It was day five of hunting in southeast Alaska, I've seen more black bears in the past few days than I ever have in my life up to that point but I am determined not to take home a dinker. I was feeling good about the day, it was my second to last day of the hunt and I just knew that I was going to find the right one to harvest. My cousin Sam Dalin, also a professional charter and hunting guide, was taking me to a location he hadn't hunted for a couple years but had hoped for a trophy. After a couple hours in his 31' aluminum boat powered by twin 245 Yamahas we had made it to our fourth location of the hunt. Not wanting to waste any time we anchored up pulled the skiff in and loaded it with what we needed to accomplish the hunt, before hitting the shoreline we spotted three black bears, much like the thirty or forty in the past few days they were in the 150-200lb range which was alright but I wanted to find a bigger one, besides these ones had some bad rubs and seeing how I was looking to get a rug that just wouldn't do. We tied the skiff to a tree near the mouth of a creek, after securing it we headed upstream looking for signs of any bears. Sam had showed me and told me stories of where clients and friends had taken bears in previous years, some stories with an intense chase others pretty darn funny. The further away we were from the ocean and up this creek the more signs of bears we found, from footprints to skinned salmon turned inside out. We also ran across many Canadian geese, and of course we left the shotguns on the boat, figuring none would be around... anyways we weren't going to fire a shot until we found a bear.
           

             Two hours of hiking up a creek and we see a black ball of fur behind feeding in the leaves at the end of a fallen tree, we crouch down and sneak behind the tree, and when I peer over I can see a beautiful brown muzzled Black bear sitting on the bank, no more than 30 yards from us. He walks across the creek and away from us stopping for a moment to grab another fish in his mouth and then continues to the other side where he pauses to eat. Now he is about 100 yards away as he walked not only across but upstream. I look at Sam and he whispers "its a nice looking boar, pretty old, maybe three hundred or so, but I'm not sure" he was right it was a really nice looking bear with a lot of character, a dark glossy black even coat of fur covering his body and his muzzle a rich shade of brown. I popped my scope caps for a better look, I ask Sam if he'd take it if he were in my shoes, his sarcastic reply, "I've taken plenty this size, I'd only shoot it if he were five-fifty to six hundred pounds" as he smirks and continues "no but this one is a really nice bear perfect coat, no rubs" I reply with a simple "I think I want to take him." After careful consideration of the past few days and what is standing a hundred yards away, I load a 300 weatherby magnum into the chamber of the stainless and synthetic rifle. As if the bear knew what I had done he slowly calmly steps into the brush with another fish in his mouth, out of sight with no clear shot. We wait a moment then proceed up river to see if we can get a better angle, no luck. The bear had walked further in to finish lunch.

            I clear the chamber of the rifle so we can continue our hunt, Sam does the same with his 375H&H, and we head upstream. After another hour we find a huge paw print in the sandy beach lining the creek. Sam noticed it first and kneels down to take a look, the paw is huge, much larger than my hands, and standing six and a half feet tall I don't consider my hands to be all that small either. I had never seen a track like this, to make a long story short we never did see the bear that left that print, but Sam said it must have been a brown bear or his six hundred pound Black bear. At any rate we continued for another hour and there became fewer and fewer signs of bear, not as many salmon lining the edge of the creek with bites taken out of them and no more prints in the sand, so we decided to work our way back. Two hours later we found ourselves at the same fallen tree we had spotted the nice looking old boar at.

                 Sam made a good call when he decided we should wait a little while and see what happens. The conditions were perfect, the creek widened and was shallow here which was great for feeding bears, and the fallen tree made a perfect rifle rest as I stood. We glasses up and down the creek for less than ten minutes and there he was, my bear. The same bear we had seen four hours ago had returned for dinner, right across from us. We gave him a few minutes as he scoped out the area before stepping into the water to grab a fish. By this point my blood was flowing, my heart started to beat a little louder and faster, the adrenaline had kicked in. This was it, the moment I had been waiting over ten years for, and my first big game hunt. I looked over at Samuel to await his instructions, after all I had never done this before and he has guided hundreds of these hunts. He asked jokingly if I was going to take this one, the reason he said it sarcastically is because he had shown me over forty bears in the past few days and I had turned down many because I thought I should get a larger one. We had been as close as fifteen feet from a bear before we spooked him, we have had bears walk out not twenty yards in front of us, I had seen momma bears with their cubs and little hundred pound boars, but this one was it.

            I popped my scope caps to look at the beautiful animal, and said "yeah I'm going to take him." I then proceeded to smoothly load the 300 grain bullet and cartridge into the chamber, making sure the bolt didn't make much noise. I settled the fore stock of the rifle on my backpack which rested on the fallen tree. I steadied my aim and watched as the bear slowly walked upstream. As I waited for the moment he would stop and give me the shot, I couldn't help but hear my heart beating, he stopped Sam whispered, "take him" and aiming for his vitals, knowing the scope was sighted for 200 yards and the bear was only 100 yards from me, I made all necessary calculations, exhaled, paused and slowly pullet the trigger. To this day I can't remember feeling the recoil or necessarily hearing the loud explosion of the gun but I looked through the scope after somehow managing to reload a cartridge in his left handed gun even though I shoot right, and there he was. My bear had dropped in place, even though I was ready for a follow up, I didn't need one. I heard Sam say "he's down, good job!" I turned and looked at my cousin as if I didn't know what just happened I just knew I was a proud man at that point with a little grin on my face, we shook hands and headed over to see my trophy. It was a beautiful 350 pound southeast Alaskan black bear. What a hunt!, one I'll be telling my kids and grandkids, even though my words can't describe the beauty of wild Alaska nor the thrill of the hunt, I'll sure try my best to pass down this heritage of the hunt. I'm also gonna try to get my cousin to take me out again that's for sure!