No Roads Back

I have always dreamed of flying into a remote wilderness area to hunt. I’ve often imagined experiencing the feeling of watching the plane take off, knowing I was truly alone in the mountains. Growing up in a hunting family, I spent the majority of my life in wild places, yet getting dropped in the remote wilderness and not being able to walk back to the truck was a stepping stone in my growth as a hunter. A handful of years back, I got a glimpse of what this felt like when I went on a 14-dayrafting trip on the Grand Canyon. We would float 250 miles of river, and the only way off the river was on a helicopter. I remember pushing off the boat ramp that morning and an overwhelming feeling of adventure and responsibility came over me. I wondered if the mountains would give me that same feeling?

Then, in January, as a group of women was finishing up the Harvest Feast hosted by Venery in Missoula, MT, a redhead named Mel came up to me and asked me if I wanted to fly into the Idaho Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness to hunt for black bears. Without hesitation, I told her to sign me up. That night, I opened my OnX maps and started looking over the massive area encompassing 2,366,757 acres; the largest contiguous federally managed wilderness area in the United States in the lower 48 states. Blown away by the remote vastness, I knew this was an experience I needed to make a reality. 

Loading the plane with our gear, the anticipation grew inside each one of us. Butterflies fluttered in our bellies from the excitement, the freedom to roam, and the happy anxiety of what was to come. The three of us had never hunted together, a risk many hunters would never take. The next six days would be filled with mystery as we would become part of something bigger than we could imagine in that moment. Mel, a self-taught hunter with seven years of experience, a jiu-jitsu black belt, and a search-and-rescue certification, had hunted this country before with her male friends. This time she wanted to share it with like-minded women. On her previous two trips, she hadn't seen bears, but after hearing pilots talk about bears being packed out of here, she knew she had to come back. Alex, owner of Venery, a program that teaches women to hunt, was stepping into backcountry hunting for the first time. And then there was me, a lifelong hunter in my ninth year as a guide, holding a camera and ready to capture whatever unfolded. As I looked out the small windows of the plane towards the endless mountain ranges, I had a feeling this hunt would unfold in a way I couldn’t predict and that it would create a story worth telling. 

As we listened to the engine roar through the canyon, we looked up at the small plane disappearing among the steep ridgelines. A big smile covered our faces as we hauled our gear to our desired camping spot. Here we would set up base camp, and if needed, we would make spike camp on the mountain closer to the bears. Not being able to hunt the same day as you fly, we took the first moments to make a cup of coffee and soak in the reality that we were here. We made breakfast and set up camp, giddy to be in the mountains next to a raging river. The weather was warm, but not too warm yet, and we chatted about where we should scout later that afternoon. I found my mind wandering to the high peaks that held the snowline and thought  “we should be camping up there.” In the majority of the bear films I have watched from successful bear hunters, they are always high in elevation, and most of the time the guys have to hike water into the areas they camp, enduring and conquering the mountain as they find camp on a saddle in the middle of the mountains.  As the temperatures warmed at camp I thought to myself, are we setting ourselves up for failure? I shared my thoughts with the group but decided to trust in Mel’s previous time here as she talked about the green-up areas we should focus on first. 

The scouting trip later that day was focused just upriver from camp a couple miles looking into three very green drainages. Ticks crawled all over my body and I instantly regretted not covering my clothing in permethrin, like the other women had. We spent hours glassing and came up empty. Not seeing any bears, we had no direction for our first morning's hunt which worried me a bit, but I also accepted the challenge of it. As we hiked back to camp my gut told me the same thing, you need to focus on higher ground. 

We woke the next morning and planned to glass the country behind camp and if we didn’t see anything we would move on towards higher ground. The country down low held bright green grass and was filled with various vegetation for the bears to feed on. After a couple hours of glassing and not seeing any bears we threw our packs on our backs and headed towards a ridgeline that would take us to a spot of focus for late afternoon and evening. The temps had warmed up quickly which threw us all for a surprise because the weather app claimed it would be 10 - 15 degrees cooler.  Crossing a small creek and avoiding getting water in our boots, the beginning of the hike loomed in front of us. The day was young and we had plenty of time to slowly hike the south-facing ridgeline. As we climbed the pace began to slow and the breathing became harder for Alex. Conversations about plan b and other areas to hunt that were more gradual in elevation filled the air as we stopped for lunch on the mountainside. Frustration quickly came over me and I continued to question if we’d even see any bears on this trip. Having experienced clients being pushed too hard on previous hunts, I knew this could turn into a miserable experience if Alex pushed past her breaking point. Looking over OnX maps we found a spot closer to camp that might hold a bear. The timber was thick, there was water, and the grass was very green. Why not try it out, we thought? As we hiked back to camp I couldn’t get the frustration out of my mind. I felt like we wasted an entire morning. I felt like Alex didn’t train hard enough. I felt like she was taking the easy way out. I was afraid we'd go home with nothing to show for it.
After returning to camp, Alex came to me to clear the air. She knew something was bothering me, best friends have a way of doing that. So, I told her how I was feeling. I felt embarrassed but also empowered by my emotions as I expressed my concerns for the hunt. In return she acknowledged that my feelings were valid and she apologized for slowing us down. She mentioned she would be happy to stay at camp while Mel and I went and looked for bears up high. I told her without hesitation that that was not an option. We would all hunt together. That was the plan from the very beginning and it would stay that way. 

With the air cleared between us, we pulled our packs back on and headed up the ridge. The sun was lower in the sky now, casting a warm glow through the ponderosas. Slowly walking the ridge I saw a black bear moving through the timber below us. Alex and I set up in front of a tree while Mel dropped behind us in the saddle to predator call. We didn’t know if the bear was a boar, a sow or a cub, and as we waited I thought how cool would it be to actually call in a black bear. Having sat for ten minutes I was getting antsy and thought maybe we needed to reposition or sneak in a little closer. As soon as the decision was made I saw the bear moving  below us and coming in quickly. For a brief moment the bear disappeared again and I wondered if I was about to put myself between a sow and her cub. I raised my .308 Henry lever action just in case. A small black bear, only a year or two old, jumped up on a log just 15 yards in front of me. For a short moment it stopped and presented a perfect shot opportunity, but there was no question in my decision, and I let the small, young, and inexperienced bear walk away. This bear deserved to live another year, to have a chance at life without mom by its side. We regrouped, the morale between all of us at its all time high for the trip so far. We called in a bear! We would not go home skunked! We stayed put for the remainder of the evening, only having another hour of daylight left. We hoped there was another, bigger bear in the area and perhaps it too would come into our calls. Coming up empty handed, we headed back to camp still in awe of our close encounter earlier that evening. 

That night we sat around the fire and talked about life, hunting, gear, relationships, past hunts, and more. The conversations flowed easily as the crackle of the fire brought a cozy ambiance. We made a plan to make an early start the next day and hike four miles to a basin that looked like great bear habitat. After a great night's sleep we woke to a fog hovering on the valley floor. Elk fed along an old burn as we chatted with two guys camped along the river who were hunting by pack rafts. They passed along what they had heard from other hunters that all the bears were up at the snowline. It made sense, the weather was so warm, they wanted to be in the coolest place possible, plus the new vegetation was high in nutrients. Before we went separate ways they told us “it is awesome to see women out here getting after it.” We wished them luck and safe travels as we continued on, bears on our minds. 

The climb was slow going but the attitudes were much more positive this time around. We would take breaks in the shade of the ponderosa along the trail making jokes to keep the energy lighthearted.  We made sure to glass every single inch of the hills along the way, knowing there could be bears anywhere. Reaching the top of the ridgeline gave us a break in the steep elevation gain yet we went slow, still hunting as we went. A loud, piercing shriek stopped us cold on the trail. We looked at each other. “Mountain lion?” we whispered to each other. “It sure sounded like one." We glassed the timber edges hard, hoping to catch the flick of a tail or a tawny shape slipping between the trees, but found nothing. The forest went quiet again. We kept moving, a little more alert, ears tuned to the ridgeline. Hiking back up that same trail the next morning, Mel stopped and crouched down. There in the dust, laid perfectly on top of our boot prints from the day before, was a large tom cat track. We hadn't imagined it. We finally reached the glassing point we wanted to sit at for the rest of the day. We nestled into the rocky knob, set up our tripods and of course enjoyed a few snacks. It was time to put the glass to work. 

Bear hunting takes a lot of patience when it comes to finding them in your optics. Bears are not like ungulates that feed in the open and travel in larger numbers. They tend to stick to thick cover and move in the open quickly. If you're not looking at the right place at the right time you might completely miss them. At this point we hadn't seen any bears and I decided to move up the hill to get a new vantage point and look over some new country. Something I think you should do when you are hunting in a group, there is no sense in multiple people looking at the same thing. Elk tracks covered the ground and I could smell them as I made my way along the ridge. Reaching the next highpoint I dropped off the edge just a bit so I could get a better vantage of the drainage. With my naked eye I could see a big black dot and when I pulled my binoculars up I verified it was a bear. A big black bear. I hurried back to Mel and Alex to let them know I had picked up a bear. We gathered our things and started to make our way to a finger that would put us in closer range of the bear. It was unknown yet if it was a sow or a boar, but there was no chance I was taking a shot from the glassing knob, so I thought it would be best to get into shooting range just in case. The small loose rock on the steep hillside made for slow and meticulous going, but we welcomed the challenging footing and made it to a rock outcropping overlooking the bottom. The wind was howling, making a long-range shot even more unlikely. When I first saw the bear it was slowly moving at a sidehill angle down towards the bottom. I hoped it was coming towards the south slope we were on to feed or to the creek at the bottom to drink. If so, we would be able to see it and get a 250 - 350 yard shot. Mel let out a handful of predator calls as we sat and waited, but with the gusting wind, the bear most likely didn’t even hear it. We sat. We waited. We saw nothing. With a long trek back to camp we started back with the plan to return tomorrow in hopes of picking that bear back up. 

I thought it was pretty amazing that Alex, a mother of 3, was on the mountain with us looking for bears on Mother’s Day. She conquered the hill like a pro this time around and we reassured her that most people in their 30’s couldn't do what she was doing. Mel and I were proud of her for pushing past the struggles that come with hunting big country.

We found ourselves back on the same glassing knob and it didn’t take long for me to pick up movement in the shadows. Putting the spotter on the bear we discovered it was a sow and her two very small cubs. We watched with glee as the cubs played and  mom stayed close, keeping an eye out. A Mother’s Day bear. We watched as she laid on her back and nursed one cub and as the other ran up logs and tore them apart. She was a true symbol of motherhood: resilience, presence, strength, and unwavering courage. It felt less like a hunting moment and more like a privilege, like the mountain had decided we'd earned something better than a shot.

The afternoon was hot and we built shelters with our packs, trekking poles and extra layers. But that didn’t prevent a headache from coming on and I started to feel lightheaded. Mel was gracious enough to give me her apple. The sweet, juicy, crunchy, apple nearly brought instant relief. I drank some electrolytes and we sat under the shade of a big fir tree and laughed our faces off as we played “would you rather”. After a little while we headed back to the glassing knob and got back to work looking for a bear we could go after. Movement once again caught my eye as I glassed up a bear feeding through the timber. We thought maybe it was the sow and her cubs and we watched closely to see if it was a shooter or not. We waited and waited and finally the bear reappeared. We confirmed it was not the sow as she also reappeared on the other side of the drainage feeding with her cubs. Watching the solo bear we decided it was a shooter but the dang bear would not sit still. We watched as it tore up an old stump, and ran and jumped over logs. It would disappear into the timber and then come back out just for a brief moment. Daylight was starting to fade and the bear had disappeared into the timber. Once again we walked away without a shot but with great optimism for the next day's hunt. 

No one set an alarm, we slept in knowing the bears were not coming out into the open until late in the afternoon. This was the last day of our hunt and we enjoyed the slow morning. We sipped on our last supplies of coffee as we glassed the hills behind camp with no particular urgency, scanning for bears out of habit as much as hope, watching the light move across the drainage while the river roared beside us. We talked about nothing important and everything that mattered. The kind of conversation that only happens when you're far enough from the rest of your life that it can't interrupt. At some point we put our feet in the water. The cold hit like a shock and we gasped and laughed and kept them in anyway, letting the river pull the ache out of four days of steep country. Knees, ankles, the small complaints that accumulate on a backcountry hunt, the ruggedness of the Frank Church taking its toll.

By early afternoon we laced our boots back up. One more climb. One more chance. The trail waited, steep and dusty. We knew every shaded rest, every loose rock and pinecone, every place where the switchback flattened just enough to catch your breath. And, we knew exactly what we were walking toward, a bear could be up there right now, feeding in the last of the good light. That possibility was enough to put everything we had left into our legs. We had found our pace, the three of us, and we moved together up the mountain with tired bodies and hungry eyes one last time. 

We never faltered from our agreement that we would stick together and that nobody would be left behind. It was refreshing to hunt with women who we felt didn’t judge and didn’t have a different agenda. While there were challenges, we never felt as though we couldn’t express them. We were filled with gratitude for these mountain moments as we made that final climb to our glassing spot. Once again, we spotted the sow and her cubs and when the other bear didn’t appear we figured she must have run it off. We were very happy with our hunt as we found success in many ways. We explored new country. We found bears. We didn’t quit. We pushed past the challenges and were reminded that we were strong and capable. We learned how to adapt and hunt as a team and accept that one's expectations of the hunt were useless and better left at camp. We formed new friendships and deepened the ones that we already had. Our connection with the wild places and self became richer. We dream of going back, and I know for certain I will. To keep exploring and learning, to find more bears, to continue pushing myself as a backcountry hunter, and hopefully one day to fill that tag. Until then, this story will remind us how magical the vastness of Idaho's wilderness is and leave us with hope that one day we will return.