Without warning, things went from bad to worse. A brown bear loomed just thirty feet away through Kodiak Island’s infamous alders. An angry, wounded, thousand-pound bear.
The lone hunter, an Alaskan resident, had lined up a perfect shot. Perfect until the bear took one small, sudden step forward. The 300 grain, .375 caliber bullet intended for the bruin’s upper chest struck just behind the ribs. The bear bellowed and dashed away at forty miles per hour.
The hunter spent a fear filled fifty minutes on the profuse blood trail until it went cold. Although large, the exit wound had closed up, as abdominal wounds can. The hunter stopped and surveyed the thick brush with a wary eye. Nothing.
The hunter’s heart rate almost doubled. The bear you do not see is the bear which will kill you. Then a low grunt drifted on the wind. Over there. Close.
A hard, cold rain broke from the ragged clouds overhead and in less than two minutes turned into thick, wet snow. The hunter inched forward. The white stuff smothered the hunter’s rifle and froze the bolt solid in seconds. If the bear needed more than the one round in the chamber, the hunter had none… Read More
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