This story, “Attacked by a Grizzly,” appeared in the March 1983 issue of Outdoor Life.
The grizzly bounded down the mountainside straight at me. Its head was low to the ground and it was growling all the way. By the time I realized the bear was corning it was only 10 yards away. I had only a second or two to defend myself.
I instinctively grabbed for my .44 Magnum revolver on my belt, but it wasn’t there. A moment later, the grizzly was almost on top of me. I tried to dive under a log, but the bear either knocked me down or I fell to the ground. I don’t remember. I tried to turn away from the bear but it grabbed my head between its jaws. The grizzly started to shake me like a dog and drag me along the ground. The bear was roaring and growling, but I matched the grizzly’s growls with plenty of shouting and hollering of my own.
I managed to twist and get to my feet, but the bear kept its vice-like grip on my head. I walked in a half-crouch along with the bear to ease the pain and to keep it from tearing and lifting my head.
Maybe the roar of the gun in its face made it madder, because the grizzly chomped down on my right shoulder and bit deep. Its jaws were clamped shut, and I felt its teeth deep in my shoulder.
When the grizzly’s teeth bit deeper into my scalp, I realized I had to do something.
“Buddy, you’d better start fightin’ or you’re gonna die right here,” I told myself. I had been hunting elk in the Sunlight Basin in northwestern Wyoming’s Absaroka Wilderness Area. Three other hunters, Jack Porter, his 17-year old son John, and a man named Butch were hunting with me. I had just bought Jack’s outfitting business, and I was enjoying some late-season hunting with him.
It was late November 1981, the day before the end of elk season. It was my first year in the business, and I was getting familiar with the area. I was hunting with a .44 Magnum revolver and I was carrying it on my belt. I’m right-handed, but a sawmill accident a few years back makes my hip hurt when I carry a gun on my right side. I holstered the gun on my left side, and it was awkward for me to reach it. I never gave it much thought, because I always figured I had plenty of time to reach over and lift it out of the holster when I spotted an elk. I had no idea the gun’s bad position would almost cost me my life.
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I’m 39 years old and I love to hunt. I was born and raised on a farm in Hulett, Wyoming, with 10 brothers and sisters. We learned how to hunt at a young age because game meat was important to our family. Each fall we put enough whitetail deer meat in the freezer to get us through the winter. Whitetails fed a lot of folks up in Crook County where I lived.
I own a motel in Hulett and a welding business, and I work on road construction as well. I always wanted to be an outfitter, but I never figured I could get into a good area. In the 1960s when I was a labor foreman on a new highway job over Togowotee Pass, I went into Jackson to see about an outfitter’s permit. The U.S. Forest Service told me there were about 500 people on the waiting list.
When Jack Porter came to Hulett and stayed at my motel, we got to be good friends. He asked me if I wanted to buy his outfitting business, and I thought he was kidding. When I realized he was serious, I took him up on it and made the deal in time for the 1981 hunting season.
I had just started making a drive with John when the bear attacked. Jack and Butch were on stand at the top of a ridge. John walked through a patch of heavy timber while I worked my way across a canyon. My route was the longest, but it was fairly open. There were patches of timber, small openings and downed logs along the area I was walking.
I was walking slowly with the wind at my back when I stopped on a knoll and looked ahead of me for elk in the canyon. A motion alongside of me caught my attention, and I turned to see the grizzly.
When I told myself I had to fight back, I grabbed the bear’s upper jaw with one hand and his lower jaw with the other. I used all my strength and managed to pry its jaws far enough apart so I could get my head out of the animal’s mouth.
I grabbed for my knife, which was on my belt and I managed to get it out, but the bear slapped it away. I backed off from the bear, but it came right for me again. It was down on all fours when I kicked it solidly under the chin.
The bear’s face changed expression after I kicked it. It had sort of a surprised look.
Then it came for me again, growling and snapping. I tried to kick it again, but it batted my foot down with a quick slap. The grizzly knocked me down, but I stuck my thumbs in each side of its mouth, and kept kicking at its belly. I kept sliding out from under it, but the bear scrambled back on top of me again.
My only chance was the revolver on my belt. I didn’t go for it before because everything was happening lightning-fast. The only reason I tried for my knife was because I could get to it more easily.
I let go of my grip in the grizzly’s mouth with my left hand and went for the gun. I got it out of the holster, but the bear slapped it away. The .44 Magnum went off as the bear hit my arm, but the bullet only whizzed past its face.
Maybe the roar of the gun in its face made it madder, because the grizzly chomped down on my right shoulder and bit deep. Its jaws were clamped shut, and I felt its teeth deep in my shoulder.
I kept kicking the bear in the belly, and I punched it in the face with my free hand. My other hand was still in the bear’s mouth. I wasn’t about to take my thumb out, because it gave me at least some control on its jaws.
Suddenly the grizzly jumped straight up and pulled me to my feet by my thumb. It almost jerked my arm out of the socket. When we were both standing, the bear turned loose and ran for the timber. I jumped for my gun, but by the time I got it all I could see was the bear’s hind end in the brush. I didn’t want to shoot and take the risk of wounding it.
When the bear was gone, I sat on a log. I was physically exhausted and felt more tired than hurt from the bear’s attack. All I wanted to do was rest. As I sat on the log, I watched the blood drip from my face and head. I was bleeding but didn’t figure I was losing much blood.
After sitting for a few minutes, I went over to a little creek and took a drink of icy water. Then I tried to clean off some of the blood.
I headed up the mountain to find Butch and Jack. John was still somewhere in the timber making the drive. I walked along, hurting from the wounds, but the worst pain was from the wind as it bit into my flesh.
Butch wasn’t where he was supposed to be, so I headed for Jack’s position. I figured Butch had headed into the cover to get out of the wind.
Before I got to Jack’s stand I saw a hunter loading an elk on a horse. As I talked to him, Jack walked over out of the timber. He took one look at my bloody face and didn’t know what to think.
“What happened to you?” he asked. “Did your scope recoil into your face?” Jack was still far enough away he couldn’t see my face and head. He forgot I wasn’t carrying a rifle.
“One of your grizzlies got me,” I answered.
“You’re kidding,” he said in surprise.
Then he moved up close and saw the deep cuts and gashes. I told him what had happened and he kept shaking his head.
John and Butch showed up and they were shocked when they saw what I looked like. I insisted that I was OK, and suggested that I head back to camp while Jack and Butch help the hunter finish loading the elk.
Our horses were tied in the timber near the ridgetop, so I could ride into camp. I wasn’t weak or even in shock, but the fierce wind stung.
I cleaned myself up at camp as much as I could and Butch swabbed Merthiolate into the cuts. The bear ripped up both sides of my face, my left ear, my eyebrow and my head in several places.
It took another hour to ride my horse from camp to my pickup truck. We went directly to the hospital in Cody and a doctor started sewing me up as soon as the wounds had been cleaned. He kept giving me local shots of anesthetics, and told me to holler when I felt the sewing needle. He took a lot of time, and did a great job patching me up. He worked on me for five hours and when he was done, counted 101 stitches. Most were in my face and a few in my head. The bear didn’t tear anything important when he clamped shut on my shoulder. There were some deep puncture wounds that healed by themselves.
“I don’t know how big it was, but it was big enough to cause me a lot of problems.”
While the doc was sewing me up, several Wyoming Game and Fish officers questioned me. I told them my story and asked them to leave the bear alone. I didn’t want them to kill it. I’d like to see Wyoming have a grizzly season and it won’t help if every problem grizzly is destroyed. I also figured I was an intruder in that bear’s territory.
Why did the bear attack? I have no idea, though I’ve heard a lot of guesses and theories. Maybe it was a sow with cubs nearby, or maybe it was about to enter its winter den and I came too close. Maybe it had a fresh kill nearby and was protecting it.
Some people asked me if the bear’s breath stunk because they’d read stories about dangerous animals with bad breath. I was too busy at the moment to notice the grizzly’s breath. Besides, I’d been in elk camp long enough to guess I didn’t smell all that great, either.
Another question people ask is my certainty of the bear’s identity. There’s no question that it was a grizzly. I’ve spent plenty of time in Wyoming’s mountains and I’ve seen lots of bears; grizzlies and blacks. This bear had a broad head, a hump on its back and silvertip fur. I don’t know how big it was, but it was big enough to cause me a lot of problems.
One of the factors that saved me was that I’m in good physical condition and I was able to defend myself with my hands and feet. I also was wearing a lot of clothes that offered extra protection. I had on long-johns, wool shirt, sheepskin vest, wool jacket and sweatshirt with a hood. All the bear got from my neck down was a few mouthfuls of clothes, except for the bite in my shoulder.
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Some persons ask if I have any nightmares or if I fear the woods on account of the attack. I’ve never had a single bad dream, and I plan to keep hunting in the area. I’m in great game country and I’ll keep taking hunters. But one thing is sure. Every time I walk down that draw I’ll always remember the day that the grizzly and I went round for round. I’m lucky I’m alive to tell about it.