Speaker 1: Here in the Northern Rockies, hunting and fishing have always
been a big part of my life. Archery hunting in particular,
has been a family tradition since I was a child.
My dad would take me and my brother along to
watch until we were old enough to take part in
the sport. Over the years, archery has grown in popularity
in our state, so finding a good spot to hunt
has gotten harder and harder to do, and more importantly,
to keep it a secret. As a result of the
increased hunting traffic, the elks seemed to move around more.
My friends and I have adopted a rotation method for
spots we hunt, changing from year to year to keep
the pressure off the game animals and to encourage less
movement from them. Even with this method, cow calling in
another hunter is just as likely to occur as calling
in a well. It's frustrating to watch this happen, especially
in the last couple of years. I'll just add a
little commentary here. You can blame YouTube and social media
for all the bowhunters running your areas, but it's a
big country. Everybody has a right to hunt, and I
don't have a problem with it. But that's what happened
last ten years. There's been so many videos Cam Cameron Haynes.
He's one of my heroes. He's probably the best bowhunter
I've ever seen, and he has a dad gone beast
of physical condition. I've never seen anybody like him. But
I digress back to the story. This last fall, my
friend and I decided to hunt a spot we hadn't
been for a couple of years, and we met at
the trailhead at three am to begin our four mile
height into the point where the service trail split off
and took us up a ridge to the high alpine basins.
Getting an out out of a place that remote can
be quite a chore, but that's all part of the experience.
By daylight, we reached the area where we decided to
make camp. It was a flat spot on a ridge
that separated two basins, allowing us easy access to either basin.
We dropped the bare minimum of supplies we'd brought to
get us through the next few days, and we tired
our food bags in a tree. Bears used to not
be something we worried about, but the Fish and Game
likes to drop the problem bears from various national parks
in that area, so these days it comes as no
surprise when we encounter a collared bear. We also carried
the other necessary precautions for being in bear country. Each
hunt begins with a coin toss. The loser is responsible
for carrying both the bugle and the bear gun. We
both carried side arms, and that day I won the toss,
and we tested the wind and began our slow and
careful approach. Periodically we'd give a cow call to see
if we could locate any animals, and on this day
things were quiet. That wasn't surprising. Elk will jump across
the ridge sometimes even if they're not being pressured by hunters.
We made it down to the wallows, but there didn't
seem to be much sign. What little sign there was
looked old. We weren't discouraged, though There was the other basin,
or we could hike down to another ridge at another
fork of the river. Back at camp, we ate and
went to bed. We don't like to build a fire
if we don't have to, so our meal was the
hydrated food made with water heated in a bunsen burner.
At night, we would expect to hear cows calling, and
if the moon was full, we would hear bulls bugling,
but that night it was dead quiet and we slept
really well. The next day was my turn to carry
the bugle and the shotgun. My friend carried the bow,
and after a quick breakfast of rehydrated coffee and granola bars,
we headed for the second basin. It was much larger
than the first, with more wallows and meadows, and the
minute we left camp, I had an eerie feeling come
over me. Everything was too quiet, everything felt off. I
wrote it off as nerves. Though. We made it down
to the bottom wallow and we found more signs than
the day before, but again they didn't look fresh. We
moved on to the top of the ridge and on
towards the next wallow, and at one point we stopped
and I gave a short chuckling bugle. A cow responded,
we were on the elk. One cow meant there would
be more, and that meant there would definitely be a bull.
It was going to be a good day. We waited
a few minutes before I gave another bugle, and once
again a cow answered. I had a rough idea of her location,
so we worked our way down the side of the
ridge and we found an area where we could stay
in the timber. It overlooked a nice little grassy area
that was between us and where we thought the elk were.
I positioned myself ten yards from the edge of the trees,
where I'd continue bugling and cow calling, and my buddy
moved ten yards up from me at the tree line
where he could conceal himself. There he would have a
nice broadside shot at whatever came in on us, And
as soon as he was set, he gave me the
go ahead to start calling. Since we were hoping for
a bull, I started with a cow call. A few
minutes later we heard another bull bugle. It didn't sound
like a larger mature bull, but sometimes it's hard to tell.
The cow responded next. It was on. We went back
and forth several times, and the bugle didn't seem too hot,
but he was moving in. With every bugle, we heard
him raking trees several times. The cow seemed to be
staying in place. A few more bugles and he started
getting into the right sword of mood. He was getting
angrier and he was gaining more ground on us. We
knew it was going to be a matter of time now,
and in an instant, everything shut off like a switch.
Everything went quiet. I gave a couple more cow calls,
but we got no response. We sat and listened for
a few minutes and still nothing, and then the sound
of a herd of elk taking off through the timber
broke through the silence like a thunderclap. We'd spooked them,
But how had we done that? Did the wind shift?
Did they pick up our scent? Did one sneak in
and see my buddy set up without noticing him. My
buddy moved back over to me and we discussed what
could have scared him off. We decided the wind had shifted,
but that's the way it goes and hunting. These things
happen and you never know exactly what cost it. We
moved out of that spot and scouted at another location
for the next day, and that's when we heard it.
It sounded like a cow call, but it had a low, grunting,
deep growl at the end. We have heard olk make
some strange noises over the years, so we weren't really surprised,
and it was coming from the same direction where the
bull was. We decided to set back up once he
was back in position. My buddy gave him the sign
to start calling. The response was immediate, and it was close.
I answered with another call. My buddy shifted his position
and he rose up a little bit, and he drew
his bow. I was thinking, I hope you're not going
to shoot a cow. It was perfectly legal, and it
would have been good eating, but we were a long
way back in to be packing something out that didn't
have antlers. I watched him whole for a few seconds,
and then he let off, and he turned around and
he started making his way back to me. His face
had turned pale white, and his hand shook as he
nervously attempted to put the arrow back in its quiver.
Once he got it in, he looked up at me
in stark despair written all over his face. It was
a bear. It was a big bear, a big grizzly,
he muttered. I picked up the shotgun, and he grabbed
his backpack and secured his bow to it, and then
I handed him the gun while I put on my
backpack and I pulled out my laskin four fifty four
cassoule rugger, and I stepped a little to my right
to try to find a lane where I could clearly
see into the meadow. I got a glimpse of something big,
and if it was a bear, it was one heck
of a big bear. I've never seen my buddy so
shook up before. All he wanted to do was get
the heck out of there. I kept trying to calm
him down and to slow him up a bit, and
I told him the last thing we needed to do
was to take off running out of there. Let's pick
our way out nice and quiet, I said, We'll back
out and make sure we get out of this situation safely.
This wasn't the first time we'd encounter the bear while hunting.
I was more than a little surprised by his behavior,
and I never seen him react this way. As we
began to pick our way out, we started hearing something
that sounded like a growling grunt coming from the other
side of the meadow. And it would start with a
couple of low, almost inaudible grunts, and then it would
gradually build and finish with a growl. I've never heard
anything make a sound like that before, least of all
a bear. I'm no bear expert, but I've encountered enough
of them to know how they act, and no one
I know would ever say that they had seen a
bear behave this way. We continued to pick our way
out with a commotion going on behind us, and the
grunts and growls were joined by the sounds of limbs
breaking and trees snapping. Whatever it was, and I know
it wasn't a bear, it was keeping a cushion of
about fifty yards between us. We weren't running, but we
weren't exactly moving at a snail's pace either. We were
doing our best to get out of there as quietly
as possible, but no matter what, it stayed right with us.
We couldn't put any significant distance between us. It followed
us for a half a mile before it finally stopped
and there was no more grunning or growling, and no
more tree snapping or bush shaking. I expected my friend
to be relieved, but he was still acting scared and
I kept asking him what did you see? His response was,
I don't know. It had to be a big bear.
We made it back to base care, where we decided
to build a big fire. It was too late in
the day to pack out of there, but I couldn't
get easy with our situation. We felt better for having
made it another two and a half miles without hearing
the growling and tree breaking, But I kept second guessing
our decision to stay one more night. That uneasy feeling
I had since we left camp that morning was still
with me. Before we could build the fire, we had
to gather the wood. Normally, this meant one would head
off in one direction while the other went the other.
This time, without speaking a word, we decided to gather
wood together. I don't think either one of us wanted
to be too far from the other, and while one gathered,
the other stood guard with a shotgun. Once we had
what we thought would be enough to last most of
the night, we went back to camp and made a
n nice supper on the Bunsen burner, and then I
pulled out the flask of whiskey we normally reserved for
celebrating a kill. We needed something to take the edge off.
As it began to get dark, we realized we were
going to need more firewood. We'd been away from the
camp long enough to gather two good armloads of firewood.
When the whistling started, it was almost like a person whistling,
but a lot louder, and there was more than one.
It came from one side of us, and then answered
from the other side. We hurried the last hundred feet
back to camp well. I thought maybe it was hunters.
I couldn't explain why they'd have been whistling instead of
calling out, but I decided to answer back. It was
getting dark. Maybe they were lost and trying to locate
our camp. Over Here, I yelled, and I got a
whistle in response. Yeah, over here, I said. The whistling
continued for a while. Each time it seemed to be closer.
My buddy and I exchanged glances, like what's going on?
We never had anything like this happen before. The confusion
added to our discomfort, and then it stopped. Everything went
dead quiet once again. We listened for a few minutes,
but the whistler seemed to be gone. What did you
see out there? I asked again, as I took out
the flask of whiskey and handed it to him. He
took the flask and drew a big swig from it
before handing it back to me. I don't know, man,
he said. Finally, what do you mean you don't know?
I demanded. I want to say it was a bear,
but now I could tell he was struggling. It wasn't
a bear. I don't know what I saw, but it
was big. I pressed him for more information, but all
I got from him was I don't know. The more
I pushed, the more upset and nervous he got, and
I decided to let it go. We added more wood
to the fire, and about the time we began to
feel relaxed again, the growling. There were three of them
triangulated around the camp. They were close enough that we
could feel the grouls reverberate in our chests, but just
out of sight. It was dusk by then, and what
little light that provided and our fire was all we
had to see with. We were high up in a
sub alpine basin on a ridge by ourselves, and God
only knows what those things were in the woods around us.
It's the coldest feeling on earth. They never would let up.
About the time we began to think they'd left, they'd
started all again, each time from a different location and
always too uncomfortably close. We thought about firing into the woods,
about our supply of ammunition was limited. We'd packed for
elk hunting, not war. I watched the firewood burn away
and it would be hours before the sun came up.
I knew they were still out there, just beyond our sight.
I saw a small dead lodgepole pine laying on the
ground at the edge of the firelight, and I figured
if I could get it and drag it into camp,
we could throw the whole thing on the fire and
move it as it burned. I'm going to grab that
tree over there, I said, come with me with the shotgun.
I eased back the hammer on my pistol, and I
walked over to the tree without looking down, and I
put my boot on it and I pushed at it.
I didn't want to reach down and pull on something
I wasn't going to be able to lift, but I
could move it. And with my eyes trained straight ahead
and my right hand on my pistol, I eased down
and wrapped my left arm around the tree. And as
I started to stand up, I saw it. I could
barely see it in the flickering light. One second it
was there, and the next second it wasn't. It was
as if it intended for me to see it, and
through the dim shadows I could it was standing on
two legs, and it had two arms. It must have
been nine feet tall, and it was half again as
wide as it was tall, and it was covered in hair.
It was massive. Its hair was long and shaggy. It
wasn't black, but in the dim light, I couldn't say
exactly what color it was. The firelight danced across its face,
distorting its features too much for me to make them
out clearly, and I froze. I had the lodge pole
pine wrapped under my left arm and my pistol pointing
in the wrong direction in my right hand. I was
halfway between standing and squatting, and I couldn't move you
all right, I heard my buddy say. I couldn't respond.
My eyes were locked on this thing. I couldn't see
its eyes, but somehow I knew it was staring at
me all time stopped. I didn't even know if I
was breathing. It moved forward and souddenly. The light was
on its face, and I was looking at the ugliest
thing I had ever seen. It was looking back at me,
and it began a low, demonic growl that started as
a feeling in my chest before it grew loud enough
for me to hear. Holy shit, I heard my buddy say,
behind me. It was what I needed to snap me
into motion, and I swung my pistol around and put
it on its chest, and I squeezed the trigger as
it stepped back into the shadows. My shot was immediately
followed by two blasts from a shotgun. I felt my
buddy's hand on my shirt collar as he pulled me
back toward the fire. I never let go of the log,
and he managed to drag me and the log back
to the circle of light while keeping the shotgun trained
on the spot where the creature was last seen. I
dropped the butt of the log into the fire and
I looked at my buddy, dead in the eye. Did
you freaking see that? I said, I knew you saw something,
He answered excitedly. I knew you were looking at something
when you froze, but I couldn't see it. And then
it stepped into the light, and you weren't moving, and
then you shot, and it was gone, and all I
could do was try to come and get you. I
looked at him for a moment, and with a long sigh,
I said, thanks for that. Man. With our backs to
the fire, we reloaded and regained our composure. The growling
had stopped. The pine cone and branch throwing had stopped too,
but we weren't out of the woods yet. Was this
what you saw today? I asked? As we stood there,
staring out into the darkness around us. My buddy recalled
a story we'd heard just last year from another friend
of ours. He talked about a grizzly bear making a
sound like a cow elk, and how he'd watched through
his binoculars as the bear convinced the elk that it
was another cow and was able to move in close
enough to kill it. And then he said, yeah, once
this thing came in, that's all I could think about,
the grizzly bear that could fool a cow elk, except
we were the cow elks. He said, he couldn't wrap
his mind around it. It was moving in, but it
stopped just short of revealing itself, and it had to
know we were there. He said. It was big and brown,
but it was walking on two legs. His mind couldn't
accept what he was seeing, so we went to grizzly bear.
We agreed that what we each had seen was no
grizzly bear. It was a sysquatch. The rest of the
night was stressful as you can imagine, and about the
time we'd begin to relax, another pine cone or rock
would come sailing into camp. There was no more growling
or tree branches breaking. It was just enough to keep
us on edge and to remind us that they were
out there and they were watching. When sunlight broke over
the mountain, we heard three of them take off. They
weren't trying to be stealthy at that point. It was
as if they were telling us they were leaving and
what direction they were going. The craziest thing about it
was they were whistling, just like a human. We packed
up camp and we moved out as quickly as we could.
We talked about looking for a blood trail or hair
where we had fired at the one, but we decided
against it. We figured that we didn't hit it. Three
of them moved in on us, and we heard three
of them leaving, and besides, we didn't want to be
in that situation another minute. My buddy and I hang
out a lot. We have barbecues together with our families,
and we go out to dinner with our wives and
we ice fish and the light. But this is one
topic we don't talk about all I know is that's
the last time all hunt that area. I won't let
them chase me away from el Conning altogether, but I'm
not foolish enough to go right back into the area
where I know they are. The most surprised part of
this whole thing happened at a Christmas party this year.
I wasn't willing to talk about what happened during the
all count, but I didn't mention a time when my
wife and I were on an overnight float trip and
someone kept throwing rocks at our tent. We assumed it
was someone trying to harass us. No animal in the
woods can pick up a rock and throw it. It
was like opening Pandora's box. I sat and listened to
story after story from good, solid, no nonsense people talk
about being chased out of the woods and hearing strange
screaming and seeing bipedal creatures cross the road in front
of them in the middle of the night. Somehow it
made me feel better about what happened to me and
my friend