Two hours in the tree-stand, seeing nothing but squirrels, I picked up movement far off in the trees. My heart started racing and then … disappointment. Two adolescent grizzlies rolled into the baits, took a whiff, then trotted back off into the woods at the sound of a boat on the nearby river.
Not 20 minutes later movement caught my eye again. This time it was black.
I knew right away he was a big one. He came in slow, studying the surroundings, huffing the air, following the same path the grizzlies came down. He waddled over to the bait barrel, then walked right under my tree-stand.
He turned and moved back towards the baits. I leaned forward, to make a quartering away shot, but he heard my movement and stopped. He looked up at me, then sat down and stared. It felt like an hour went by, but it was probably just a few minutes. He turned to walk away and showed broadside. Then everything blurred. All I remember was staring right behind his shoulder. All I could see was the 3D archery target I’d put hundreds of arrows into over the last three months. Before I knew it, my Easton was buried in his rib cage.