Rookie Mistakes

I am not yet a seasoned hunter – nor a skilled wordsmith – so I ask for your patience, dear reader. Most of my adult life has been spent on or under the ocean rather than in the mountains. It wasn’t until five years ago that I discovered the excitement, camaraderie, and emotion of hunting. I was first introduced to upland hunting with dogs and quickly became fully immersed, finding joy in working with my German short-haired pointer and meeting new people. One morning, I woke up realizing that I needed to—no, must—harvest a mountain goat. However, years of manual labor, sports, and other adventures have taken their toll on my aging body and time was of the essence. I didn’t want to stumble through this experience but rather excel at it.

And so, I began.

Seek out all willing to give advice, physical and mental training, and endless practice at the range.

Find an outfitter, ask questions, and book hunts with a professional hunter to level up.

To be clear, I am not a rich man, nor do I want just to shoot and have another do the hard work. I want to learn and find joy in pushing past the point where I can go. Do my own dirt. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to speak with several outfitters in BC. All of them were amazing. They equipped me with advice on all aspects of the profession. What a community of solid people!

I carefully selected what I could afford and who I felt I had the best connection with. My choice landed on Tom at Silent Mountain Outfitters. Tom went above and beyond in terms of personality, information, and advice (I think we exchanged 47 emails – good grief! He must have wanted to ditch me), and the hunting grounds were perfect.

Initially, we’d only discussed the goat hunt; however, I soon realized it was necessary to find the money and time for a few other hunts before pursuing the goat. I wanted to avoid stumbling through a hunt and being unable to fully respect the animal or experience. So, I sold all unnecessary items in my possession, geared up, and contacted Tom to book a mule deer hunt for September 9^th, 2024.

From there, all that was left to do was wait patiently, train, practice, and embark on a feral goat hunt with bows. I picked up a few tips, harvested two feral goats, and thought I had an idea of what to observe. I spoke to Tom just before spring to finalize the mulie hunt and share my recent goat hunt. He had news too – a last-minute bear cancellation. I was in! 

It was arranged that we would meet a month later at an out-of-the-way corner store for a 5-day hunt. After over a year of communication with Tom, we had yet to speak over the phone. My wife pointed this out that day and quipped, “You are going to meet a stranger in the middle of nowhere with a pocket full of cash. Good luck!”

It all worked out – I met Tom, Zack, and two clients at said store. We instantly became buds, packed up our kits, and headed up the mountain. Once at the cabin, Mark and Mike (the guides), and Anne (the camp cook) were waiting with one more client – all stellar human gems. I cannot express how much the guides care for the guests, environment, and animals while also considering the guests’ abilities. When asked, “Why pay when you live in BC?,” experience and knowledge gained is the answer. Five years’ worth in just five days. It is worth every penny.

That first evening was dinner, stories, and settling in for the long days ahead. A briefing on the type of bear I was seeking, the plan for when to shoot, and general stalking rules. Each day was a potential story waiting to unfold.

The first few hours of the next day were spent glassing goats, and encountering white-tails and mulies. We stumbled upon two elk during a stalk and spotted a few small black bears and a young grizzly on our travels. Later, we saw a 6-foot black bear transitioning from one area to another. We hurried to get into stalking distance by running in and finally stalking. The bear emerged at 96 yards; I had seconds to set up for an easy shot with it in motion, but I missed it clean. The bullet struck the ground just below the bear’s belly. The bear defecated and ran into the timber due to my rookie mistake of having my forward hand on the rifle instead of using the shooting stick and leaning forward during the trigger squeeze: steady hands but poor form. We discussed techniques and improving stalking form, and I entered some mental doubt. Training and real life are not the same.

We discussed a few more deer and bear habits and feeding patterns as we ran into Mike and his client, who had already tagged out. They tipped us off about a back trail with plenty of sign, so off we went! The old, overgrown trail was dark and closed in. While crossing a stream, we spotted wolf prints, black bear prints, and scat. Climbing up an embankment, we came across a larger scat that appeared to be from a grizzly. As we crested the rise in single file, I noticed Tom perking up, indicating the presence of an animal. Slowly stepping out, I prepared to raise my gun on a massive mass about 20 feet away in the alders. Tom turned slowly as I realized a giant boar grizzly was feeding, facing us. The stream sounds had masked our approach. We slowly turned back, Tom calmly leading the way while instructing me not to run, leaving the grizzly unaware of our presence. Once out of direct danger, both of us broke out in laughter, “Was Mike trying to kill us?!”

Back at camp, the crew and guests patiently answered my questions, offered tips and preferred methods, and educated me on the reasons behind harvesting certain animals while letting others go. Spending 24 hours a day with Tom allowed us to get to know each other honestly; I cannot emphasize enough what an ethical and hard-working gem he is.

A few unsuccessful stalks, then one high-speed ascent up a mountain in pursuit of a massive “slob” (term for a bear over 7 feet tall); I nearly lost my lunch trying to keep pace. We perched on elevated ground while Tom quietly called, hoping to catch sight of him in the alders. Unfortunately, the big boar snuck away from us.

On another bear, we successfully lined up a shot. I passed it up as it was a touch undersized to what we wanted. We could have closed the distance to 40 yards with the right cover and wind conditions. It was legal to harvest, but not the right bear, so instead I practiced stalking without taking the shot. I had my bow with me; I briefly considered using it as this was ideal for archery hunting. I then remembered the advice: if the bear isn’t suitable for a rifle, it’s not suitable for a bow. Let him grow and thrive; he was a handsome-looking bear, complete with a beautiful white marking on his chest.

We encountered a different 6 foot-plus bear with plenty of time to get ready. We set up at 122 yards, holding the position as we assessed the bear and the area. The bear went perfectly broadside. I held to Tom’s instruction to wait and watch. Perfect. Then two sets of ears popped up. We sat and watched Mama and the cubs for 30 minutes doing their thing. It was incredible to watch.

As we made our way to the afternoon glassing site, we passed an area we had traversed twice that day. With the sun casting a warm glow on our backs, we felt at ease and prepared to settle in for a few hours. Suddenly, a 6-foot bear comically tumbled down an embankment, dashed in front of us, and stopped 135 yards away on the right side of the trail. It rose behind some timbers and locked eyes with me. We were both captivated by the moment.

“That’s all yours, buddy,” Tom remarked. I dropped to one knee, peering through branches and ground debris that separated us, allowing me a clear view of its chest and head. I took my shot but missed as the bear defecated and sauntered off. My clean miss crushed me as we retraced to where I had fired. Devastated, I realized that my choice of round and lack of expertise led me to hit some branches, which deflected into a log. To lift my spirits, Tom reminded me that at least it was a clean miss and joked, “You’re great at making them s#$t themselves!”

I thought I was putting on a brave face, however the guides could see that I was mentally preparing to sell my gear and call it quits. They all did their best to pull me out of my head. “This is hunting, my friend.” Tomorrow was a new day with a plan in place.

I woke up before sunrise, put on my big boy pants, switched out rifles to Tom’s recommended caliber and set up. We discussed where it was zeroed in, did a few practice shots, grabbed breakfast and lunch, and then headed to the hunting area. The truck was quiet for the first time in days.

Halfway down the mountain to the agreed spot as the sun rose: “Bear! One hundred yards!” Just as we rounded the corner, Tom continued, “Not a shooter.” I felt awake, fast, and smooth for the first time.

Another kilometer farther in our journey: “Movement in the bushes, 195 yards”, and then: “Bear.” I was ready; all the practice was paying off.  

Tom was slightly to the left, spotting and coaching calmly and quietly. The bear was still between bushes and trees, striding towards a clearing. I followed closely with the scope. From my left, I heard “color phase,” “not sure if he is a shooter,” and “hold.” As I watched through the scope, the bear was about to step into the clearing with its back to us.

“Correction: the bear is a shooter,” “Hold.” As the bear stepped out, no other movement existed in the woods. From the left, I heard, “If you have a shot, you’re clear to shoot.” I had been holding for what felt like an eternity. The bear moved fully out and then to his left. Exhaled and squeezed, watching through the scope. Suddenly, I saw a sharp lurch, and, in a blink, the bear vanished into the timber, headed towards a steep descent to the river.

Instantly, doubt set in. I’d botched it again. I looked over at Tom for confirmation – likely looking pale and sickly – and was relieved to hear the report back: “Solid hit!” A wash of relief!

We waited to give the animal space, then after some time, walked over to the bear’s last known position. Slowly we started tracking. While listening for any sign of movement or breath, we heard a few light rustling sounds down the hill. There was no blood or sign of the bear, and I felt like an idiot. Deep scuff marks were heading towards the steep downgrade and woods but still no blood. There were paw skid marks on the downgrade, heading into the woods and eventually river at the bottom. I knew the river was there, though I could not see or hear the water from that distance. I was wracked with doubts.

We listened, looked, and waited. Tom gave me a rundown on what to look for, normal hiding spots, and where bears prefer to hole up. We spread out, heading down the hill, slowly searching and stopping to listen. Nothing, and at that point, it hit me; if I had connected, we could not skin and process at this location. If the bear was down there, it would be either back up to the top or down to the bottom with the bear. I stopped again, scanning and looking under logs. Moving my gaze to the right, I caught movement to the left. A slow ear wiggle.

The bear had settled beside a large tree, belly around the base, paws nearly touching on the back side, blending perfectly. I quickly notified Tom. We quietly agreed to allow the bear his final breaths in peace and respect. I think of that moment regularly; I have never enjoyed taking any life, be it fish, bug, or mammal. That said, I will never pull a shot. I eat meat and prefer meat from the wild, whether friends or family harvest it. 

The bear passed as quickly and peacefully as possible. And then, the work began. We decided that the best option was to keep it intact, so it was a tough pull to bring the bear up the hill for field dressing.

When everything goes as planned, a million little things had to happen. The camp had all tagged out by the time we got back. All the stories were told, and bonds were built. 

I am booked with Silent Mountain Outfitters for this September season and the following. If you are new to hunting and wish to learn quickly, do yourself a favor and book with a BC guide outfitter. Call around and find what suits you. Their expertise is worth every penny. My bear was a beautiful boar that measured 6’ 4” from nose to tail. To respect the animal, nothing went to waste. His meat was carefully butchered and the hide taken to the taxidermist. His name is now “Combo Number 2” after a family joke about a favorite meal.  

I will spend the August season on the island chasing blacktails with the bow, counting the days until I return to the mountains. Someday soon, I will hold the title of hunter. I believe my total spotted animal count is two grizzlies, over 20 black bears, several mountain goats, eight elk, 12 mulies, and 14 whitetails. 

I cannot express enough gratitude to Tom, Anne, Zack, Mark, and Mike.