Deep in the heart of Montana’s pristine Mountains, nestled in the backcountry where the faint of heart do not go there is a ridge. This ridge runs long, and is thick with timber and hidden pockets of land that often hold large amounts of game. For years there had been a legend of an animal that was the uncontested king of this ridge. A bear that was strong and fierce, and ruled the ridge with an iron fist, taking this territory for his own, not to be shared with the likes of any other.
I first heard of the legend when I began guiding in the area a few years ago. It was a story of a big brown bruin that often would be seen on the ridge. Many times this bear would come close, and had offered up many opportunities over the years, but none were able to close the deal. There were tales of this bear running the ridge everyday but not ever doing the same thing twice, like a ghost he was there, and then suddenly was gone. He had gotten into fights with other bears behind our back country camp and caused some fits of rage and enthrallment for many, my outfitter included. This bear had crept into my thoughts often as I waited for my chance to come face to face with such an animal. In the spring of 2014 I got the chance that I had thought about so many times before.
That week I had two hunters, a father and son pair that had gotten away from the farm in Nebraska to fulfill a dream of hunting bears in the rugged Montana Mountains. As is usual with spot and stalk bear hunting the week started off slow. We were relentless with our glassing, finding a high spots on a ridge and tediously picking apart the hillside looking for anything out of the ordinary. A couple days went by and we began to feel the frustration and unparalleled pressure created by the chance of not filling the tag and in turn not fulfilling a dream that my clients had wanted to achieve so greatly.
I made the decision to start hunting the ridge that I had heard about in the stories of the legend in hopes that maybe our luck would change. Two nights in a row we hiked in to spot on the ridge I call the horseshoe and sat, waiting for or quarry to show his face. That time of year the elk are calving, which at times offers up a tasty treat for a bear that has the wit and tenacity to hunt and capture a new born calf. As we sat those nights I tried to use this to our advantage. Waiting until an hour or so before dark then hitting the mouth reeds and sending high pitched mews of a calf in distress down the canyon, hoping it would catch the ear of a wandering bear. The first night offered up the treat of calling in multiple different bulls that had come to check out the sound, looking for the distressed calf in an attempt to help out in whatever way they could. They gave us quite the show, getting all riled up by the sound. They kicked rocks broke trees and acted in ways that astonished my clients and me. We called up thirteen different bulls in total that night but never laid eyes on what we were there for.
By the middle of the week frustration had set in for us all. We came back that Wednesday night with our heads low and the thought of failure creeping into the back of our minds. Then we got a morale booster. Coming into the lodge we laid eyes on that unmistakable shape of a bear hide that was laid out on the deck rail of the lodge. That sight got my clients heads up a bit as they finally confirmed that there was actually bears in Montana, something I am sure they were starting to doubt. That night my outfitter and I decided we would split my clients up the next evening because the chance of running into two bears at the same time to fill the tags had long odds.
My outfitter ended up taking the son and I took the father. He had for some reason refused to stop hunting with me and had put all his faith in me as a guide that I would get the job done. Upon leaving the lodge that evening I turned to a fellow guide when he asked where I was going and said in a joking matter “I am going to take down that big brown son of a B”, he just chuckled and wished me luck and off we went.
This was our last evening of the hunt and one last time we hiked up the ridge, the sun beating us down with every step we took. We were gassed by a long week of hunting that had to this point tested not only our physical fitness but had been mentally taxing as well. We got to the horseshoe, took the packs off and nestled in knowing full well we weren’t going anywhere for the next few hours.
We had sat for what had seemed like forever, I sat counting the seconds until I could start hitting the mouth reed. That time came and I let her rip sending sharp mews that sounded more like screams of pain down the canyon. We stopped and waited, scanning the area around us. Then right as I was about to hit the calls again my client pointed down the hill and whispered that he had seen something cross. From where I sat I could not see what was there but knew that with the direction the animal was going it was only a matter of time before it caught our wind and got the hell out of dodge. I hit that call like my life depended on it hoping that there was some chance I could turn the animal up the ridge and we could confirm what was there.
Minutes went by and my client and I looked at each other with a puzzled face, wondering if we had lost out on an opportunity. Then out of the jack pine not 30 yards away I saw him, barreling up the mountain like he owned the place. He had his head down with his nose scouring the land, looking for the calf in distress. He kept popping his jaws as he came closer to us. He looked up and put his nose in the air and stared at my client and I with big, black, beady eyes. We had found the legend of the ridge and had a chance to end his reign at that moment. He began stepping toward us again and I became tense, hoping my clients trigger finger would not cease since my bear spray was a few feet away at the time. Shots of the AR-10 then rang out sending an echo across the mountain side connecting with the front shoulders, dropping him to the ground. He keep pushing on, showing his toughness and why he had been the unquestioned king of the ridge, pushing dirt with his face like a bulldozer as he made his way into the thicket of pine.
We looked at each other in pure amazement, wondering, had that actually just happened! Had we just taken the bear of a lifetime? Taking a second to let some of our emotions settle we sat and stared at the sight of the sun setting on the mountain. We then gathered our things and began down the hill to confirm the recent events. Armed with the bear spray and the AR-10 we pushed forward. As we broke through the trees we saw him lying there. His time was done; we had successfully taking down the king of the mountain. Emotions ran high as we tagged and took pictures with this greatest of trophies. We skinned and quartered him and began the pack back to the truck stopping to take it all in and laughing about the events of that night. Later that evening the memories made by the hunt became even greater when we learned that my clients son had also filled his tag with the bear of a lifetime and that they had both came to Montana hunted hard and left with some of the best memories that hunting has to offer, and the fulfillment of their longtime dream.
The legend of the king of a ridge will never truly die. He will be a legend etched in time, a story that will without a doubt grace the ears of many of my clients friends and family members as they replay the events leading up to that point, and the great opportunity that was provided to them that day. Made only better when we had recieved news that his son had also taken a bear on the same night, at about the same time only 40 miles away while hunting with my outfitter which would never had happened if we had not taken the chance and split the two of them up.
Montana offers many mysteries and treasures, something that I have learned during my life here. It is a place of solitude, friendship and too many hunters a chance to chase dreams that they have had through their life. Nothing comes easy here as it is still a rugged place, as unpredictable as they come, yet with hard work, dedication and persistence many that come here find success.
Picture of my clients bear (Furthest) and his sons bear (Bottom).
Montana Tines 