The walking bear. A bear that sometimes challenges the hounds and the hunter equally. A game of cat and mouse as both hound and houndsmen walk the line of pressuring it enough to tree, all while hopefully not provoking a fight. A game of predicting its path while simultaneously hoping not to turn it the wrong direction. The dogs are put through the test, and you quickly discover which hounds have the grit that it takes to earn the bear hound title and which do not. On this particular day, it was just that—testing the grit of the hounds, as well as myself.  

On this day, same as many before, the kids were at school and my husband and I headed for the bear woods along with my stepdad. And like many times before, not long into our search, the dog box erupted with howling and eagerness, indicating our quarry had crossed our path not long before. Trusting our veteran hounds, the tailgate came down and we sent them bounding into the thick brush of the pines. Three adults and one older pup took off, and it wasn’t long before the bark indicator went full bars and the silence of the forest echoed with their cries. Eagerly we watched the handheld, translating their movements and sounds to decipher the events unfolding. The dogs moved as a pack and the bark indicator was still at full bars, but moving ever so slowly.  

As we watched, we could see the hounds scatter, only to return to one another and continue their persistent cry. Experience told us that this was about to be a very long day as we watched the dogs continue this pattern every so often, staying tight together only to disperse moments later. The bear was walking, refusing to tree. The vast country we hunt leaves very little opportunity to intercept, so the dogs are left with their instincts and drive to keep the bear moving. With over 500 bears treed or caught, our lead dog Hooch was no stranger to a mean bear. It’s always a thrilling chase but also one that leaves a knot in your stomach, knowing full well that injuries and a walking bear—at least for us—seem to go hand in hand. 

Unfortunately this bear was choosing to fight, and sooner or later, we predicted when he lost steam, would stand his ground like many times before. Eagerly we watched the screen while maneuvering through trails to attempt to get closer, trying to position my stepdad as the shooter but knowing full well it wasn’t going to be easy. Without any way to get to them effectively and quickly enough, we watched anxiously as they maneuvered through the vast landscape of the boreal forest. The pack then moved in our direction, so we decided to hang tight and wait for the bear to come our way.  

Hours went by and finally we watched the dogs creep painfully slowly towards the logging road as we sat back 200 yards from where we guessed the bear would cross. We wanted to be sure that the bear would cross the trail and stay on a side with better trail access. Not long prior to this, one of the adult hounds fell out of the race and was showing treed. Thankfully, he would move every so often and then stop to rest. Expecting the worst, my husband Matt left me with one of our females on the logging road while he went back to retrieve him. We still had two dogs in the chase, so our old girl, Lady, and I snuck up quietly to where I thought it likely to cross. It wasn’t long before the bear came running from the raspberry canes, startled by mine and Lady’s presence, and bounded across the road to the other side. Lady let out a cry without hesitation and flew into the thick foliage after it, hot on its tail. 

The other two hounds were seconds behind as they followed, only to make it a mere hundred yards before I heard a dreaded yelp. The barking intensified and I could hear the chuffing of an agitated bear, then again another yelp. Without thinking, I dashed into the thick foliage, running on pure instinct, hoping that my presence and the added pressure of another dog would send the bear into a tree. Within 20 yards, I was swallowed by the chest-high ferns that concealed the forest and everything below it. I moved carefully towards the insistent barking, knowing full well that the dogs and bear would be well below the ferns and I wouldn’t know if it were the bear or hounds moving towards me. But still, I closed the distance. Lady came bounding to me through the greenery, thankfully barking as she did so, notifying me that she was friend not foe. I immediately could see that she was bleeding from her back leg, and it was obvious the bear had caught her with his claws as she had turned to dart away. I saw the boys for a split second as they trailed the bear (which fled in my presence) and I was relieved that I couldn’t see any injuries or blood. After this failed attempt at being helpful, I called Lady back to me and made my way back to the trail. 

After a thorough pat down, I was thankful to see that Lady’s injuries were superficial, only a surface wound from a claw. While Matt still retrieved the other hound, I decided to stick with the pack on foot the best that I could, calling Lady to follow. Thankfully they paralleled the trail, allowing me to stay within ear shot and cover ground quickly. With still only two dogs in pursuit and one being a puppy, I knew we needed to get this bear killed before any more dogs got hurt.  

Eagerly I watched the GPS, waiting to see Matt and our shooter headed my direction. It felt like an eternity as I followed when I heard the pitch of their cries change and I knew the bear had, once again, stopped to stand his ground. I checked for Matt one last time and with no sign of him, I started my descent into the old logging cut. Lady heard the hounds and leaped forward, seemingly swallowed by the jungle-like floor. The bear had stopped just on the edge of the swamp, so I maneuvered carefully, choosing a route that gave me a good vantage on where they were. I hoped that it had finally treed, but as I neared closer I could tell that wasn’t the case. Without eyes on either the bear or hounds, and the ferns up to my chest once again, I ever so carefully made my way towards them. 

Finally I could see the bear and, just as predicted, it was sitting at the base of the tree. With my presence, the intensity grew as the dogs danced back and forth baying, proud of their efforts and showing off at my presence. I could immediately see that the bear was tired as he sat there panting, and I assumed he was going to make his stand. The dogs kept the pressure on and I watched anxiously, hoping Matt would get to where I was soon. The hounds continued to dance around their quarry and every so often, they would get a little too close and the bear would charge, trying to grasp their back end as they dashed out of his reach. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and what felt like hours was merely minutes in reality. 

Suddenly, the bear caught our lead dog Hooch and pulled him in. Hooch let out an awful squeal and the other two hounds rushed in to help. The bear reacted and then grabbed Lady. Hooch, now out of his grasp, came back to help. The bear once again switched and grabbed Hooch, this time letting out an even worse cry and my heart stopped. After nearly losing Hooch to an aggressive bear the fall prior and 17 grand in vet bills, I had no intention of watching the scenario unfold any further. No bear is worth the life of your hounds and without the shooter in sight, I made the call to pull the dogs. We would have to fill his tag another day. I attempted to yell above the chaos, but my efforts failed as the dogs continued baying. I utilized the Garmin to tone them and thankfully they all reacted and, although hesitant, came to my side. I chose an uphill direction and covered ground as  quickly as possible knowing the dogs would be reluctant to leave.   

Back at the trail, I found a spot in the shade and sat down with the hounds. I checked each of them over for injuries and I was relieved that although they all had minor scrapes, no one was seriously hurt. Nearly seven hours after we dropped the tailgate, I was relieved to let the anxiety I had felt all day watching the hounds pursue this bear finally vanish. Although killing this bear would have been an ideal ending for the shooter and also rewarding for the hounds, I was just thankful that we could all return home in one piece.  

I’ve had ten years of bear hunting experience with hounds and each time, the same anxiety comes over me. There is a risk every time we drop the tailgate, yet we do it over and over again, for no other reason than because we love seeing them do what they were bred for. Their natural instincts really shine through and, although a walking bear is not my preference, it's when the hounds truly shine.