Now That is a Mongo Bear! By Ted Nugent
Jul 8, 2008 - 4:48:34 PM
The breathtaking, drifting wall of fluffy, dirty cotton-clouds engulfed the jagged skyline of eternal spruce forests before and above us. Itís beauty doubled by the reflection in the placid ocean cove. Alaska baby, Prince of Wales, the Last Frontier, at home in the lap of God. Say ďYowzaĒ and celebrate the gushing American freedom unlimited.
I sipped on my scalding joe on the deck of the mighty Valiant Maid fishing trawler, and exhaled smoothly with an audible ďahhhhĒ, truly in awe of the soothing spirit of this soul cleansing wilderness that owned me. Glancing behind me, old Ed Bilderback was grappling with ropes and cables preparing the skiff, while our good friend Fred Bear sat on an overturned white bucket, calmly filing a Razorhead to his signature keen edge. The muffled purr of the generator harmonized with the subtle, grinding strokes of Fredís file, so I just rocked slowly back and forth on my heels and grinned, stoned on the intoxicating glow of this perfect day in my bowhunting American Dream. Me, Ed and Fred, the Valiant Maid, bows and arrows, whales, otters, sea lions, eagles, ravens, blacktail deer, weasels, martins, beaver and, of course The Beast; Alaskaís giant bears. Was I alone or in a hunterís dream? Dear Lord this is wonderful.
Well, I admit, it wasnít really Ed Bilderback, or Fred or the Valiant Maid on this particular morning. Though Ed and the Valiant Maid are in semi-retirement somewhere nearby in Cordova, Alaska, and of course BloodBrother Number One, Fred Bear is still on his well deserved Big Hunt, I was indeed in their Alaskan wilderness, but this time with their BloodBrothers Mike, Gary and Steve Sims, Steveís son Jacob, his buddy Collin, my brother John and fellow bowhunters Greg Winters on our version of the Valiant Maid, the equally mighty Eldorado. Everything else was the same; same spirit, and our same wonderful shared addiction to SpiritWild bowhunting Alaska adventure. My cup runneth over.
BloodBrother Boat Rules from the galley of the mighty 58í Eldorado-
If you turn it on, turn it off.
If you drop it, pick it up.
If you use it, put it back.
If you break it, fix it.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If you use a cup, plate or glass, wash it.
If you open it, close it.
If you donít know how, find out by asking.
Last night was my night. Running killer bait setups for a week prior to our arrival, everybody had been seeing bears, including some giants. Hunting long and hard for two days, I was personally questioning my sanity as I had uncharacteristically passed up on more than one two hundred pound boar and a really fine trophy that would have weighed in at more than 350 pounds. Dream black bears by anyoneís standards.
I wanted to shoot the fat 350 so bad I could taste it. But over the years, I had learned just what kind of monsters roamed the wilderness of Prince of Wales, so I showed some very admirable patience, for an uppity guitar player that is.
Along with both of my sons Toby and Rocco, we had taken three genuine dream bears in excess of the mythical 500 pound mark from this area over the years. The kind of amazing behemoths of big, bad bear folklore that stalks every bear hunterís dreams.
As darkness oozed in on me this third nightís vigil, a long legged, massive black beast strode boldly onto the rocky beech-head behind me as my heart nearly jack-hammered out the top of my head. Manning the vidcam myself this evening, I did my best to gracefully swing the lens thataway to capture his beauty on Spirit of the Wild videotape.
Trying desperately to not make a sound or visible move, I wasnít sure if I even caught his image on tape or not. He vanished 180 degrees behind me and I didnít have much hope that he would or could circle the extended peninsula at a typical bearís pace to get him near me within the remaining shooting light. I waited.
Snap! I love that sound in the wild, and with it came a mass of black fur and muscle to my far right as the giant padded silently now amongst the enormous boreal forest blow-downs and moss strewn tangles headed my way. God, I love this bowhunting stuff. This time the little vidcam swung like a tiny ballerina and picked up the gorgeous bear as he strode right underneath my treestand. My hair stood on end, and I kept filming. The mature boar now faced directly away from me at a scant twelve yards, gobbling up the famous Nuge-Sims super bear grits.
I had my Sims DZ32 bow up and ready in my right hand as I manipulated the vidcam with my left, just below my elbow. He fed nonstop as I carefully switched from record to standby trying to capture the best footage possible. He never changed position and my shooting light was slowly beginning to fade. He would lift his big, wide head occasionally and look each way, then resume his chowdown, all the while my nerves gaining velocity and momentum.
Then the moment of truth, as always, just materialized. As his long snout went right, my finger gently depressed the record button for the tenth time as his huge body swung a tad to the right. I froze. When his head went slightly forward, I took advantage of his movement to draw my 50# bow to fulldraw and nail the 20 yard Sims fiber optic pin square in my peepsight and on his upper right bicep. Phhttt went the bow and sssst went my white arrow as the bright orange Lumenok lasered through his wide, fat, black muscled body like butter. WOW!
With a lovely, deep WHOOF and simultaneous gutsy grunt, the old bruin spun instantly, lunged three long lunges, stopped, tipped over and let out a death moan, dead, motionless, silent in less than three seconds, testimony to the lethality of the razorsharp Magnus Buzzcut broadhead. Good grief!
The next sequences of video that transpired can be best described as hysterical, even downright loony. You see, I believe God loves me more than He loves you, for He lovingly created me with an overdose of uppityness and adrenalin, and I captured it all on videotape for your entertainment enjoyment on our Spirit of The Wild TV show, soon to erupt on Outdoor Channel on an unsuspecting TV screen somewhere in your neighborhood. Richard Pryor on fire has nothing on me for sheer entertainment value.
As I fumbled to disconnect my Hunterís Safety Harness, climb down, get my flashlight going, hold the camera in my left hand and bow in the other, I was electric with giddy excitement, clean off the charts. The ensuing recovery on film literally jumps off the screen at you, for my passion, love and immeasurable excitement for bowhunting and reverence for bears is the way God wants us to live; full tilt!
When I got to the beast, I was suckerpunched at how huge he was. I never really thought about his size while he was before me, but now, right here on the ground in my face, I was astonished on just what I had.
Clearly, this was a bear of a lifetime. Iím betting somewhere near 20 years old, his wide, long head as big as a black bear can be, and stretched out on the mossy trail, I was sure I was looking at more than 500 pounds of dead bruin. Did I mention WOW?
Trying hard to contain himself Ted does a great job of holstering his excitement. This is one monster bear!
Placing the vidcam on a log, I tried to lift his bucket head in my arms and do my best to exalt his majesty. I am sure I failed miserably, but for a white guy, I suppose I delivered some of his moving spirit for the camera. I stroked his rich, black rug and marveled at his size. What appeared to be something in his mouth earlier on his approach, now proved to be a broken jaw and ripped Ursis teeth hanging from his dangling gums. There is no doubt that this old warrior would not have lived much longer, unable to properly feed with his mutilated eating apparatus akimbo. In other words, I had just killed the ultimate, old, over the hill, wounded boar bear. I just sat there in stunned amazement at this mind bogglingly wonderful life we call bowhunting.
Much jubilation and good cheer overflowed on the Valiant Maid this night. Fred and Ed toasted my good luck and did a little jig commemorating our brother the bear. It was great seeing my old friends so happy again, just like it happened so many times before. In the wind, forevermore.
Essential Nuge spirit of the bear hunting gear-
Silent, accurate bow-Sims LimbSaver DZ32 & maximum visible sight pins-Sims fiber optic
Right at the predetermined stand sight, set up based on prevailing wind direction, sun shine and game movements, we start with a large pot and a portable butane grill, cooking up to a five pound wad of cheap bacon. As it sizzles and crisps up, we pour in a half gallon of Karo or maple syrup and a bag of large marshmallows, stirring in a box of powdered strawberry Jell-O and a baggie of sugar into the whole roiling mess. We stir it constantly and let the ultra sweet, bacon fat smoke permeate the whole area. We pour about 20 to 30 pounds of cheap dry dog food into a depression or cavity that we strategically place heavy logs covering three sides to assist in positioning the bear for a broadside or quartering away shot. We then pour the entire bubbling concoction from the smoky pot onto the dog food, and a little on the ground in front of the bait site so that the visiting bears will step in it, thereby leaving a trail to the bait wherever they may wander. Also wipe some of the red goo onto nearby stumps and limbs in good locations for a shot. I also often sweeten my setup with CíMere Deer and WildGame Innovations hog and bear additives as well.
It is important to go through this entire procedure at regular intervals prior to the actual hunt, making the same obvious noises and sounds everytime. Iíd say every day is best, but at the very least every other day. Be sure that if any bug dope may be needed by the hunter, that the baiter/cooker sprays the area on each visit with the exact same bug dope that will be used on the actual hunt. On hunt day, it is critical that the hunters get settled into their stands while the cooking is being done, and remain absolutely still and silent as the baiter/cooker departs making his routine sounds.
For information on Ted Nugent
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