While looking through old Bowhunter magazines for bighorn sheep stories to prepare for my CO hunt, the name "Charlie Lamb" popped out at me in a certain Feb 1978 column by Larry Hultquist called "Would you believe?".  Something about a spring bear hunt up near Pinedale, WY, a mean bear, blunts......

The name of that area is what first caught my eye, since I have hunted the Bridgers above Pinedale several times and I'm planning to drive through there this fall to see a buddy or two.

Want to retell that story, Charlie, since it is spring bear hunting time and the other threads have generated some interest?

:D        

Wow Jeff! You really dug up an old one. That was a fun trip with buddies from the olden golden days in the mountains of western Wyoming... by the way... the word famous and my name in the same sentence makes my right eye twitch and I want to look around and see who's about to hit me from behind!  :D      

That's a pretty short story, so while I'm waiting for my prints for the other story to come out of the fixer, I'll tell it.

I guess it was around 1976 or 77. I couldn't really say for sure at this point.

It was just another day of bear baiting for me and my buds up in the Wind River Range of the Wyoming Rockies.

The first trip up the mountain that year and the snow was still plenty deep as the road wound into the timber.

In lots of places the snow drifts were rotten and with  a little speed you could bust right through them and on to open road beyond.

At times they'd be a lot more solid than they looked and you'd come to an abrupt halt with the result of having a lot of digging to do to get the dang truck unstuck.
Call me lazy, but I seldom played that game when I was alone.

We got as far as a place called Boiler Park when we just ran out of road and had to decide what to do with the dead cow we had in the back of the lead truck... we were optomistic if nothing else.

As I recall we parked on a ridge and broke off in several directions on foot to scout for sign. With all the snow, we didn't go far or expect to find much.

I didn't have a bear permit, so to keep things above board, was the only one in the party without a bow along.

The other guys more than made up for it, though. There were at least 3 Howard Hill back quivers on the seat of one truck, each sporting no less than two dozen arrows of various descriptions.
Several bows lay criss crossed on that very seat.

All but one of us had returned to the trucks and were discussing the merits of dumping the cow right there and possibly returning at a later date to relocate her... none of us were wild about that idea as she already had a head start on decomposition and was quite ripe.

As we stood making our decisions there came a great huffing and puffing and garbled yelling from just beyond the crest of the hill.

The missing party, Larry Hultquist, was bounding toward us in great long strides, his yells becoming discernable as he drew ever nearer.

"BEAR! BEAR! BEAR!", we could now understand him plainly between his deep gasps for air.

I know in my own mind that I expected to see a huge bear closing the gap, gaining on him with every bound. I later found that the others expected the same thing... we'd all seen Jeremiah Johnson, afterall.

But there was no bear in pursuit. Larry jabbed a finger off toward the dark timber and yelled, "he's over there, let's get him!"

Everyone but myself leapt for the truck with the bows and arrows. There were at least four guys fighting for access and as many hands hauling out arrows by the fist full and discarding what were mostly blunt tipped shafts.
Arrows lay everywhere on the snow.

One friend emerged from the melee' with bow and arrows in hand. I grabbed him by the sleeve, yelled, "come with me!" and headed off on what I felt would be an intercept of the fleeing bruin.

We sprinted less than fifty yards and I spotted the bear coming through the trees on the dead run. His path would bring him very close....

OK! You asked for a Charlie Lamb story... so for your sins you are getting one.    
I'll be back in a few to finish up.  

It will be worth the wait,take your time and thanks for sharing another gem with us.

Man, that's a great start to a story. Can't wait to hear the rest.
 

Now that's just plain mean. I just sat down with a bowl of popcorn.   :(

Charlie's storys are always worth the wait    

Tracy

Thanks for being patient guys. I don't drag these out on purpose... that much.      

I'll start finishing up in just a second.

Jerry and I skidded to a halt. I didn't have to point out the bear. He was closin fast and would pass very close. VERY CLOSE!!

Taking an arrow from the bunch in his hand Jerry passed off the rest to me. I took a step back to watch the scene unfold.

We'd run down what was an old skid road and the bear would come into the open about 15 yards or a little less right in front of us.

I was thinking, "get ready", even as Jerry swung the little 66" Hill Big Five into action. The bear started into the clear as Jerry touched anchor and the arrow was away.

For an instant time stood still. White fletch spun in slow motion toward black hide and met with a dull thud right in the middle of the lane.

It was an awesome shot... but something was wrong.
I could have sworn I saw the arrow drop to the ground.

That would have been impossible considering Jerry's love for all things Howard Hill. He'd have had a sharp Hill head up front and from the 65# longbow, penetration would have been complete or very close to it.

I looked down at the arrows in my hand... blunts! Holy Cow!! They're all blunts!!

I turned to Jerry who was watching the bear disappear off into the timber. "What did you just shoot at that bear, Jerry?" I said quietly.

"Whaddaya mean?" He answered.

"I mean what kind of head did you have on that arrow?" Not so quietly this time.

"A broadhead, of course." He sounded irritated, but we'd sure see.

As we strode up to the spot where the arrow lay, Jerry pulled it slowly out of the pine duff.

I had to chuckle a little. There on the end of the shaft was a nice steel blunt with not so much as a hair sticking to it.

And that is the end of that little story. To this day I take a peek at my arrow whenever I pull it from the quiver.

The arrow probably met some mundane fate. More than likely smashed on a rock in some ground squirrel pasture.

Jerry resides in Lee's Summit, Mo. these days and as far as I know doesn't bowhunt anymore.

The Hill Big Five is in the possession of my dear friend Vance "Iron Bull" Brewer who was there that day.  

     ...Van

As always Charlie, your stories are tops      

And that's the TRUTH the WHOLE TRUTH      

Ok guys....start scouring the magazines so we can keep him going!

Wonderfully told as always.

Chris

Thanks for sharing!
Excellent as always!

Robert

Good readin Charlie...Bows, Buddies, Bears, Bloated Bovine, and Blunts...that story had it all.    :D  

Thanks for sharin!