It was a sleepless night for both Jim and Monty.  It’s always difficult to accept that a well-intended shot attempt may have failed to connect in a lethal manner, and now they were equally suffering the distress of knowing that Jim’s bear may not be found.  Undeniably, trailing a marginally-hit animal is a physically and emotionally exhausting endeavor, even for seasoned outdoorsmen and skilled outfitters like Jim and Monty, but I knew without a shred of doubt that they would put their best efforts forth to recover the bear.

The plan was to begin the search at first light.  Nolan, along with Bob and Darrel, would join in on the pursuit while Candis and I would watch over camp and wait for their return.  I would also double check the accuracy of my bow and prepare to hunt later that afternoon.  My fishing tackle was officially retired for this trip.  I was a bow-toting bear hunter once again.

Around noon, a tired and dejected group of trackers pulled their boat up to the shore and relayed the story to us.  Jim’s first shot was slightly off target, resulting in a non-fatal hit.  Because the sign at the suspected impact location indicated a clean miss, they assumed that his second shot most likely glanced off of a sapling or a low-hanging tree branch as he swung and fired at the escaping bruin.        

Jim was decidedly upset, but Monty was beside himself.  It was the first time during his chosen profession as an outfitter that one of his clients failed to recover a wounded bear.  He was completely sick about it, especially with the manner in which the last two weeks were playing out.  As a tight-knit union of dedicated and ethical hunters whose main objective is to harvest animals as quickly and humanely as possible, we all could identify and sympathize with their plight.

The plan for the rest of the day was for Monty to take Bob to his bait site and for Nolan to transport Darrel and me to our baits after we all sat down and ate lunch.  Monty and Nolan would then meet up with Jim and pick up the blood trail at the point where they had stopped tracking earlier in the day.  The search for Jim’s bear would continue for the next two days.

At 1:30 p.m. I was sitting 12 feet up in the air, slowly scanning the area for movement.  A little earlier, as Nolan carefully and quietly steered the boat toward the water’s edge, I saw that the bait barrel was still standing upright even before I stepped foot onto shore.  I’ll be honest, it was a little discouraging to see that my bait had still not been hit, but I wasn’t going to let it get me down.  I drove all the way to Manitoba to hunt black bear, and that is exactly what I intended to do, even if the odds and the weather conditions were stacked against me.

For eight and a half hours I sat and enjoyed the daily habits and travel patterns of a vast array of woodland creatures, but the bears still gave me the slip.  During my two previous visits to this location, I had witnessed the brazen antics of a fearless popcorn-stealing chipmunk, and now he was back for more.  I jokingly thought to myself that if he continued to feed on popcorn throughout the spring and summer, by the end of August he will have grown to be a legitimate Boone and Crockett record book candidate.  Surely the Club would revise their entry qualifications for such a magnificent creature!

The day soon passed with nothing more than dark shadows and a moonless sky to keep me company while I waited for Nolan’s return.  The weather conditions appeared to be improving slightly; it hadn’t rained all day, and the piercing, knife-like assault of a bitterly cold wind seemed to be dissipating as well.  Perhaps things would break open tomorrow, and the bears would come out of the woodwork looking for food.  It would be just in the nick of time. 

Later that evening we found out that Jim’s bear still had not been located after many hours of dedicated searching.  Unrelenting in his mission to recover the animal, Monty would give it another try in the morning.