Pennsylvania Game News - March 2011 - 64

Lock, Stock & Barrel The Shooters’ Corner
By Jim Romanelli By Don Lewis

Standoff
HE MODERATING TEMPERATURES of early March must have stirred up the local coyotes. From our back deck on consecutive nights we listened to their spinetingling yips and howls. With several pelts of their kin hanging on fur stretchers from trapping season, my goal now was to take one with a bow. Perched in a hemlock tree late the following afternoon, my first mouth-blown distress call stimulated an immediate response. By the sounds, though, something much larger than a coyote was heading my way, and fast. Loping straight for the hemlock was a large bear. I peered down at bruin as he padded ’round and ’round the tree. When he looked up, from 20 feet high I could see his shiny black nostrils open and close as he tried to discern the mix of odors. Eventually, he began scratching the rough, pleated bark. Undoubtedly he smelled the coyote urine cover scent I had used. Then he started to lick the base of the tree. I could clearly hear the sound of his tongue lapping the coarse bark. Still hoping to continue my hunt, I wondered how best to frighten away the inquisitive bear. Leaning over, I loudly whispered to him. Instead of running, though, he casually looked up at me, squinted, and resumed his business. This was repeated several times with the same results. My next tactic involved wildly shaking a springy hemlock branch. This startled the bear and he ran off about 25 yards, where he then paced back and forth, glaring my direction the entire time. Soon he returned, stood on his hind legs, raked the hemlock bark with his claws, and let out several guttural grunts. He’s getting serious, I thought. By this time, I had abandoned all hope of continuing my coyote hunt and was beginning to worry how I could end our standoff before nightfall. Drastic action was needed. As if I were on a bear hunting drive, I began to holler, “Hey, bear! Yo bear! Scram bear!” My verbal tirade, combined with a forceful shaking of hemlock limbs, didn’t seem to faze him. Because he was still meandering around the base of the tree, I broke off several dead branches and began to play bombardier. One stout branch smacked him square on the snout, which resulted in a loud, woof. Now, I’ve done it, I thought. I was beginning to appreciate how a treed raccoon must feel with a blue tick hound baying at its heels. By and by, the bear either tired of our game or I had made enough of a ruckus to finally disturb him. He trudged into a nearby grapevine thicket and plopped down on his rump. My mind was made up. I had to make a move. Keeping an eye on him, I slung the bow across my back and scrambled down the tree. When I hit the ground the bear stood up. Without hesitation, I beat a hasty retreat. When I arrived home, still somewhat shaken, my wife took one look at my face and said, “Now what happened?” “You’re not going to believe this,” I said, “but I just had a standoff with a huge bear!” As Patty turned to go back inside she sarcastically quipped, “This should be an interesting story.”

By Gregg Rinkus

GAME NEWS

Pennsylvania Game News - March 2011

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