6th Prize
Hunting Journal with Weatherby Logo (100 awarded)
Paul Youngblood, Texas
“The snow is falling gently now. Earlier in the day it was really coming down with some gusty winds that would blow the snow horizontally at times. But now there is silence except for our own breathing. My guide is on my left as we sit at the base of a great tree...the lowest limbs of which hang several feet above our heads. These limbs, heavy with the weight of the snow droop down, but still provide some measure of shelter against the snow that has been falling now for more than a week. Though I have only been here four days, the countryside had been covered by a thick blanket of snow for some time before my arrival. I am in Romania, specifically the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, the home of some of the world’s largest brown bears.
Beat drives are the customary method of hunting the great bruins in this region, but the Romanians have also hunted bears over bait for hundreds of years. The cold winter is coming, and the bears are hungry. The wild pig we had shot yesterday for today’s bait is what the bears are looking for. My guide is confident that we will see a truly big bear today. We have seen several good bears in the last few days, bears I would have happily taken, but my guide is holding out for a truly big bear. In his broken English, he has described some big tracks he has seen in this area. But I am getting nervous because I am running out of time on this hunt. My flight from Bucharest leaves tomorrow morning, and I do not want to go home having shot nothing. It’s past noon now, and darkness will be completely upon us in four or five hours. Like most Europeans, the Romanians will hunt after dark, but with this snow and cloud cover, there will be no moonlight to speak of, and tracking a wounded brown bear in the dark is to be avoided at all costs.
I am considering all of this and the rumbling in my stomach that reminds me that breakfast was six hours ago when my guide taps me on the arm. With his gloved hand he points to my right front. About 60 meters from our bait, which is itself 50 meters directly in front of us emerges a good–sized bear. At first, we can barely see him through the snow as he exits the tree line. This large brown bear is unusually blond, and I am just starting to imagine this beautiful hide as a rug when a great crash erupts from the woods causing the big blond to launch into a run toward the opposite tree line directly to my left. I raise my trusty Weatherby Dangerous Game Rifle to my shoulder and find the big blond in my scope. I know I have only seconds to make the shot and anchor the bear before he enters the tree line. I am confident the 500 grain Barnes X bullet will do its job if I do mine and place it properly. The mighty 460 Weatherby cartridge is really overkill for most hunting situations, but hunting questions like the one in which I am currently involved are what the round was designed to answer. I am glad to have the power it offers on this occasion.
I feel pressure under my nearly frozen finger tip as I begin squeezing the trigger when my guide slaps my arm and tells me to look. I look through the snow in the direction he is pointing. Now I see the source of the loud crash I had heard and the reason the big blond is running away. A mammoth brown bear has smashed through the tree line and is heading directly toward the bait. He had obviously been following the big blond bear, but now he was establishing himself as the alpha. The big blond had wanted no part of him.
He is by far the largest bear I have seen since I have been here. He is the reason I came to Romania. He is the bear I have been looking for. His great head swings from side to side and his big hump oscillates as he lumbers toward the large wild boar we have placed as bait.
Again I raise my rifle and wait as he slows in his approach to the bait. Through my scope I can see his massive head, marked with scars from fights he had no doubt won. He is a grizzled old bear with silver tips on his hair. He is a survivor. I am in awe of this old gladiator. Suddenly I realize my guide is telling me to shoot. I know he is wondering what I am waiting for. I snug the Weatherby to my shoulder and put my crosshairs on the center of his chest below his big head. I shoot. The blast from the muzzle causes a shower of snow from the limbs above us. The big bear is totally obscured from our view. My guide has his Heym 9.3 x 64mm to his shoulder just in case. But I am certain. I know the shot was good as I replay the shot in my mind. The hold was good. The shot broke cleanly. Nevertheless I have reloaded as if by reflex. I am attempting to peer through the cloud of snow generated by the blast of my shot.
Finally the snow settles and I can see the hulk down by the bait pole. He is a big brown pile on a sea of white. I know it is over. We start toward him...rifles at the high ready. We close to within spitting distance and there is no life left in the great bear. Still, you do not take chances with wounded game so I touch his open eye with my muzzle and get no response from him. He is dead.
I know why too. There is a plenty of evidence on the snow that the Barnes X had completely penetrated the bear and had exited to fly on into the hillside further down range. This observation is verified as we render the big bear into manageable pieces. The big bullet showed good expansion and had wrecked the heart, the whole left lung, had plowed on through the paunch and had exited the left hip smashing those bones on the way out. He had been dead before the snow had settled after my shot.
Tonight back at the lodge I will drink my vodka with my guide and toast the successful hunt and I will drink another shot to honor this great old warrior. I know my flight back to Texas will be spent remembering every detail of this hunt. I will always cherish these moments as a hunter. He will make the record books here both for skull size and size of the hide, but he is my record of a lifetime of hunting.”