Back when I was young and dumb at the age of 28, I decided I wanted to go on a bear hunt. No internet in 1970, so I’m searching the classifieds in the back of Outdoor Life and Fur Fish Game magazines. Finally find an ad, “Hunt Black Bear Northern Minnesota.”
From my home in Indiana it was about 800 miles, so I called the outfitter. Price was $200 and they hunted with dogs from bait piles. That was over a week’s salary in those days, with three young children I had to save my money up and also had to buy a non-resident bear license for $15. I teamed up with a good friend and hunting buddy Richard Branneman, we could split the gas and food. Richard had a homemade plywood camper shell on the back of his Chevy truck, so we had a bed every night. The outfitter had lodging but that was just more money we could not afford.
The season came in on September 1st and we would be hunting in the Koochiching State Forest. We took off early, 2 days before opening day and got into the outfitter’s camp the day before the season opened. Wow, we were not prepared for the hunters and dogs we found. There were hunters and dogs from Kentucky, Tennessee, South Carolina and Alabama. At that time Minnesota was one of the last states to allow bear hunting with dogs.
We found a spot to park and cooked our dinner on a small gas stove. Next morning we are up at day break and waiting for the outfitter to tell us what to do. He says, we will run the baits and see which ones got hit last night, any hits, turn the trail dog loose and if he has a hot track, turn more dogs loose. Most of the baits were 55 gal barrels filled with garbage and meat scraps. On the second bait, the strike dog opened up with a loud yowl and took off to parts unknown. They turned 5 more dogs out and away they went into the state forest. This was the start of 7 days of hell in northern Minnesota in September of 1970.
It started raining soon after we started the hunt and the rain never stopped for the next week. All of the trucks with dog boxes had CB radios, and all the roads in the state forest were one mile square. When a chase started they would run the roads and stop and listen for the hounds, they knew where the dogs were at all times. Richard and I was trailing along and finally one of the dog men said “They are treed” so young and dumb us took off running that way. Sure enough we saw a bear up a tree ahead of us but before we could get there, he dropped down the tree, using his claws to slow his fall. When he hit the ground, he knocked all the dogs away with one great swipe and away he went for parts unknown. By the time we hiked back out to the road, everyone had left and there we sit for 5 hours until the hunt was over. The next day was about the same, rain never stopped and every time we rushed into a treed bear, he bailed out and took off for the next county.
The camper, that I thought was so nice, started to leak after three straight days of rain and our sleeping bags got wet. Now after hunting and running all day, we had to sleep in the wet. Third day we got on a large bear and the Kentucky boys said they are bawling on the ground, so again us young and dumb rush in to find a large boar bear backed up in a push up pile of logs fighting the dogs. I’m trying to get a shot with my Henry Golden Boy 30-30 but the six dogs are jumping in and out and I cannot get a clear shot. About that time one of the dogs gets too close and the huge bear catches the dog in the ribs and throws him about 20 feet. Then the bear takes off for another long run.
I find the dog with a large wound in his stomach and his entrails hanging out. None of the entrails are broken so this is a good thing and I pick the dog up holding the guts in and carry him 1 mile back to the truck. The southern boys say this happens all the time and they sew up the wound and pour whiskey on it.
Later that evening, they catch and kill this big boar, it weighed in at 525 pounds. The 4th and 5th day, we were on young bears and they never stopped running. The southern boys would drive the roads and try to get a shot as the bear crossed, and then they would catch the dogs and turn out fresh ones. Finally they shot one crossing the road, it was just 125 pounds but those are the ones that can run all day long.
Richard and I were in good shape in those days, lean and mean as they say but after 6 days of running in the rain we were getting tired and discouraged. Tomorrow would be our last hunt, so we decided to split up and hunt with two different groups. My bunch had two truckloads of hounds, 12 dogs total and the first bait had a hot track. After the strike dog got lined out, they turned 5 more loose and away they went. One truck stayed on the west side and the other on the east side. I listened to the chase on the CB radio and soon came the news that the bear would cross the road in 10 minutes. We roared the truck to cut him off but the bear crossed ahead of us. One of guys said he was about 200 pounds. We did catch three of the dogs and put out new ones.
In the next 2 hours that bear ran across 3 more mile square sections and we changed dogs again. The tall skinny kid from Tennessee said the bear was wearing down and would tree soon. Sure enough, about 30 minutes later, the dogs were barking their tree chop. They looked at me and said, “Get your rifle and let’s go”. About half way to the tree we came to a creek which looked like a river due to all the rain. The Tennessean bailed off the bank and was neck deep in two steps. This was in northern Minnesota in September, temperature was about 40 degrees. I said, “I’m not crossing here, it’s too deep and the gun will get wet and won’t fire.” So I head down river and finally find a better place to cross. I pulled off my boots, socks and pants. It’s still waist deep even here and cold but I get across and get dressed.
The bear is about 60 feet up in a large maple tree; he is bouncing up and down on his front legs and popping his teeth. The six dogs are all barking and circling the tree watching the bear. I jack a shell in the chamber and take a rest on the nearest tree. “No, no, don’t shoot yet. We have to tie the dogs back, because when the bear hit’s the ground he could still kill or injury one of the dogs.” He had five leashes around his neck, so we started catching dogs. I kept one eye on the bear because he was mad and stilling popping his teeth. I just knew he was going to bail out any second and kill all of us. We were one leash short, so I took off my belt. Finally he says, “Ok knock him out of there.” I took careful aim and held just behind the front leg just like I do on deer. At the crack of the 30-30, the bear lets out a loud growl and climbs up another 10 feet in the tree. He shows no sign of a hit; I know the aim was true with a rest at 60 feet? “Shoot him again.” I hold on the same place and boom goes the second shot. Same result, bear lets out a roar and climbs even higher. I look down at my rifle and think I must be shooting blanks. This time the bear is in a large fork in the tree and looking down at us with those black eyes. The kid says, “Shoot him between the eyes.” So I did and down come 200 pounds of bear and another 100 pounds of limbs and leaves. Two of the dogs pulled loose and jumped in biting the legs but it’s ok because the bear is dead. Sure enough the first two shots are about 4 inches apart and went through the lungs.
Next time I will bring a 30-06. I field dressed him and we started the drag back out to the road, going a different route so we didn’t have to cross the creek. Richard had run bears all day but never had a shot. I had a bear skin rug made out of that hide and have told this story many times over the last 43 years.
-Russ Porter
Authors note: The Mule Deer Foundation will have a black bear hunt in northern Minnesota for auction at their banquet August 3rd. I think it’s ironic; this is less than 100 miles from where I hunted in 1970.
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