Halfway through the 15 day Alaskan brown bear hunt, Bob Young, a retired cop of 27 years with the Beverly, MA police department, leaned against the side of the boat glassing the shoreline.  As the waves lapped the vessel’s bow he scanned the marsh flats a ¼ mile distant. This part of Alaska is often compared with Norway given the incredible geographic landscape where the mountains meet the sea. Like fingers that reach inland 5 miles or more the fiords of Alaska’s southeastern panhandle wind their way between snow-capped mountain peaks. Wider and often 100’s of feet deep, at the mouth, these inlets narrow as they reach into the wilderness typically ending in a salt marsh where crystalline salmon streams empty into the pacific.  Here, deep in the lush southeast Alaskan wilderness, September marks the annual salmon runs and here you will find the biggest bears in the world. It’s suppertime for the great Alaskan brown bear.

A popular method of hunting these titanic bruins is by boat. Bob had arrived in Sitka a week ago and since then a 34 foot cabin cruiser comfortably set up as a floating hunting lodge had been his home. The outfitter normally would have two hunters and two guides on board but the other client had not been able to make it so Bob would benefit from the services of both guides working together to get him within bow range of a big Brownie.

The hunt was taking place around the end of Baranof Island. Brown bear normally lay-up most of the day and venture down the rivers in the evening to gorge themselves on salmon. As the boat made way, they’d glass the shoreline for feeding bears. It was not uncommon to view a dozen or more a day but seeing a brown bear from the boat and getting within bow range were two very different situations. During the late afternoon they would carefully stalk from the marsh flats up the salmon streams in hopes of intercepting bears coming down for dinner. Bob had gotten close once already. He and one of the guides had hiked up a brook to a point where two streams merged.

“We were set-up overlooking a beach strewn with fish heads where several well warn bear paths showed signs of regular use.”

They had only been there 10 minutes when a bear appeared across the stream. As Bob watched the giant animal approaching he looked to the guide for assessment.

He shook his head, whispering; “We can do better.”

It was all moot, because at that moment from 60 yards up wind the bear caught their scent and wheeled back into the brush.

When hunting bears, especially coastal browns, everything is about scent and wind.

On this point, Bob was emphatic,

 “The choice of where we would hunt was always based on wind direction. It wasn’t even worth getting out of the boat if the wind wasn’t right.”

But on this particular evening the wind was perfect as an anxious and excited Bob Young climbed out of the rubber dingy, bow in hand. The day before, they had witnessed two big boars chasing each other on this very same delta. Slowly, up the marsh they stalked toward where the stream flowed out of the woods. They reached an ancient log; its trunk thicker than a man is tall, laying parallel to the stream, here Bob and his guides set up in the waning hours of the afternoon.

You never really know how big a mature Alaskan Coastal brown bear is until you experience their presence up close and personal. 

The three men were motionless; a bear was working its way down the opposite side of the stream. This was a big bear and a shooter. Bob eased up onto a large limb, rising above the log’s trunk far enough to allow clearance for a shot. While he steadied his footing the bear moved toward the middle of the river and when Bob looked up the animal was within 20 yards but positioned behind a large bush. Just then the bear snagged a salmon from the rolling white water and scurried back up-stream 75 yards. The men watched as it devoured the big fish piece by piece. Bob recalled his immediate discouragement,

“How could something so big have gotten so close and offered no shot. With only a few days left, will I even have another chance?”

Suddenly, the bear dropped the half eaten fish, spun and shot back into the woods. The guides looked at each other and all three men knew that a bigger bear must be coming in.

As they watched, the willows at the end of the flat parted and what emerged was bigger and darker than anything Bob’s imagination could have prepared him for. The unusually black, 900 pound animal stopped and somewhat victoriously finished the fish left by the first bear. He then continued downstream closing the distance as he waded the frosty water. Slowly raising his bow, the ambush was set.

Maybe as a result of his career in law enforcement, Robert Young’s capacity for remaining calm under pressure was well disciplined. As the bear got closer he described his thought process:

“I was very focused, telling myself; wait, wait, steady; pick a spot; ok, squeeze, squeeze…..”

With precision the arrow launched and in the span of a blink disappeared behind the shoulder of the mammoth bruin standing broadside at 26 yards. The rushing water swallowed the sound of impact and any noise the bear may have made as it snapped around looking over its shoulder in the direction of the shooter. But then he turned, seemingly unaffected, and ambled back up the stream.

“We all saw it; blood streaming out of both sides of the retreating animal, and the arrow shaft, spattered in red, stuck in the opposite bank.”

Less than two minutes later the huge, black-bodied, Alaskan Brown staggered to a stop and collapsed.

When I first heard this story at the sport show in Springfield, Bob was characteristically nonchalant, even humble. He seemed a little surprised when I asked for permission to publish his adventure. He actually said, “It really wasn’t that big a deal.”

I beg to differ.