So there I was…
My grandpa never was able to grace the palm of his hand with the fur of a Pennsylvania black bear, that had his tag in the ear. So I figured I would start this one the way he always would suggest I started my stories.
So there I was… standing in the middle of a field while a low-hanging fog blanketed the valley and everything around it.
Hen mallards quacked from a nearby pond as the sky began to grow a peachy color and the light breeze had me pacing back and forth trying to stay warm.
I did this until almost half an hour after shooting time when I finally felt I was able to see well enough, and hoped everyone else could as well.
A frost laid across the corn as I started into it and minimal wind was not forgiving as with every step it seemed I was making a horrendous racket.
Step after step I crossed through the rows and with every step a little more sunlight seemed to crawl down the stalks.
Meticulously I kept sneaking and checking row after row. I worked my way across 4 times. I knew I was getting to the best parts of the field.
With every step I made, I seemed to anticipate a gun to go off somewhere on the perimeter of the field and yet I hadn’t even heard a shot off in the distance anywhere.
The noise of the frosty stalks was fading as the sun climbed into the sky and the fog was all dispersed, but the shadows of the rows seemed to keep a dark canopy through the field.
The thought of seeing a bear was beginning to grow weak in my mind and my legs were beginning to break through the rows before my head. I knew I had to slow myself down and be more methodical and I began to get back into a routine.
My head popped into a row and my eyes made out a silhouette of a bear standing looking at me. As quickly as I registered what I saw it turned and began to run. I stepped fully into the row flipping off my safety as I dropped onto a knee and tried to find the butt in the scope.
Everything in the scope seemed foggy and I couldn’t seem to see. I just happened to make out the butt under the crosshairs and the gun cracked. The row turned blue with smoke and I had a bad feeling I had missed but couldn’t make out anything through the haze.
I sat for a couple of minutes waiting for a shot outside of the field. There were no other shots and I knew that he must have never left the field. I began moving towards where he was when I shot and I was able to begin following the tracks in the mud.
About where I had last seen him the tracks cut into the next row over and as I looked I saw black about as far as I could see down the row.
Quickly I hopped into the row and dropped onto a knee again. As I got it into the scope I could tell it was moving and quickly I put the crosshairs on it and once again the row filled with smoke. This time as I racked the bolt I could see what looked like him flopping around and once again he had disappeared.
I yet again waited and knowing that I had hit him that time, I slowly made my way to where he was. As I approached where he had been I could see a spot of blood and looked around for a little bit before realizing he had cut across the row going back towards where we had begun.
I followed the patches of blood and although my ears were ringing I kept thinking I could hear corn stalks rustling.
I knew I was close to him so I kept the blood about 10 yards in front of me and began sneaking through again.
The rustling got louder with every step and as I stepped into the row he was in I was 15 yards behind him. As he looked back, my crosshairs met his shoulder leaving a 4th PA Black Bear to my name.
