Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/68594
deer should now be on the endangered species list, out steps a racker, the adrenalin flows and your heart is pounding. It's all the same whether you're hunting sheep, antelope, elk or deer. It is not the same with bear. You see, bears can take you, or come so close to rearranging your components that you won't give a damn who hears you whimper! C As Charles Allen says, "Bear hunting is like driving on the left-hand side of the road. It's not a case of if, but when that big wreck will happen . . ." harles knows whereof he speaks. The low- key Texan, owner of the cutlery firms Knives of Alaska and DiamondBlade, also operates Alaska Expedition Co., the outfitting service he runs from Driftwood Lodge on the Tsiu River in southeastern Alaska. The lodge caters to fishermen questing for coho salmon and hunters seeking the area's phenomenal moose and coastal brown bears. Allen was guiding for bear in the Tsiu dunes when he finally had his wreck. After so many years guiding in the Alaskan bush, he'd experienced countless "bluff" charges, but this brown bear would be different, and Allen's client would get an adrenaline dump he could measure in liters. The Tsiu is small, its lower reaches meandering to the sea through an open flat of coarse dark sands. Toward the river's mouth lay the dunes, a scattering of windswept humps that in bear season, can be described in a single word: creepy. Imagine countless steep-sided mounds of gray, 15 feet is ironic that one of the greatest allures of the hunt lies in the unpredictability of its outcome. Unproductive days drag slowly by, and just when you're wondering if whitetail they like to curl up on the side of a dune to snooze. If you blunder over the wrong sand pile, you could easily find yourself a Treadwell Treat, the bears' equivalent of an after-dinner mint. llen, his assistant James Minafie, Cabela's executive Jim Gianladis and cameraman Kerry Seay entered Tsiu at first light in early October. Days earlier, they had taken a 65- inch moose with a bow on camera for Cabelas' Outdoors Journal TV program. Unfortunately, this day's weather would have ruined the love life of a brass monkey. The men walked into the rolling dunes blinded by slashing rains driven by 45-mile-per-hour winds with the temperature hovering at 35 degrees. A bow was out of the question; instead Minafie carried a .375 H&H and Allen his backup .404 B&J. A high and clustered about as if deposited from some great muffin pan. Heavy rains during the coho run cause the Tsiu to flood, its waters oozing out among the dunes. As the waters recede and seep into the porous sands, pools remain – pools containing hundreds of salmon pathetically stranded from their spawning runs. The brown bears have been aware of this annual calamity for eons and they show up in numbers to feed, gorging on the hapless fish while barely getting their ankles wet. This is where you hunt, a visitor searching among the dunes just like the bears. If the dunes line up a certain way, you may have an alley of visibility 60 yards long but only 15 yards wide. As you move along, the next shooting lane may only be 20-by-20 yards. It's an ever-changing claustrophobic landscape. Wait, you say – Why not play it safe and just climb atop a dune for a better view? Not such a great idea, for once the bears have gorged themselves on fresh coho, They hunted into the wind, barely able to see as they slowly moved from dune to dune, hoping somehow to spot a feeding bear. Nothing. More dunes, pools and alleys were checked as they pressed on, the men's tracks mingling with those of the prowling predators. So it went until the drenching rains at last began to change from a steady deluge to a series of quick downpours interspersed with momentary lulls. It was during one such break that Allen made out the darkened form of a bear cresting a dune about a half-mile away. Cautiously, the men began stalking across the soaked mounds until they eventually closed the gap to a manageable 75 yards. The bear was moving from right to left when Allen whispered, "This is it, Jim, take him!" With the camera rolling and Allen kneeling beside him, Gianladis fired from the prone position. The shot was perfect. The bear dropped, rolled, came to its feet and splashed across a shallow pool. Gianladis fired again, and with this second heart shot, the bear was dead. Then Minafie spotted the second bear! A sow with its cub was just off to the right, 120 yards out, its great head swinging back and forth. She could easily see the hunters and immediately smelled the dead bear's blood. It was all too much for her. Fearing for her cub, she went into full protective mode and charged, racing down the long gray alley. Horrorstruck, the men watched as she came on. "You guys run! Run!" Allen shouted. Waving his rifle, he stepped toward the charging bear while frantically yelling, "Haaaa! Bear! Heyaaah!" It had no effect. Instead, she went into high gear, stretching out her gallop like a thoroughbred. Her mouth hung wide open, her thick tongue lolling out one side as she gulped in air. At 75 yards with her head up, she was locked in and flying! bear, her eyes fixed solely on Allen, was now at the base of the dune. Just as her front legs left the ground and she propelled herself into the attack, Allen fired. The Allen forgot about any warning shot. The lunging SPOR TI N G C L ASSICS 138