“You best come here and look at this!” demanded my cameraman. He stood pointing at the ground immediately in front of our tent.

“Something big tore up the ground and chewed on saplings. Whatever it was doesn’t seem to appreciate our presence here! Could be a bear, or something else!” Before I could walk to his side he asked, “See any tracks?”

“Yeah, and it’s got a really big foot…” I hesitated, “Surely looks human-like!  Oh wait a second… that’s your footprint when you walked around camp last night bare-footed!”

“Not funny!” came the response.

I did find tracks, those of a black bear, likely weighing about two hundred pounds. Probably a two or three-year old bear wanting to make his mark on life and his surroundings, showing us how tough and bravo he is. Claw marks were a bit long for the species, but not long enough to be those of a grizzly which also lived in this part of Alaska. I commented as much. My companion let out a sigh, “I guess that should make me feel better and safer.”  Silence, followed by, “But it doesn’t!”

“Heard him last night walking around the tent,” I said. “Must think we’re invading his territory and he wants us to leave!” I scanned the area.  “Tonight, we’d best keep the guns loaded and close at hand. He’ll likely return. This time he could be even more bravo. Don’t really want to shoot him. Would rather not shoot a young bear.”

Before leaving camp, we cached our groceries and sleeping bags, hanging them high above the ground tied between two tall trees. That afternoon we hunted the ridges and valleys west of camp where we could occasionally glass our tent to be certain it was not being destroyed by our “problem.”

That afternoon we spotted several moose and a distant wandering black bear, but not the big black bear I was hoping for.  We got to our 3-man tent in fading light. Our shelter was just big enough for the two of us and most of our gear. Shortly, I had a small fire going, one just big enough to heat water for our Mountain House supper and hot tea. The hour was late, though it was still light enough to see.  Two hundred yards away I saw movement, black in color. I grabbed my binoculars.  Bear, black bear! He was swaggering toward us. I reached into my daypack, pulled out my .44 Mag Ruger Blackhawk and made certain it was fully loaded with Hornady’s 240-grain ammo. I hoped I did not have to use it. But it was comforting to know it was there ready for use if a situation demanded.

The bear disappeared into a thicket. I stayed outside another half hour.  When the bear did not again appear, I crawled into my sleeping bag. But before doing so, I laid my loaded .375 H&H Mag Ruger No.1 within easy reach as well as my Ruger revolver.

I had scarcely fallen asleep than I was awakened by something brushing against my feet. I grabbed my revolver, just in case it was a bear that had decided to come in the tent with us. I assumed it was the bear which had marked territory in front of our tent the day before.  He pushed his nose against the tent, at the foot of my sleeping bag. Slowly I moved my feet. As I did the bear continued to push harder. I reared back with both legs. The bear’s nose pushed deeper into our tent. With all my strength, while pointing my revolver toward the disturbance, I kicked the bear’s nose with both feet! The bear let out a roar as it it apparently rolled over backwards. I could hear him upright himself and run away.

My tent mate never woke up. With revolver in hand, I got out of my sleeping bag, crawled to the tent’s door, unzipped it slightly and peered out.  I fully expected to be charged by the bear, but he was no where in sight.  Then in the pale Alaskan night I spotted him a hundred yards away, pacing back and forth.  I watched him for a full minute.  Then he walked into a thicket. I hoped he would continue walking to another part of Alaska.

I crawled back into my sleeping bag, but just in case laid the Ruger where I could easily reach it should the bear return.

Thirty minutes later I was awakened by deep, guttural growls just outside our tent.  This time I waked up my tent mate.  Held index finger to lips and handed him my .375 H&H Mag and mouthed the words, “Don’t shoot unless I tell you to!”

The bear walked around our tent several times. Then all went quiet. It seemed he had walked away.  We again lay down, but kept guns close.  All was quiet on the western front the next three hours. But I feared the bear was laying in wait for us come morning.

Time to get up and go hunting. I motioned for my cameraman to grab my rifle as opposed to his camera. With the .44 Mag revolver in my right hand I unzipped the tent door with left hand. I cautiously peered out and immediately spotted the bear laying down facing our way 50 yards away.

As I crawled out of the tent the bear stood up and immediately came at full charge directly toward me. Up came the revolver. I cocked the single-action’s hammer as I did. The bear was coming at lightning speed. I shot, placing my shot right in front of the charging bear, throwing dirt in his face. He skidded to a stop a scant twenty steps away. I could not believe how quickly the bear had come and the speed he did. I cocked the hammer again and waited for the bear’s next move.  He stood, ears laid back again his head, threatening. I centered my sights just in front of his chest to allow for forward movement if he came. I hoped and prayed he would not try to complete the charge.

Great civilizations rose, flourished and crumpled as I waited for the bear to make a move. My arms tired. But I dared not move or lower the revolver, fearing doing so would prompt him to finish his charge.

Finally, the bear looked behind him, turned and walked away. I let out a sigh of relief and lowered the handgun. I watched as he walked directly away.  Forty yards out he stopped whirled and came full speed in less than a heartbeat. Up again came the still cocked Ruger. I again shot in front of his blurred-with-speed front paws. Dirt and roots exploded just in front of him. He again skidded to a stop. I cocked the hammer and waited. I did not want to shoot this bear. He really was not what I was looking for. Again, I hoped and prayed he would not complete his charge. He menacingly looked at me, hate and anger showing in his eyes. After about thirty seconds, he turned and ran away. Once again, I hoped the aggressive bear would not return. Next time he charged he might well not pay any attention to the shot or dirt thrown in his face and complete the attack.

After a quick “bush breakfast” we headed into the hills to glass for the bear that had left his mega-sized tracks alongside the nearby stream. Mid-morning, we saw a bear of size likely squaring seven-feet or more. We spotted him at a great distance, but he was headed our way. The wind was in our favor, so we took off at a fast walk and soon cut the distance to the last ridge, beyond which, with any luck, the bear would be.

The wind was in our face as we cautiously approached the crest.  The bear was a hundred and fifty yards away feeding on a patch of green grass. As I set up my shooting sticks I felt the wind direction switch from in our face to from our back. In one swift and immediate move the bear whirled and ran. Two heart beats later he was over the far ridge.

Ahhhhh!!…  We decided to head back to camp for a hot lunch and to make sure it was not being destroyed by “our” bear. No sooner had I started a small fire than I spotted him. He was walking back and forth seventy-five yards away.

“Bear, PLEASE Don’t Charge!” I said loudly! I grabbed the .375 H&H Ruger single-shot, then felt to be certain the revolver was readily available at my side.  I now carried it in holster on my hip where it would be quickly available as opposed to in my daypack.  The bear sidled, moving closer. “Get outa here bear!” I hollered.

He charged! The big .375 H&H Mag roared, bullet striking just in front of him.  I dropped my rifle and reached for the revolver. I knelt to have a direct, straight-line shot if he continued coming. He slowed to a walk but kept coming. My cocked revolver was pointed at his chest, just below his chin.  Ten steps out he stopped.  I started taking what little slack there was in the trigger. I had, had enough!

A second later he would have been a dead bear, but, he turned and ran. I followed him with my revolver in my right hand and used my left to grab the .375 H&H Mag and reload, just in case he turned to come back.

After a discussion, my cameraman and I decided to use the satellite phone we had with us for emergencies to call the outfitter and ask him to come in with his ATV, retrieve and move us to a different area.  I felt assured I had turned the bear by shooting right in front of him for the last time.  The next time he charged I would either kill him or he would maul me or my cameraman.  I wanted neither!

Later that afternoon the outfitter arrived pulling a small trailer. That night we slept in a log lodge with no real concern of a bear disturbing our sleep.  Two days later in another spike camp I secured my black bear tag on and ancient, near seven-foot squared bear!