Shooting Bears*

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I don't come here today with the specific intention of transforming 'Consider the Source' into the default go-to Bear Blog, but this story appeals to me on a number of levels, from its "Rain on your Wedding Day" characteristics to its contribution to the whole "Hunting is TOO a sport" argument to the always piquant reminder that while there are those that say alcohol and firearms don't mix, the truly toxic combination is incompetence and firearms.

First of all, we can't help but notice that, as is so often the case, at the very root of the sequence of catastrophic events that followed was a simple case of target mis-identification.  It's Black Bear season.  Blacks are smaller than Grizzlies, and if you are hunting a specific species, one of the key skills one would expect you to have mastered before loading weapons and pulling on camos is the ability to identify that species in the wild.  That just doesn't seem like raising the bar unreasonably.  But even so, if you are on a Black Bear hunt and you DO shoot a Grizzly in error, there are a number of compelling reasons to do nothing but run away immediately - think of it as the Venn Diagram of bad outcomes.  First, the only thing more dangerous in the American wilderness than a Grizzly Bear is a wounded Grizzly Bear.  If you are going back-country in Montana, this is one of the primary things you should be aware of, along with the terrain and the weather.  But if that's not enough, Grizzly Bears are endangered.  It is illegal to shoot them.  Now, sure, anything can happen, but let's recognize the demands of pragmatism here, and agree that if you DO shoot a Grizz in error the thing to NOT do is allow yourself to be associated with that shooting by the nice men at Fish and Game.

But OK, let's all assume that even after the shot went downrange there is complete consensus that it's a wounded Black Bear that we're tracking.  A wounded Black Bear is not a Care Bear, or even that obnoxious little Charmin Bear that lacks the skills to wipe himself after he, trite though it may be, shits in the woods.  If you are going to approach a wounded bear, even if you think it's dead, you do so with extreme caution, with a clear view from a significant distance.  If you go into dense cover after a wounded bear, it will very likely kill you.  The right answer in this case would have been to go back to camp and track the bear tomorrow, after it has bled out.

Finally, if a bear is chewing on your friend and you are going to attempt to discourage it from further dining adventures with a firearm, take a moment to consider your tactical approach.  On the range a very common exercise involves shooting a target in close spatial or temporal proximity to a "no-shoot", that is, a target that represents a friendly or innocent bystander.  Essentially, what you're working with is seventh grade geometry, or, for those of us who mis-spent our youth, shooting pool.  Angles and vectors.  You set up your shot in such a manner that a large portion of the target is exposed as opposed to a small portion of your friend.  Your goal is not so much to immediately kill the bear as it is to encourage him to have something else for lunch.  You err on the side of a clean miss rather than a dirty one, and you shoot chunks off the bear rather than looking for a heart/lung/liver shot.

Hey, I'm all about your right to arm bears, but sometimes that very common insouciant American arrogance just strikes me as a cautionary tale.  One of those 'teachable moments', like when you have ten thousand spoons, and all you need is a .300 Win Mag.

* This amuses me because this was my mom's euphemism for farting.  I never heard another human being on the planet use it in that fashion, and to this day it cracks me up with it's eloquent non sequitur...

Update:  Oooopppppsss.  Just discovered that the incomperable Bouffant has already covered the nuts and the bolts.  Think of this as Op Ed.
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