The Day I Harvested My Second Bear

Four years ago today, 9/10/2021, was one of the most incredible days of my life. I harvested my second bear with my cousins and their hunting pals, and the memories of that morning are still so vivid.

Waking up at 3:30 a.m. isn’t usually on my agenda, but that Friday morning I was up and ready to roll. I had my Herbalife tea, snacks, hunting license, and Austen’s 243. I loaded up my Edge and headed to Perkinstown, blasting Fred Bear, to meet my cousin Jon. He’d texted me earlier in the week:

"Friday morning you can meet me at my house about 4:30 and ride with me… Jake will probably have first choice, but who knows, anything can happen."

So I parked my car, jumped in with him, and off we went—well, almost. He had forgotten his chew, which (according to him) was more for everyone else’s sake than his own. ;)

Checking Baits

The bait check was so different from what I remembered back in 2012. No sand to check, just camera cards to switch out. At one spot near Miller Dam, Jon looked at me and said, “Linds, you’re gonna want this one to be hit.”

I shrugged it off at first since I didn’t have first tag, but I was so wrong. The excitement in Jon’s voice when he realized the bait was hit was contagious. That was one of my favorite things about hunting with him—he was excited about everything.

We backed out of the trail, radioed the rest of the crew, and “flew” to Aunt Marty & Uncle Bunker’s. (I say flew because at one point we were going 80, and Jon joked that maybe he should slow down since we had a dog on the box.)

Into the Swamp

The plan was to run off that Miller Dam bait. Picture this: a one-lane trail cutting through swampy woods just after daylight, around 6:30 a.m. Everyone parked, grabbed the dogs, and walked in. It didn’t take long—the dogs hit the scent and jumped the bear within minutes.

I sat in the truck with Jon, watching the GPS and listening to the dogs. They pushed the bear about 600 yards before it turned and came back our way. The sound of the dogs changed (if you know, you know), and Jon knew the bear was treed—only 250–300 yards out.

He slammed the truck in park and said, “Grab your stuff—we’re going in.”

I panicked. I hadn’t mentally prepared to harvest a bear that morning. My knees were shaking, my boots felt unsteady, but I grabbed my gun, stuffed my tag and clip in my pocket, and followed my long-legged cousin into the swamp. I was tripping over branches and stumps, soaked from the knees down, adrenaline pumping so hard I could barely notice.

Face to Face

The dogs were in heaven doing what they love. The bear was treed, the swamp buzzing with their energy. The rest of the crew gathered, trying to evaluate its size. Jake passed, saying he wanted to go for something bigger. That’s when my cousin Butch looked at me and said, “Linds, you want this one?”

Eyes wide, heart racing, I nodded. “It’s in the tree, the dogs did the work—let’s do it.” My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my phone to record the dogs and the bear in the tree.

Butch cleared some branches, Jon stood nearby with a backup gun, and I took aim. Then when I went to pull the trigger—nothing. I’d forgotten to chamber a round. (Cue me feeling like a complete fool.)

Butch calmly reminded me to breathe, and I reset. I remembered Uncle Bunker’s words from my first bear: “Just breathe, and when you’re ready, pull the trigger.”

I did. And within seconds, that beautiful black bear with a white blaze on her chest fell from the tree. I stood there, thanking Spirit for guiding me through the harvest. When the crew leashed the dogs and rolled the bear over, I saw her white blaze. Tears welled in my eyes. For me, that blaze symbolized enhanced strength and clarity, inner wisdom, resilience, and connection to the earth — all things I desperately needed at that time in my life.

The Aftermath

By 7:30 a.m., it was done. I sent Austen a picture of my wet, blood-stained pants with the text: “Got it done.” He was confused—I wasn’t supposed to tag out that day. We took photos, laughed, and carried that moment with us, not realizing how much I’d cherish those cousin pictures in the months to come.

The rest of the day was a blur of logistics—getting the bear out of the swamp, into the back of my Ford Edge, (thank God for WeatherTech mats, cardboard and garbage bags) then to the taxidermist and eventually the meat locker. When I arrived at the txidermist, Jan, the owner, looked at me like I was crazy: “I wasn’t expecting you to bring it in this.”
“Neither was I,” I said with a shouder shrug.

He asked if there was a way I could get a truck to pick it back up to take it to the meat locker. Well, I tried. Everyone was busy, ours was hooked up to the camper and the back was full of firewood and a generator, Austen was working over an hour away and couldn't leave work to assist. We were kind of on a time crunch because it was going to hit 80 degrees in the afternoon. So back I went to grab the carcass and put it back in my car.

Off I went to Martin's Meats. At one point, it was just me and a young woman wrangling 260 pounds of bear out of my car while all the men disappeared for lunch. She looked at me, flexed her arm, and said, “Woman Power!” And together, we got it done.

By noon, I was back in town, sitting down to lunch with a margarita, in disbelief that the hunt was already over. My first bear had taken an entire season—this one was finished in just a few hours.

Reflection

I’ll forever be grateful for that day. It was my last hunt with Jon, maybe that’s why the details are etched in my memory. Reflecting on it now, I wish I’d taken him up on his offer:

"Just because you got your bear doesn’t mean you can’t keep coming along."

I wish I had.

But what I carry with me is not just the harvest, but the spirit of the hunt, the laughter with cousins, the tears, the adrenaline, the lessons in patience and presence, and the gratitude for every single part of it.