Dream becomes a reality during spring bear hunt New Brunswick trip productive

It’s been about eight years since I added bear hunting to my already substantial repertoire of outdoor activities. I’ve gunned from ground stand, tree stand, and even tried stalking and still hunting. I’ve used natural bait locations such as clover and grain fields, apple orchards, and even raspberry patches, and each fall for the last six years I’ve set up my own bait sites. For each of these various endeavors my firearm of choice has always been a handgun, and I’m proud to claim that each bruin tagged has been downed with a different caliber revolver or pistol.

As exciting, challenging, and rewarding as these up-close endeavors have been, a notable void remained in my hunting resume. I’d never experienced a spring outing for bear. In recent years I’d listened to other outdoorsmen recount their thrilling and occasionally outlandish, but always intriguing tales of spring bruin, and the fuse on my desire burned shorter each year. For any avid bear hunter seeking one outstanding memento, the resplendent thick, coal-black hide of a bruin recently out of the den is alluring. If a trophy-wall mount or full body rug has always been enticing, only a spring bear with its luxurious coat will truly fill the bill.

Orr Pool Lodge

Maine eliminated spring bear hunting more than two decades ago, so Pine Tree sportsmen yearning for an early-season outing generally visit one of the Canadian provinces where black bear abound. On a cold blustery February day, seeking solace from cabin fever at a local gun shop, I listened to the clerk and another patron exchange intriguing yarns. Each had enjoyed successful, but very different styles of spring bruin hunts just over an hour away in New Brunswick, and the details really piqued my interest.

Not generally a believer in karma, kismet, destiny, or whatever things meant to be are called, I must admit that day’s series of events makes me wonder. After returning home from the sporting goods store, I turned on the TV, flipped to the outdoor channel, and to my complete surprise, yet total interest, there was a show about a Canadian spring bear hunt. By the time the TV bruin was bagged and tagged, I didn’t just yearn for a spring hunt, I wanted one. I needed one.

The final key to this strange turn of events occurred when I picked up an outdoor publication I often write for to check which photos had been used. There among several ads on the second page of my article was one for Orr Pool Lodge, and among the lodge’s many offerings was a spring bear hunt. When I noted that the booking agent was located in the next town, Caribou, that sealed the deal.

Shawn Pelletier of CS Management is the perfect agent and outfitter for Orr Pool Lodge, having himself traveled far and wide in the U.S and Canada to hunt and cast for a wide variety of fish and game. Orr Pool is one of the top Atlantic salmon runs on the main Southwest Miramichi River, and used to be owned by baseball great Ted Williams. When the pool came up for sale several years ago, Corey Solman of Caribou made the purchase and built a beautiful camp five years ago on the hill overlooking the river.

With four bedrooms, 31/2 baths, a large dining area, and spacious living room and lounging area, the camp will easily accommodate eight sportsmen. A large screened patio offers a breathtaking yet relaxing view of the salmon pool and forested hills. Open for the first time this year to the public, visiting sportsmen have a choice of fishing for spring black salmon, sea-run trout, and bright salmon from June to October. Hunters may pursue grouse, rabbit, deer, moose, and spring and fall bear.

Spring bear hunts ran $150 per day and include lodging, full-course home-cooked meals and an experienced guide, and much to my relief Shawn assured me there were still days available. Since spring was predicted to arrive early this year, we agreed that the first week of the season might be better than expected, so I finagled my schedule and booked the days for myself and my longtime hunting and fishing partner, my cousin, Steve Hitchcock.

Day one

This past Monday, truck packed as if we were going on safari for a month, Steve and I headed out early for our much- anticipated outing. It would be the first ever spring bear hunt for either of us and we never stopped talking about our hopes, possibilities and strategies to take a trophy bruin. The 21/2 hours across the desolate, remote Renous highway passed quickly and soon we were parking in the yard of a lovely camp with a wonderful view of Orr Pool down the hillside.

Kim Jardine, the head guide, met us and helped us unload and carry gear to our rooms. We explored the lodge and property and talked about hunting prospects for half an hour, and then Faye, Kim’s wife, called us to lunch. Since hunting runs late, the noon meal is the big one, and it was five courses of homemade, mouth-watering taste and tummy-filling ecstasy from the escargot to the fresh apple pie and ice cream. A group of seven sports would be arriving later in the week, but for now, Steve and I were the camp’s first and only spring bear hunters. Kim was wearing himself out dawn to dusk and putting lots of miles on the truck keeping 20 bait sites going. He told us that every one was active and from tracks, trails, and droppings, he estimated that 50 to 60 bear were visiting the various baits. If Steve and I were anxious before, this info raised our anticipation to a fever pitch.

The one-hour time difference from the U.S. had thrown us off, and we had barely finished a long, leisurely meal and unpacked when Kim told us to get into our camo clothing and prepare our knapsacks and guns. He wanted us on the stand early, and 30 minutes later we were heading for the woods. Steve was in place by 4 p.m., and I was climbing my ladder stand a couple of miles away by 4:30. I primed my new Thompson Contender muzzleloading Encore 209 magnum rifle, settled in, and waited patiently. I watched the obvious bear trails expectantly, hoping for a slight sound or the sudden appearance of black fur. A raven came and went. I waited and watched.

A rifle barked in the distance about 7 p.m.; it had to be Steve. Only one shot from his .30-06 semi-auto meant a bear down, I figured. I waited and wished some more. By 8:15 I couldn’t see my sights any more because the dense forest shut out the twilight. At 8:30 the truck stopped out at the road and the boys came with flashlights to lead me out the trail to the truck where a coal-black, full-coated dry sow more than 200 pounds lay in the pickup bed. Neither man could believe I hadn’t seen a bear, and Kim stated with conviction that given a choice of all the baits, mine was the one he would choose to watch.

During the drive back to camp, Steve filled me in on his evening’s escapades. After an hour and a half of quiet, motionless observation, a strange noise kept occurring, and seemed to get closer. All at once, he recognized it as a bear snapping its jaws open and closed, usually to intimidate another nearby bear. Suddenly a black blur streaked right under his stand toward the bait barrel, but misjudged its speed and sprinted right past the food and had to dig in its feet, turn and come back. While this was happening another smaller bear scouted the clearing and entered from the side.

For 45 minutes, this pair, one 90 pounds the other about 125, squabbled and chased each other around. One trying to eat, the other trying to maintain dominance. At one point, the larger bear sauntered toward the tree where Steve’s ladder stand stood, out of sight under the hunter. Suddenly much to Steve’s unease, his tree and then his platform began to sway and lurch as the bear either put his feet on the rungs or rubbed against it. Steve slapped his fingers against his rifle stock a couple of times to hopefully spook the bear into stopping, but not to scare other nearby bruins. It worked and the bear returned to the bait barrel.

A third bear arrived, but kept out of sight. Steve could catch occasional glimpses and hear more jaw popping, which scared the other two bears away, but for 20 minutes this bruin circled but never came into the open. Suddenly an altogether different bear appeared, a good-sized one that went right to the barrel. Steve knew at once that this was a shooter, and when it stopped to watch the other circling, snapping bear in the brush, he fired, dropping it in its tracks.

Day two

As delighted as I was at Steve’s success, I was troubled at my lack of action and worried that the light rain and cold, overcast weather would hinder my evening hunt. After a huge breakfast, we skinned and cut up the bear, packing the meat for transport and placing it in the refrigerator. A drive along the river, a visit to Doak’s Fly Shop and it was already time for another of Faye’s sumptuous, multi-course meals. After lunch, we all sat on the patio talking, letting the meal settle and relaxing while watching the river. Kim was going to move me to another stand where he had seen large paw prints. My luck was sure to change, everyone agreed. I allowed that just because we felt that way didn’t mean the bears did.

I was in my perch at 4 p.m. New location, new stand, new bears, and new hope. Two very obvious, well-worn trails led from the woods on the far side of the clearing to the opening around an old woods road. I sat motionless watching the approach routes, waiting as an hour passed, then two, then three. I was a bit discouraged, and the temperature had plummeted to 40 degrees by 7 p.m. and even with long underwear I was getting colder by the minute. My plan for this article was changing in my mind as my hope for a two-bear trip became less likely with every passing moment. I’d just have to focus on my cousin Steve’s multi-bear adventures.

A small noise off to my right caught my attention, but it wasn’t near the trails, so I dismissed it as the wind or a bird. That’s about when a bear cub the size of a cocker spaniel snuck out of the brush. Then another one appeared, and they both went to the barrel for a snack. Mom began snapping and popping her jaws in the woods to my right, and the pair scampered back to her side. That explained the large tracks, a sow with cubs. I was crestfallen, but steadfast that regardless of size, no sportsman shoots a mother bear with young ones. Come to find out, there were three cubs and they came out, ate, explored, and romped about as darkness descended and I shivered more and more. Big Momma watched, popping her jaws protectively in the background.

A movement to the left caught my eye. There moving into the open was a good-sized bear. Confused, I wondered why the sow crossed behind me and moved toward the road. Then I heard the jaw snapping and a low growl from the first sow to my right warning the cubs. Suddenly it dawned on me this was a different bear, and as it moved in my direction I wasn’t so cold anymore. It soon became apparent the bruin wasn’t coming to the bait barrel, perhaps in deference to the nearby, unhappy sow popping her jaws.

Stopping broadside, 50 yards away, my preferred lung shot was blocked by two bushes. Not wanting to chance a deflected shot, I waited. It got colder and darker. Finally the bear turned a bit toward me, offering a quartering shot, and I lined up the sights and squeezed. A cloud of black-powder smoke obscured my vision. I leaned sideways and waved the smoke away, and saw what turned out to be a big male with a thick ebony coat already down and out.

Much celebrating ensued when the boys arrived within a minute, having been parked up the road out of sight. I fired the shot at 8:31, Kim informed me, and hunting hours ended at 8:34 this past Tuesday night. How’s that for a storybook ending to our first spring bear hunt? This tale will really end in a few months when a large, luxurious bearskin rug finally adorns my den.

There are still a couple of June openings for spring bear at Orr Pool Lodge, and Kim and Faye Jardine will assure you a memorable stay. Call Shawn Pelletier at 207-498-8332 to arrange any hunting or fishing adventure in this wonderful, game-filled region. Anything can happen. Even on the last minute of the last day, a dream can become a reality – trust me, I experienced it.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com