A hunt for the ages began as a quest for moose pepperoni and sausage. Larry Fitzgerald and his close friend Justin Powell, both of Fairbanks, had been three days in the interior of Alaska, intent on killing a moose for winter meat. Having found little sign, they were discouraged, and a grizzly sow with cubs plus a wolf they’d spotted tempted them to break camp and relocate, even if it meant losing a day of hunting. Moose sign was scarce, and predators were on the prowl . . . not a promising proposition.
They knew, though, that on any hunt conditions and fortune can change overnight, and so they decided to drink a wee toddy and talk it over in the morning. On awakening they discovered several inches of fresh snow, and while not uncommon for late September, the snow stirred a sense of urgency in their souls, a reminder that winter was on the march.
And now any beast moving through what had become a frost-coated wonderland would leave an unmistakable signature.
Larry, 38, is a body shop owner, and Justin, 37, works for the local phone and Internet company. They have been friends since childhood, and each year they purchase moose tags and sally forth to fill their freezers. But this would be a moose hunt like no other.
Exhilarated by the crisp morning air, they headed to a small lake several miles south of camp, stopping often to glass for moose in the distance. A fire had swept through the area years before, and fallen trees lay like burnt matchsticks amid the snow-covered new growth. Though perfect moose habitat, the lake held little sign, and they headed west on their Argo ATV, following a thickly overgrown trail across the tundra. This became a grueling effort, and before long they were stuck, forced to winch the vehicle over nearly impassable terrain.
Finally reaching a frozen creekbed, they came across unmistakable evidence of a bear—a very big bear, if the tracks and the pile of scat were any indication.
They looked at one another and, without a word, an agreement was struck. The moose hunt was officially suspended. They would find this bear.
Facing a charging bear in the thick Alaska brush requires a cool head and an accurate rifle. (Photo: Larry Fitzgerald/Justin Powell)
Justin tracked the beast on foot as Larry wrestled the ATV over the rugged ground. It wasn’t long before the bear’s tracks crossed their own near the lake. With rising excitement, they knew they were closing in.
As the sun rose and the snow began to soften, they could easily follow the bear’s tracks. They led toward a thick spruce forest where visibility would diminish and the tracking would become much more intimate.
At this point the relationship between the two men becomes an interesting study. Larry is the more experienced grizzly hunter, having hunted them over bait many times and killing three bears over the years in this manner. When the tracks entered the woods he was reluctant to follow, believing the bear would ultimately sense it was being trailed and take offense at the intrusion.
Justin, however, was committed to keeping to the track in the forest, and so it was decided that Larry would stay on the main trail while Justin followed the bear into the woods. With a rush of adrenaline, Justin chambered a 225-grain Nosler Partition in his Ruger .338 Win. Mag. and headed in, not knowing a reversal of fortune was in the offing.
Moving slowly, walking on smoking-fresh bear tracks, he discovered the bear was tall enough to step over large logs without disturbing the snow on top, and that his own boots looked like a child’s shoes in the massive tracks. He checked his GPS and realized the bear was circling back on its own trail, and thus onto Justin’s as well. Now, with his rifle at port arms and all his senses finely tuned, he carefully scanned the woods around him.
Stepping past a large spruce tree, he came upon the bear only 20 yards away, glaring at him. The bear was indeed a monster.
Abandoning the Argo, Larry followed a cut line for three-quarters of a mile, then came to a broad opening grown up with four- to six-foot willows and grass. Setting up his FoxPro game call, he played a distressed rabbit for several minutes.
Back in the dim woods, Justin slowly raised his rifle as he and the bear conducted a pre-fight stare-down, with only the bear’s head exposed from behind a large tree. Unwilling to shoot the beast in the noggin, he waited . . . but the bear blinked first. Wheeling and huffing, it plunged through the woods toward Larry.
Now it was Larry’s turn for an adrenaline rush. Turning off the game call, he heard the grizzly crash into the field and chambered a round in his Sako .300 Win. Mag. He unsnapped his .357 Magnum, backed up against a dead tree, and listened intently.
Larry Fitzgerald’s record-book Alaska grizzly had charged to within 20 yards when he killed it with one shot from his Sako .300 Win. Mag. (Photo: Larry Fitzgerald/Justin Powell)
The bear’s head rose above the willows 150 yards away, then dropped out of sight as it galloped across the clearing, brush cracking and snapping as if a wildfire was bearing down on him. Within seconds the beast was only 20 yards away and quartering on. Timing his shot with the arc of the grizzly’s head, Larry fired, striking the neck and killing it instantly.
Then all was quiet.
Hearing Larry’s shot, Justin immediately worked his way toward the sound, swimming in mixed emotions but intent on making sure his friend was all right. He found Larry kneeling over the griz, hardly able to speak and shaking with excitement. This was the largest bear either had ever seen in their many years of hunting, and as they began the task of skinning him, they could not help but wonder if, in fact, they had a record grizzly in their hands.
They did.
Larry Fitzgerald’s bear scored 27 and 6/16 inches, and in the official lingo of Justin Spring, director of Big Game Records for the Boone and Crockett Club, “an entry score has been accepted that will put this bear ahead of all other hunter-taken grizzlies in Boone and Crockett Records.” (Authors’ emphasis.)
They had taken the world’s largest hunter-killed grizzly bear. The hide squared nine feet, and a biologist aged the beast at only seven years old.
The bear’s paw and long claws dwarf the hunter’s hand. (Photo: Larry Fitzgerald/Justin Powell)
The epilogue to this hunt is fascinating.
As the hunter of record, Larry Fitzgerald has been contacted by several media outlets seeking interviews, and even a reality show has been discussed. Sadly, he has received hate mail from as far away as Newfoundland and Europe.
He has concluded he will never again use a game call while bear hunting, unless stationed high in a tree.
Justin Powell steadfastly insists he would again follow the tracks of a grizzly into a thick woods, but next time would not hesitate to shoot.
It should be noted that Justin killed a moose two days later as it walked past their camp a hundred yards away.
Note: This article originally appeared in the 35th anniversary issue of Sporting Classics under the title “Where the Tracks Lead.” Written by Rick Leonardi, it is the account of the largest hunter-killed grizzly ever taken, as told to him by Larry Fitzgerald and Justin Powell.
To pick up a copy of this important issue in the life of Sporting Classics, click HERE.
