The Blood Instinct Blog with Crazy Carl: November 2011

I don't believe a day goes by that my thoughts do not inevitably drift towards the outdoors. My boss knows when hunting season nears by the glazed look on my face and hands behind my head as I day dream of slowly making a stalk on a buck I had missed on a previous hunt. In my day dreams, I make a fantastic shot and anchor that beast of a buck. Well, after returning from a great archery deer hunt in the Chiricahuas ( with tag still in pocket ), I was finding it hard to shake the desire to get back out there. During my bow hunt I saw three black bears! Of course, bear season would not open for another month. So, after actually seeing bears and lots of bear sign, I decided to dedicate a week to trying to hunt down a bear in the Chiricahuas. Also, this providing me with another opportunity to scout the unit a little more for my up coming rifle coues deer hunt. I was glad that my dad had decided to join me for the first weekend. I do believe he was fired up and anxious to check out the Chiricahuas after I returned with some awesome pictures and video from my archery hunt.

Dad and I left the afternoon before opening day and arrived at Herb Martyr campsite, where we set up camp in the growing darkness. I found it hard to nod off for the night. I was awake, anticipating the breaking of dawn on opening day. I had seen only a hand full of bears in the wild and I actually felt like I had a chance to take an Arizona bruin from this area.
We woke opening morning to the chill of the crisp, fall mountain air. We decided that we would hike to the base of the peaks to the NW of us, where I had seen a bear a month earlier. As is typical in coues country, the going became very strenuous, very fast. We trudged about half way up a mountain and split up to glass from different vantage points. We saw several coues deer and heard a hound on the trail of a bear or lion, but no bears revealed themselves. We returned to camp for lunch and spent the afternoon exploring a couple more areas that I had not been able to access due to road closures during the bow season. We returned to camp exhausted, as expected when hunting Southern Arizona, that evening and had no trouble falling asleep.

A big Coues buck I'd like to find during rifle season

Bear fur on a popular scratching post

We rose early again the next morning set out on a trail to the west of our camp. We hiked for about 5 miles and came to a beautiful draw with an open hillside that would be ideal for glassing. Dad and I separated to glass both up and down the draw. As I began to glass, I focused my Vortex binos on a big black spot I noticed with my naked eye. It looked like a big black stump, which were prevalent after the Horseshoe II fire had burned most of the Coronado National Forest. But, then I saw the stump move forward. I immediately came to the conclusion that it was a bear...and a big one at that! I raced to grab my dads attention. We returned to the spot I had glassed the bear up from and tried to spot him again. In the excitement of spotting what looked like a big bear, I failed to take note of landmarks around it to make relocation easier. I briefly glassed the area and determined that he had gone over the ridge or was behind some foliage. We decided that Dad would stay and glass the hillside while I dropped down and up the other side to hopefully find the bear again and put him to the dirt. As I crested the ridge, out of breath and legs burning with lactic acid. I saw three coues deer bolt down the draw. I was discouraged knowing that if the deer were alerted to my presence, the bear was too. I stalked through the oaks and junipers for a little longer wondering if it had in fact even been a bear I had seen. After lunch at camp, we returned to the draw in hopes of spotting a bear on the hill side again. A short sit later, the skies turned threatening and the crack of thunder encouraged us to retire back to camp for the evening.
The next morning, Dad was only able to hunt til about noon before he would have to hit the road and head back home. We decided to check out a canyon I had heard good things about through some of my online hunting buddies. We walked into the canyon system and began scanning the canyon sides with our binos for anything that resembled a bear. This proved to be quite frustrating as just about every stump, rock in the shade, or pile of rubble began to look like bears! At one point I was absolutely certain I had spotted a bear about 1/4 mile straight up a mountain. Fortunately my dad, ever so patient, continued to glass the spot, as I bounded towards the base of the mountain. After more review, the bear I just about climbed a wickedly steep mountain side after, turned out to be a burned up Yucca plant. Thank heavens for my dad's patience...and Swarovski binoculars. The canyon revealed nothing but a few deer tracks and some border patrol agents. At camp, we said our goodbyes and I promised to check in as often as I could while I stayed and hunted the next three days alone. A quiet evening on a distant hill provided a beautiful sunset and a few coues deer does, but no black bears. The next day I hunted a saddle I had spotted a couple coues deer bucks feeding near on a previous evening in hopes of, not only seeing a bear, but to see if the bucks were using the area regularly. I saw a few more deer but couldn't determine if they were bucks or not. That afternoon I drove to a cemetery a few miles to east of the saddle to hike in from a different direction, for a different view. As I made ready my gear, I heard foot steps coming my direction. Being the savvy Southern Arizona hunter I am (...try to be), I immediately dropped my right hand to the grip of my .357 mag "Big Medicine". From past experiences, I was not surprised when a line of illegal aliens walked out from the tree line 25 yards from me. The lead smuggler spotted me has he turned to the man behind him. The group of illegal border jumpers froze as we cautiously stared at each other. With my brows heavy and my hand never leaving my unbuttoned holster, I hollered a single order "Vamanos!". The group took off and I quickly put my gear back in the truck and drove to another spot, grinding my teeth with frustration and anger after once again having one of my hunting spots spoiled by the threat of the illegal desert walkers. I returned to the side of the saddle I had hunted that morning and glassed the valley below until dark. As I hiked out I spotted two great looking bucks feeding about a 150 yds away. I was able to snap a couple of pictures which made the evening a success in my book.
As I was sitting by the fire at camp, dozing a little as I looked up at the clear night sky, a truck rolled up to the trail head above my camp. The doors closed and I heard no voices which made me a little nervous after the days events. I saw two headlamps moving in the dark woods, making their way towards my camp. I stood and walked outside the fire light and waited. As I saw 2 men slowly creep out from the trees I said "Speak English!". The 2 men turned out to be border patrol agents checking campsites. We all had a little chuckle. After I informed them of my run in with the illegals that morning, they understood why I was so nervy as they approached my camp. They took GPS coordinates that I had saved after the encounter and even looked at the soles of my boots so they could follow where I had been. They thanked me for the information, wished me luck hunting and headed out. After several years hunting down south, I've gained new respect for our border patrol agents. Those men and women are constantly in the some of the toughest and most rugged terrain our state has to offer. My hat's off to them.

The next day I hunted through rain and howling wind which kept most of the wildlife hunkered down (I'm not that smart). After a cold discouraging day, I moved camp over the mountain pass so I could spend my last day hunting and scouting the other side of the Chiricahuas. As the sun rose the next morning I was already on my way up the mountain...and up and up and up. After a ferocious up hill trek, I came to a gorgeous green mountain side with a great view to glass from. This would be my last day to hunt. I glassed hard for hours until my eyes felt like they would pop out of my head and, once again, the afternoon monsoons returned and chased me off the mountain. I ended the 2011 fall bear season with my tag left useless and unfilled. As hunters we say "we filled our tag" if we were able to harvest our pursued animal. After hunting in Arizona for years I feel as though whether I return with a cooler full of meat or not, my tag is always "filled" with the memories of the hunt and the special people I spend time in the outdoors with.