This story, “Upshot: A Record Bear,” appeared in the June 1969 issue of Outdoor Life.
The two dogs took off like twin streaks, and within minutes they were out of hearing. We ran to the truck and drove back the way we had come, stopping now and then to listen. We heard the dogs faintly once and then lost them completely.
We backtracked and ended up where Sam had first scented the bear trail. Sam and Blue had chased the bear over the mountain and then back again. They were now 4½ miles from us in a deep valley at the bottom of a mountain.
Blue could be heard plainly, and it was obvious that they were having quite a time with the bear. The bawling would turn to sharp barking, and we could tell the bear had bayed on the ground. Then the barking would change again to bawling — the bear was off again. That happened two or three times before the dogs were able to tree the bruin for good. I was hunting with my cousin Vic and guide Dave Handrich of Santa Barbara, California. Vic and I both live in Los Angeles. I live in Mar Vista, and Vic lives in Sherman Oaks. I work for my father at his glass company in Santa Monica, and Vic has a glass shop of his own in the same town. We have been hunting together every year for the past three years. We’ve had a good time and a successful hunt every year, and 1967 was no exception.
In the early part of that year, I decided to try my skill with bow and arrow. I went to a local archery shop and bought a 54-pound (draw weight) Colt bow after shooting every bow in the shop. I had aluminum arrows made up and began practicing every night after work and every weekend I could get away. I practiced all year, and toward the end I had no trouble hitting a pie plate at 35 to 40 yards. My groups were tight, and I could hit all simulated animal targets from rabbit to bear.
I bought some broadheads for my aluminum shafts and decided to try for a deer toward the end of the season. The broadheads I used were very wide and seemed to have a wide cutting edge. Later I found that they planed off to one side or the other. I had no control over my shooting and couldn’t group at all. I’m sorry to say that I found out about those broadheads in the field. That disappointment made me wonder if I had what it takes to become a bowhunter.
I raced down to my local range and shot every arrow I had. The broadheaded arrows didn’t even hit the bale of hay all the time, but the arrows with field points all pierced the pie plate.
So then I took all the arrows down to the archery shop and had new broad heads put on. That time I chose a four bladed head, the Black Diamond made by the Zwickey Archery Company. When I used them, they flew as true as my field points.
The deer season closed before I got straightened away, so I looked for some thing else to hunt. The only game that was open and posed much of a challenge was bear. Was I ready for such an animal? I thought I was.
Some of my friends thought I was crazy and told me so. Others didn’t say much, except that I should be careful. I’m sure most people thought I really was crazy.
I asked my cousin if he wanted to book a hunt with Dave Handrich to hunt black bear near Redding, California. Dave charges $250 for a guaranteed bear hunt. The money is refunded if an adult bear is not taken. He charges $200 per hunter for a hunt that is not guaranteed. Either hunt lasts six days. Dave also offers cougar hunts at higher prices. All prices include food. If a hunter wishes to do so, he may bring along his own food and camping gear and deduct $7.50 per day from what he pays.
Vic said he was ready and gave me the go-ahead on reservations. When I first told Vic of my plan to take a bear with bow and arrow, he didn’t say much, but later he told me that he thought I would get a bear with an arrow.
My practice had been an obsession for almost a year, and finally I was going to see if I had the stuff to take a real prize. Vic said he was going to use a .30/30 Winchester.
Friday, the 27th of October 1967, marked the start of our hunt. We left Los Angeles at 5 p.m. Our destination was the Squaw Creek area of Shasta County. Twelve hours later we stopped for some sleep in Redding, 30 miles from Squaw Creek. After a few hours of rest, we filled the truck’s gas tank and ate breakfast. Then we were off to see our guide, who had a camp set up at Squaw Creek.
We followed the map Dave had sent us, and after the longest 29 miles we’ve ever traveled, we came to our guide’s trailer. When we pulled into camp, six dogs came out of partly buried oil drums, barking and straining at their ties.
The trailer door opened, and Dave’s wife came out and asked us in for coffee. We introduced ourselves, and soon we were talking about hunting.
Dave Handrich hunts bobcats as well as lions and bears, and he really knows his business. Dave assured us that we’d get shots at bears. He was a little skep tical about my taking a bear with a bow, but he knew that if the arrow were placed in the right spot it would be lethal.
I assured him that I could put the arrow in the right spot once we saw the bear. Dave smiled and said we would rest that day because of our long drive and because it was really too late to start hunting. I couldn’t help thinking that Dave’s smile meant that he was also thinking, “He has to be crazy,” but I was used to that.
I spent the rest of the day shooting field points and broadheads into a bale of hay Dave had for his pack horse.
Dave and his wife watched me shoot for some time. I think that Dave felt a little better after seeing my groups, but I’m sure he still had his doubts.
The hunting talk resumed at supper. I asked Dave about chances of getting a black bear with a brown pelt. He told me that the odds were about 50-50. I hadn’t known that the brown phase of the black bear was that common, but that was what I wanted. Vic, however, wanted a coal-black bear.
Both of us wanted big bears. We wouldn’t have taken a small bear if it had walked right into camp. Dave said he would do what he could, but he couldn’t guarantee the color of the animals. He would guarantee a mature animal, though. He promised that he’d get us within shooting distance of a grown bear. The rest was up to us.
The following morning we awoke to find frost covering the ground and our sleeping bags, but it didn’t last long. We ate a quick breakfast, and then we were off to get my bear. Vic and I had flipped a coin to see who would have first shot, and I had won.
We drove the truck about five miles before we came to an old road no longer traveled by motor vehicles. We parked and let two of the six dogs out of the back. Blue had a loud bark, but Sam had the nose and a reputation for being able to follow a cold track most dogs would pass by after a sniff or two.
We walked the grown-up road for approximately half a mile before Sam picked up a scent. It was a warm morning for that time of the year, and it was hard to believe that only a few hours before, frost had been on our sleeping bags. Sam worked back and forth from one side of the road to the other. He couldn’t make up his mind which way the bear was going. Dave let him work it over for a few minutes, and then we moved on down the road.
After another half-mile, the road ended at a spot overlooking a beautiful valley. We were on our way back to the truck when Sam stopped again to check the place where the bear had crossed. That time, Dave told Sam to go down the side of the mountain and leashed Blue while we all waited for the I’ve picked-him-up bawl from Sam. When it came, Dave released Blue, and the two dogs took off like streaks, as I mentioned at the outset.
After driving halfway back to camp, trying to keep in hearing range of the dogs, we finally ended right back where Sam had picked up the bear’s scent. We started off on foot after the dogs. I had my bow, and Vic had his .30/30 Winchester.
From the minute we left the old road, we had to make our own trail. Going down the side of a mountain wasn’t too bad, but with all the vegetation leaning down toward the bottoms of the canyons, you can imagine what it was like trying to climb the other side of the valley. The undergrowth pushed us down one step for every three we took. Some times the brush allowed us to pull our selves up the side of a hill, but most times it beat us back. The dogs were out of hearing many times while we were in canyons. When we topped each ridge, the sound of the dogs told us again that the bear was still treed.
After about 1 ½ hours we came to a beautiful stream, crystal clear and icy cold. I had never known how good cold water could taste. We rested for a few minutes and had a smoke before we started on the last leg of the hike.
Sam and Blue sounded very close, and our hopes grew with every bawl. Ten minutes later the dogs sounded as though they were right next to us. Blue appeared at Dave’s side as we stepped into the only clearing that we had come across on the whole hike.
Dave had said before we started out that the bear would be in the tallest tree in the area and that he knew just where it was. Then I saw a dark-brown form high in a tremendous tree. The tree dwarfed the bear. The animal was 60 feet up, and at that level the bear was only a little thicker than the tree trunk. It was the largest tree I had ever seen except for redwoods.
The bear was standing with his front feet on a huge limb and his back feet on another. Directly under the bear’s chest was a Y-shaped limb. It would be a difficult shot.
If I shot from the front, my target would be the head, or the stomach be tween the arms of the Y-shaped limb. From the rear, the arrow would pierce a lung or maybe the heart. A shot from the front could result in a gut hit-not the thing to kill a 400-pound bear. I decided to shoot from the rear.
Even though I’d had a lot of practice, some from tree stands, I had never shot almost straight up. I wasn’t sure how to aim. Friends had told me about their experiences with trees and limbs while trying to take deer. I decided to aim dead-on, with no allowance for drop or rise. If my arrow hit either arm of the Y, I would adjust and shoot again.
Dave tied the dogs to a tree close by and then asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to use the rifle, Mike?”
“No,” I answered. “If I need it, I’ll use it, but only after I’ve used all my arrows.”
I asked Dave to leave his rifle with me. He had told me that he had guided one or two archers, but had always ended up helping out with his rifle. Dave didn’t seem too happy about leaving the rifle, but he put it down beside me and moved back with Sam and Blue.
“O.K., let it go,” he told me.
I nocked an aluminum Easton arrow, came to a full draw, and centered on the middle of the Y. I loosed, and the arrow flew straight and true through the Y and entered the bear’s chest.
The penetration was something I hadn’t expected. The arrow penetrated 28 inches. Only the feathers showed. The bear let out a forced gust of air as the point exited through the spine, and then he started to climb higher.
I quickly nocked another arrow, but it wasn’t needed. As I drew, the bear lost his grip on the tree and slid down. What happened next, I’ll never forget. The bear tried desperately to hang on but couldn’t muster the strength. He peeled a three-foot strip of bark from the tree before he let go. When he fell out of the tree, he came out spread eagled, snapping off limbs the size of a man’s thigh as he came down.
The bear made a complete flip before he reached the ground and hit in a standing position. The right rear leg broke on impact, and half the tree’s limbs followed him down. Then the bear rolled down the hill about 40 yards before coming to a stop.
We waited for about five minutes, had a smoke, and talked about the shot. Then Dave and I went to make sure the bear was dead while Vic stayed with the dogs. The bear was a beautiful big boar. I yelled to Vic to turn the dogs loose and come down to help us get the bear on level ground so we could skin him.
All three of us tried to pull the bear up the slope, but as hard as we pulled, the bear started slipping downhill. We finally had to let him go. He rolled downhill 100 yards, but when we reached him he was on fairly level ground.
We took movies of the bear, but I’m sorry to say they didn’t come out, be cause of the dim light in the forest. We skinned the bear and speculated about the bear’s chances for the records.
The hike out was another thing I’ll never forget. It was twice as bad as coming in. The heavy hide had about 10 pounds of fat on it, and the skull seemed to weigh another 10. After struggling for two hours we were back in the truck and on our way to camp for dinner.
That evening we boiled the skull and tried to get a rough measurement. It scored l91o/lG, and we were fairly sure it would qualify for both the Boone and Crockett and the Pope and Young.
We spent the rest of the evening talking about the hunt and the possibility of the skull’s shrinking below the mini mum requirement for the Boone and Crockett book, which was then 19 ( width plus length totaled, in inches). I knew that it would place quite high in the Pope and Young list.
The following morning we went to Anderson, close to Redding. My taxidermist, Jeff Sievers, has his business in Phoenix, Arizona. We were to hunt a week longer, so I took the hide to a taxidermist in Anderson to be fleshed and salted. That way, Jeff would receive it in good condition. The rest of the day we spent around camp, cleaning up the skull and resting for the hunt the following morning.
We awoke to find frost again covering our sleeping bags and the ground with a thin white blanket. We ate a hearty breakfast and started out to get Vic a bear.
After about eight miles we stopped and let out two dogs, Rowdy and Speck. We jumped back into the truck and drove up the road slowly with the dogs traveling just ahead of us. Thirty minutes later the dogs both shot off the righthand side of the road, bawling and running in high gear. We pulled the truck over to the side and checked the road. Very clear prints showed that a good-size bear had crossed the road early in the morning.
The dogs never went out of hearing.
They treed the bear after running only about a mile.
The three of us started off after the clogs, hoping that the bear would stay ti-eed. Although the going was rough, we made good time and were soon look ing at another huge bear. He was coal black, and he was in a majestic oak. The limb the bear was standing on was large enough to support him even though he was 20 feet out from the trunk. The limb was parallel to the ground and about five feet above the dogs.
Dave leashed the dogs, and Vic got into a good position to make the kill. He climbed up the side of the kill, and faced the bear head-on. He waited for the bear to stop weaving from side to side and then placed his shot about a foot below its nose. The bear took one step back on the limb, slid off of it, and pulled down the hill about 30 yards. We could hear the bear growling deep in the brush, but we believed he was finished. After waiting a few minutes, we checked him out. He was stone dead, and he was in beautiful condition. We skinned him, had a smoke, and started back to the truck.
The skull measured 19 10/16 green, and we thought it would make B. & C. if it didn’t shrink too much.
Dave was really pleased that we’d had such a good hunt. Vic and I had both got trophy bears in the color phases we wanted. We thanked Dave for the great hunt and told him we’d see him the following year for a lion hunt. We took Vic’s bear pelt to Anderson, had it fleshed out and salted down, and set off for home.
I wrote Jeff in Arizona and sent him a drawing I made of how we wanted our bears mounted. Five months later, the mounts arrived in beautiful condition. Anyone interested in hunting bear, lion, or bobcat can reach Dave Handrich at 6474 Stagecoach Road, Star Route, Santa Barbara, California.
After the 60-day drying-out period required by the Pope and Young and the Boone and Crockett clubs, my bear’s skull was measured by Dr. Kenneth Stager at the Museum of Natural History, Los Angeles. The skull measured 19 3/16, and would have just barely qualified for the Boone and Crockett book. Subsequently, however, the Boone and Crockett minimum for black bears was raised from 19 to 21, so the skull no longer qualifies. I’m confident, though, that it will place high in the Pope and Young records of archery kills.
Vic’s trophy skull was stolen from his car before it could be measured dry. As you can imagine, he was sick. He still has a beautiful trophy in his den though.
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