Taking a page from the motion picture industry’s handbook, let me offer this disclaimer often seen during the trailing credits at the end of a show. Could be a western with lots of horses, a jungle adventure with wild animals or even a kid’s movie with dogs, cats and other pets – or in my case the first-person recounting of recent bear hunting events. “During the course of these events, no animals were endangered or injured in any manner.”

Having made this statement let me be right up front and declare that wasn’t necessarily my intent because if a really big bruin had ventured into my bait site, I had every intention of taking a shot. There’s a lot of dissension regarding hunting bear over bait, mostly from nonhunters or animal activists, but even some criticism from certain sportsmen. My opinion is simple: Don’t participate if you’re not comfortable with the method, but leave others to their own discretion. I’d never condemn an angler for using live worms instead of a fly or a hunter for sitting in an apple orchard where deer were known to frequent. It reminds me of one of my grandmother’s old sayings about opinionated people, “Each to their own said the old maid as she kissed the cow.”

Last season I passed up several black bear, a couple of nice-sized ones, too, just because I knew from tracks and other signs that there was one 300-pound-plus brute visiting my bait occasionally. About 21/2 weeks into the season, just the fifth evening I’d had a chance to sit in my tree stand, the big fella showed up. Since I hunt with a handgun, the shot position had to be perfect, and that bear never did stop and stand in a stance that allowed me to take a sure shot. So I let him walk away hoping he’d return another time. He never did, so I declined shots at smaller bruins and ended the season with my tag intact.

The oddity is, regardless of not bagging a bear last fall, I enjoyed some really wonderful outings up in my tree stand thanks to a steady parade of game animals, birds and even insects. I did kind of miss an occasional meal of bear bourguignon over linguini, but I survived and was truly excited to begin baiting again late this past July. I couldn’t wait to see if the Godzilla bear survived the winter but even more so to enjoy my nightly ringside seat to other animal antics. Anticipation was so great that I even purchased a comfortable two-man ladder stand so another outdoor enthusiast could enjoy the afternoon matinees and evening feather and fur follies with me.

And more bear

Anxious as I was to visit my personal wildlife skybox, one thing after another interfered during the first week of this season and not once was I able to get away for an evening outing. Over the weekend I vowed come flood, famine or pestilence I was going to be in my stand Monday night, and at 3:30 Monday afternoon I was climbing the 16-foot ladder lugging my backpack, and my cousin and frequent hunting partner Steve Hitchcock was waiting on the first rung for his turn to climb aboard.

By 3:50 our gear was unpacked; binoculars, and cameras hung from adjacent tree limbs, cover scent had been dispersed, and we each had donned gloves and face masks, effectively blending into the fir bows and tree leaves in head-to-toe camo trying to become invisible. Although my premiere forays each fall are essentially scouting trips to see if any bear are visiting the bait regularly, and if so, how many, how large and what time, I always carry a gun.

As quiet time began for Steve and I, my Smith and Wesson .460 XVR revolver hung in its shoulder holster from the blind’s safety rail. Perhaps the largest bruin I’d ever seen might visit and I needed to be prepared, but black bear don’t get big by being foolish, so I was ready but not overly expectant.

While time in a tree stand waiting for deer, moose or bear may pass with interminable slowness for some outdoorsmen, in most cases I’ve found Mother Nature and random wildlife keeps me fully entertained. Over the first couple of hours we heard three owls of different species hooting back and forth. Crows and ravens flew about noisily announcing their presence and several flocks of Canada geese winged overhead, and although we got only a glimpse of each flock, their strident calls could be enjoyed well before and after their flights passed.

A group of five bright and beautiful blue jays suddenly swooped into the limb around our tree stand. From fall to fall I forget how raucously shrill the call of these vibrant songbirds can be, while a single Canada jay, affectionately nicknamed a gorby, was among the group but never made a sound. Our ears were ringing when the noisy throng thankfully decided to flit away, but we could hear them stop and call in various spots for half an hour. Chickadees serenaded us with their well-recognized refrain all afternoon, swooping to the bait barrel for a snack, then to adjacent trees to sing for their supper. At least half a dozen other varieties of birds visited our small clearing.

Red squirrels amused us with their antics as several tried to figure out how to move large cookies I’d purposely tossed on the ground for them. As hard as they tried, none could transfer their treasure to be stashed away for winter, so they stuffed their tummies and pudgy cheeks on site, then moved off to allow a chattering buddy to munch away. I happened to be watching one of those red clowns through the binoculars when it quickly discarded its prize and tore off through the brush, and that’s when the first bear arrived. With no warning and not a sound, the small bruin just suddenly emerged from the brush like a black ghost. He had a distinctive bunch of burdocks on his butt.

After a short pause to reconnoiter the area, the 120-pound black bear beelined for the bait barrel, stood to grab a morsel and faded back into the trees. Two minutes later he returned, stood and took a couple of bites then left again with another take-out order. His third visit lasted a bit longer as he stood and fed from the barrel for at least a minute, then suddenly, he turned, sniffed, dropped to all fours in a flash and dashed away. I glanced over at Steve and grinned. The small bear’s rapid departure could only mean one thing: A larger, more dominant bear was nearby.

Less than a minute later a black shadow materialized among the fir trees in back of the bait barrel, and then a bear of about 150 pounds entered the scene. Steve was getting a close-up view with his binoculars and never saw a second bear in the 175-pound class silently emerge from thick brush on the opposite side of our small clearing. To our surprise the smaller bear didn’t run off, but only when the larger bruin retrieved a muffin from the barrel and moved to one side did the smaller bear grab a tidbit and cautiously move off a short distance to eat.

This dance of dominance went on for 10 minutes, thoroughly amazing Steve and I, and then just when we were sure things couldn’t become more interesting, a third bear arrived! A bit larger, perhaps near 200 pounds. The new bruin on the block now became gang leader. This guy stood and pawed several pastries from the barrel onto the ground, then munched away leisurely – until the other two bears slowly sidled up to share a bite – one got a quick cuff and the other a nip on the rear end.

After stuffing himself for a few minutes, the largest specimen in our story of three bears, having established his leadership role, finally allowed the other pair to grab a bite now and then as long as they were subservient and moved off a ways to eat. This awesome show went on for 20 minutes, and just when I was sure the five gallons of food I’d put in the barrel must nearly be finished the grand finale took place. It was a first for both Steve and I in all our years watching bear baits – a fourth black bear entered the scene, and astoundingly none of the others ran off!

Bruin number four was also around 200 pounds, but his big blocky head, broad shoulders and short body would have earned the part of a thug in an old gangster movie. Most interesting of all, for the entire term of his visit, this guy kept his ears laid back. There must have been a signal there somewhere because when he moved to the bait barrel, others gave a wide berth. After a while, one by one they all moved off via various trails, but the really big one never showed up. Five bears in one setting was a first for me, and not once did I entertain the idea of taking a shot. As Steve and I climbed down and made our way through the dusky woods to the tote road, we were grinning like kids and couldn’t wait to get into the truck so we could talk about our unique experience.

Night two

During our enthusiastic recount on the drive home, we kept describing every detail as if the other hadn’t really been right there, and it was decided that our front-row seats would be in use the next night as well. Once again the headliners were introduced with opening animal acts by the usual birds and squirrels, but rabbits, raccoons and even a skunk joined the cast on night two. On cue, at 6 p.m. sharp, the smallest bear from the previous evening, burdocks still stuck near his tail, entered the scene nervously without a sound. Just as the night before, he enjoyed only a short snack break as one of the mid-size bears from the previous night soon arrived, sending our first black, furry diner scurrying for safer surroundings.

About five minutes later bear two had his supper rudely interrupted as well when a pair showed up. This new brace of bruins arrived boldly, side by side, each weighing 225 to 250 pounds, and neither had been among the previous night’s furry visitors. Perhaps these two were siblings or at least traveling mates, because after running the smaller bear off, they displayed a well-practiced and entertaining feeding routine. My bait barrel hangs more than 6 feet high, and both bears could easily look and reach inside when standing.

One bear would paw a bunch of food from the barrel onto the ground for his buddy, then he would eat directly from the barrel. Once in a while their timing was off and the standing bruin would hilariously pull sweets from the suspended container onto the head and back of his buddy still munching away under the barrel.

Steve and I covered our faces with our hands to muffle the chuckles. Our laughter turned to disbelief when the standing bear couldn’t reach the food deep in back of the plastic drum because it kept slipping and swinging, so his lunch partner also stood, then tipped and held the rear of the container in place so every scrap could be removed.

Once the food was gone, so were the two bears, but not before one wandered within a few feet of our ladder to sniff a remote-control camera I’d set up before climbing onto the tree stand. I could look down and see food crumbs on his head and neck. Later, just before we departed, the final act of the late show entertained us when a raccoon performed a high-wire act. Hanging barrels are supposed to be raccoon-proof, but this inventive daredevil climbed a tree, hung upside down by all four paws from the cable suspending the bait container between trees and worked his way to the open end. Unfortunately, after all that work the pickings were slim.

Once again the trophy bear never showed himself, although I did see a silhouette in the sparse thicket beyond the barrel as the murk of dusk settled that might have been him. I’ve spent five nights in my stand and still not fired a shot, and there’s only a week remaining for baiters. If the big boy finally shows up, I’ll consider myself lucky, and if not, I won’t regret one second of my work and effort maintaining a bait site.

The nightly animal sightings and entertaining antics were rewarding enough, especially sharing them with a buddy. Hunting and many of its rewards just require a sportsman to be out there, not to be successful every time, and my theory is, there’s always next season and that big bear will be even bigger.

bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com