By Dawson Smith

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do one thing every day that scares you.” Everyone, regardless of who you are, where you live, or what you do, has a comfort zone. But what does this really mean? A comfort zone is the area, or areas, of your life in which you feel like everything is in its right place; it encompasses the behaviors, habits, and places you turn to when you're on autopilot. It's a metaphorical place where there's little to no risk and where you never have to face your fears. It’s also a psychological state where you feel at ease because you are not being tested.

Inside your comfort zone, you don't typically engage in new experiences or take on any new challenges. You only participate in activities that are familiar and that make you feel “in control” of your environment. Anything outside your comfort zone will create uncertainty, and uncertainty tends to make us feel anxious. Naturally, human beings are wired to avoid these feelings, making us reluctant to leave our comfort zone. People stay to avoid feelings of anxiety, stress, and/or pain. But how much fun is that?

One time, my buddy Thane Davies as well as Bill Cash, Tom Johnson, and I were camped out at our little remote cabin, tucked away neatly and discreetly on the shore of a small lake in north central British Columbia. It was mid-May, we had perfect weather, and it was just before the mosquitoes came out in full force. Male bears are very promiscuous. Once they get in “rut” mode, they can move great distances in their quest for sows in season. Seeing a big boar is one thing, getting out in front of it is another. The four of us had been at the cabin for a few days and while we had seen many bears (and even a few large boars), the bigger boars were just starting to move about. Thane and I had seen a nice boar from a vantage point earlier and had quietly made our way to get into position to cut it off.

 

The two of us were squatting down on our butts on a little trail as a warm, gentle breeze blew directly into our faces. Spring birds flitted and flirted noisily around in the lodgepole pine forest, busy about their tasks. About 60 yards away, that huge black bear was slowly working towards us. Thane had his rifle, I had my binoculars, and it was awesome. If you know me, then you know I was completely comfortable, almost joyous. Thane, however, was without question out of his comfort zone: his darting eyes, head swivels, and dancing feet all alluded to it, and, weirdly, added to my fun.

Thane and I have been hunting partners for over 40 years. We have hunted all over and for almost everything including numerous bear hunts, both grizzly and black bear. He loves bear hunting as much as I do, but he prefers to do so at a distance. I love bear hunting but I also love getting close. It has been that way with us forever—what an odd pairing!

 

“Let it get closer,” I whispered as that huge bear continued ambling towards us.

 

“As soon as it steps broadside, I am going to shoot!” Thane replied.

 

The bruin came closer, then was about 40 yards away when it abruptly stopped and lifted his broad nose in the air to test the airwaves with his head swaying from side to side. Clearly it was out and about looking for a sow, but just as clearly had a sense that something wasn’t right. I often talk about my belief that bears have a sixth sense, an innate perception of danger or of something amiss in their surroundings. The big bear may have had that feeling, but we were squatting down motionless and the wind was blowing gently in our face, so we didn’t need to worry.

I glanced over at Thane and he caught my eye, mouthing, “Holy crap, that’s a big bear!” I nodded. The bear was so close I could see its beady eyes move and nose wrinkle without my binoculars. Satisfied in the wind, the bear lowered his head, stepped sideways to look backwards, and, in doing so, presented a perfect broadside opening for Thane. I was just turning to silently encourage him when his shot rang out.

The report from his rifle was loud, defying the tranquility of the moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boar hump sideways as Thane’s bullet landed with the tell-tale whack! The bear took a few running lopes and disappeared into the forest. Thane quickly chambered a new round and looked over at me.

 

“I think I hit it pretty good,” he whispered as he quietly moved over to where I was sitting.

 

“Ya, you did,” I replied. “Good shooting, that was awesome.”

 

Just then we heard a bunch of limbs breaking, and my initial thought was that perhaps the bear climbed a tree. But it was a really big bear and that was unlikely.

 

“What was that?” Thane asked.

 

“I’m not sure,” I said, “let’s head back to the truck and get my rifle. We’ll leave it for an hour or so, then sneak in and find it.”

 

“Good idea,” Thane replied.

 

We quietly got up and headed back to the truck. When we got there, we contacted Bill and Tom on the radio, telling them where we were and what was up. They told us they were only a few miles away and would make their way to where we were parked.

While we waited, Thane and I discussed the hunt, the shot, and what we thought would be the outcome. Before long, Bill and Tom drove up and we gave them the story. Tom stayed with the trucks while Bill, Thane, and I hiked into the site.

“I got blood,” Bill whispered, pointing down onto the mossy forest floor as we moved into the timber. We slowly followed the blood trail about twenty yards to a pile of small pine trees that had fallen into a crisscrossed mess.

Peaking between the fallen trees, we could see the bear piled up. Thane snuck closer and touched the bear's eye, confirming he was dead. The cracking Thane and I had heard was most likely the bear crawling its way into the jumble of blowdowns. We had to go back to the truck and retrieve a saw in order to get him out. But once we cut him free and pulled him out, we were able to skin and debone the beautiful bear. After taking a few pictures we made our way back to the cabin, arriving just before dark.

Later that evening as we sat around the cabin with the white gas lantern hissing and the wood stove popping and cracking in the background, we played crib, laughed, joked, and relished in the good fortune we had. The bear, hide, and meat were buried in a snowbank higher up the mountain for safe keeping, and we had another four days to hunt. Life was as good as it could get.

If Thane had not overcome his fear of getting too close when shooting the boar, we wouldn’t have reaped such wonderful rewards. I’m proud that he constantly pushes himself out of his comfort zone while hunting. It’s an important reminder for all of us as we face the daily struggles and adventures of life.