn't do any vetting before issuing that, did they?


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## CPAjeff (Dec 20, 2014)

johnnycake said:


> A trip isn't fun until you credibly think you might die at least twice. Mrs. Cake's second husband will thank me for the healthy life insurance policies we have. The morons at the insurance company let me buy a violent/tragic death rider with a 3x payout if I am killed by something like a wild animal or avalanche.


How much are the life insurance policies you have worth? Asking for a friend . . .


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## Critter (Mar 20, 2010)

That's one problem that just about all of us have, being worth more dead than alive.


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## colorcountrygunner (Oct 6, 2009)

CPAjeff said:


> How much are the life insurance policies you have worth? Asking for a friend . . .


I'm curious too. Do you think johnnycake could kill Mondo with a spear and no backup man with a large caliber rifle? I don't think he could. I'm almost sure of it!


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

colorcountrygunner said:


> I'm curious too. Do you think johnnycake could kill Mondo with a spear and no backup man with a large caliber rifle? I don't think he could. I'm almost sure of it!


Hmmm...I think it would depend on what type of spear he used. If the spear model has 3 CAPITAL letters the bear is toast.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

colorcountrygunner said:


> I'm curious too. Do you think johnnycake could kill Mondo with a spear and no backup man with a large caliber rifle? I don't think he could. I'm almost sure of it!


Shucks! Mondo's gonna have to wait until at least 2025 to test that theory. I'm locked out from brown bear hunting out there for 4 years. 

But I'm seriously thinking about putting a muzzle break on the .300 and taking my daughter for the next fall season in 2023. She'll be 10, so plenty old enough to chase Mondo with her daddy.


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## Vanilla (Dec 11, 2009)

TLDR…


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## Vanilla (Dec 11, 2009)

Just kidding, awesome adventure my friend!

Those are fantastic bears. Well done.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Vanilla said:


> TLDR…


Your loss.


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## Dave Adamson (Sep 13, 2007)

Wow great story its just to bad Raven air is back in business, I was in Cold Bay last Thanksgiving but Alaska Air had taken there routes. Are you Alaskan residents or did you draw the Emperor tags


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Dave Adamson said:


> Wow great story its just to bad Raven air is back in business, I was in Cold Bay last Thanksgiving but Alaska Air had taken there routes. Are you Alaskan residents or did you draw the Emperor tags


Yeah last year with Alaska Air was great! We're residents (otherwise the bear hunting would have been guided and crazy expensive)


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## Vanilla (Dec 11, 2009)

I’m still laughing at this write up, johnnycake. One of the best I’ve read. I checked with the trademark office and there is nothing for “That’s future Jonathan and Mark’s problem.”

I’m totally misappropriating that.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

For years now past and present Jonathons have been class a jerks to future Jonathon. Future Jonathon always gets the short end of the stick


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## waspocrew (Nov 26, 2011)

Dang, what an adventure! Alaska is on my bucket list for sure!


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## BGD (Mar 23, 2018)

JC Thanks for taking us along on your adventure. As one that lives with 70% lung function I can relate. My body just doesn’t like the Heavy loads, 10,000 foot elevation, or those death hikes up steep mtn faces. I can do most of what I want but have to take it slow. The large muscle groups are the first to feel it. Just a minor setback on some of the mountain adventures. Hope your’s improves over time.


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## caddis8 (Sep 10, 2007)

Ok, I'm just wondering as I've thought about your story since I've read it. Mostly jealous, but enamored as well. Future Jonathan would be a swell guy to hang with. 

Have you had any shooters remorse since you had Mondo so close? Don't get me wrong, all big bears, and bears are big. I'm just wondering if you have and coulda woulda shoulda's on that hunt? 

Seriously cool story. Alaska sounds amazing.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

caddis8 said:


> Ok, I'm just wondering as I've thought about your story since I've read it. Mostly jealous, but enamored as well. Future Jonathan would be a swell guy to hang with.
> 
> Have you had any shooters remorse since you had Mondo so close? Don't get me wrong, all big bears, and bears are big. I'm just wondering if you have and coulda woulda shoulda's on that hunt?
> 
> Seriously cool story. Alaska sounds amazing.


Nope. Zero. My brain is kinda funny. I'm really good at being picky and passing nice animals, but once I see the one I want--game over. I don't care if a bigger or "better" one pops out; when I know, I know.


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## caddis8 (Sep 10, 2007)

johnnycake said:


> Nope. Zero. My brain is kinda funny. I'm really good at being picky and passing nice animals, but once I see the one I want--game over. I don't care if a bigger or "better" one pops out; when I know, I know.


That's awesome. I don't think I would either. There was a bigger elk that people had seen earlier where I shot mine, but I said "big enough" and I'm happy. Glad you're happy with it. The experience is enough to be happy with.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

caddis8 said:


> That's awesome. I don't think I would either. There was a bigger elk that people had seen earlier where I shot mine, but I said "big enough" and I'm happy. Glad you're happy with it. The experience is enough to be happy with.


There was a bigger bull in the group that I shot my bull elk from when I shot it in 2016. But that bigger bull was young--he had the potential to really be something in a few years, whereas mine was mature and pretty clearly at or close to his peak. My bull bison was with a better scoring bull both times I found him---but the heart wants to murder what the heart wants to murder, and my heart likes 'em ugly!


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

And the numbers are in. Either I need to work on my field measuring skills for bears, or the taxidermist is stroking my ego and stretching the bear for a little extra $ (tanning is based on linear feet). Probably a bit of both. 

I field measured my buddies bear at 8'4" square. Taxidermist came back with 8'9" square.

I field measured my bear at 8'6.5" square, taxidermist's tape came back with 9'4" square. 

I'll have to remeasure once it gets done tanning and I can put my tape on it again. For now, I'm inclined to split the difference and call my bear about 9'. Which is pretty darn big--especially for a sow.


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## caddis8 (Sep 10, 2007)

johnnycake said:


> I'll have to remeasure once it gets done tanning and I can put my tape on it again. For now, I'm inclined to split the difference and call my bear about 9'. Which is pretty darn big--especially for a sow.


So where does one put a 9' bear rug? That's a big piece of furniture.


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## DallanC (Jan 13, 2009)

Ceiling 

-DallanC


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

caddis8 said:


> So where does one put a 9' bear rug? That's a big piece of furniture.


Technically I'm just doing a soft tan, like I've done with both of my bison. And a 9' bear hide should be about the same size as my cow bison, and quite a bit smaller than my bull (it's over 13' long and averages +6' wide). My cow bison hide is draped over my office chair, and my bull along the banister on the stairs. I've got a big open wall that I might tack it out on, but then I can't feel it etc easily. I like being able to handle my hides and skulls, so who knows where it'll end up?


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Picked up Butterball today! Skull is still getting cleaned, but she ended up 9'4"L 8'11"W in my living room. 

Just a great bear and a fantastic hunt!


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## Vanilla (Dec 11, 2009)

Hot shot corporate lawyers have plenty of room for 9’ bears!

Fantastic stuff cake. That’s a very cool trophy.


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## johnnycake (Jul 19, 2011)

Vanilla said:


> Hot shot corporate lawyers have plenty of room for 9’ bears!
> 
> Fantastic stuff cake. That’s a very cool trophy.


Just wait for when I finally head north and do the snowy owl hunt I've been dreaming about for 20 years


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

johnnycake said:


> Picked up Butterball today! Skull is still getting cleaned, but she ended up 9'4"L 8'11"W in my living room.
> 
> Just a great bear and a fantastic hunt!
> View attachment 151739
> ...


That's just amazing!


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