Martha Mossberg and the Bear
An Adventure Story
08-30-10
Six or seven years ago I had an unnerving experience at my home. I did have some warning as the cat food started disappearing much faster than my cats could eat it. My cats are about ten semi-feral outdoor farm cats and I fed them each morning. One morning I fed the cats and went indoors and back out in about five minutes and interrupted the thief in the act. It was the sorriest looking black bear I have ever seen. I stood my ground and made myself big, waved my arms, and shouted at the surprised bear. He retreated quickly.
The bear was not finished with me. I started watching over my cats during feeding time and prevented the bear from plundering their food. In desperation the bear responded by raiding my garbage in the night. My 90 gallon plastic container was knocked down into the road and all of my garbage spread about in a mess. I cleaned up after the expletive deleted bear and called the State Police. In Oregon they have responsibility for fish and game as well as wild animal control. Due to budget problems and lack of funding they are less than helpful. Sigh. I was told to eliminate the bear myself and take specimens from it to send to them. They sent me the paperwork.
Several days went by and I thought that my miserable bear had moved on. One early morning I was sitting on a stool painting the inner fender panel of my race car. I had all the front sheet metal off and the hood was leaning against the shade tree in front of my shop. As I painted (with a brush, I am old fashioned) I noticed a dark shape moving in my peripheral vision. (I still have some left over situational awareness from my soldiering days.) I looked up and beheld the scrubby bear standing on the top edge of the hood and holding my shade tree with it’s left paw. I looked at the bear. The bear looked at me. I stood up, made myself big, waved my arms, and yelled. The bear growled and bared it’s teeth in a snarl. The bear was hungry. I was not happy.
This bear looked to be about 250 or 275 lbs and seemed insane. It was bigger than me and probably meaner. I slowly backed toward the door of my shop about 15 feet away. As I moved the bear jumped down from the hood and advanced toward me growling. I moved a little faster. When I got to the door I said in a quiet voice: “I will be right back.”
I took one step inside the door and fetched my shotgun, Martha Mossberg. She is a Mossberg 500A 12 gauge home protection shotgun loaded with alternating double-ought buckshot and rifled slugs. I moved quickly back to the door while pressing the slide release, working the pump, chambering the round, and moving the safety to off. One quick motion. I said nothing. When I first moved toward the bear it stopped advancing but increased its growling. The bear charged. I fired.
I do not remember aiming or hearing the shotgun fire but I do remember fire and smoke and the bear falling in slow motion. Before it hit the ground I pumped and fired again. Everything was still in slow motion.
I flanked the bear to the left as I chambered another round of buckshot. I had a clear shot and placed it in the bear’s head. I heard that one and noticed Martha’s kick. My first shot had killed the bear but training took over and I made sure. The whole episode took about two seconds. BOOM-BOOM…BOOM!
I left the bear where it fell and withdrew. It is best to leave the carcass and not get near until it has cooled and most of it’s fleas and other parasites leave. The dead bear remained as it lay till the next day.
Since I had so much help from the State Police I decided to merely report back to them that the sick bear was eliminated. I will not take samples for them. I did get my bolt cutters and removed one of the bear’s front toes complete with a 2 1/2 inch claw and some coarse black hair. It is a mementoe and is in my machinists chest with the rat face gift my cats gave me.
Upon examining the bear I could see that it was desperately malnourished and had been shot at least three times before. It is no wonder that it was insane. It was a sick mad wounded bear. I am angry that people would do such a thing to a poor animal. I told the bear I was sorry for what people did to it and what I had to do.
So now I was faced with disposal of a dead sick bear that weighs about 250 lbs. Sigh. I did not want to handle it any more than necessary. I knew that I had some help since there were many vulture families on my mountain. I just needed to move the bear to a safe location for them to have a picnic. I came up with the idea of lassoing the bear with a long chain and hitching it to my lawn tractor. I then dragged it about a half mile up my mountain road to a clearing. There was enough takeoff room for a large vulture to get up to air speed and a cliff to allow them easy flight home.
Over the next two months I watched as the happy vultures came and went to the picnic and the bear slowly disappeared. I was fortunate to be on the road passing when the final moment came. A much larger than normal vulture had the last remnants of the bear flapping in it’s beak and was having some problems taking off with the extra weight. I stopped my car to watch. The persistent vulture finally attained enough airspeed to make it over the cliff and for a moment it disappeared. Then it slowly rose in the distance as it took the bear home to the kids. I was happy again.
An Adventure Story
08-30-10
Six or seven years ago I had an unnerving experience at my home. I did have some warning as the cat food started disappearing much faster than my cats could eat it. My cats are about ten semi-feral outdoor farm cats and I fed them each morning. One morning I fed the cats and went indoors and back out in about five minutes and interrupted the thief in the act. It was the sorriest looking black bear I have ever seen. I stood my ground and made myself big, waved my arms, and shouted at the surprised bear. He retreated quickly.
The bear was not finished with me. I started watching over my cats during feeding time and prevented the bear from plundering their food. In desperation the bear responded by raiding my garbage in the night. My 90 gallon plastic container was knocked down into the road and all of my garbage spread about in a mess. I cleaned up after the expletive deleted bear and called the State Police. In Oregon they have responsibility for fish and game as well as wild animal control. Due to budget problems and lack of funding they are less than helpful. Sigh. I was told to eliminate the bear myself and take specimens from it to send to them. They sent me the paperwork.
Several days went by and I thought that my miserable bear had moved on. One early morning I was sitting on a stool painting the inner fender panel of my race car. I had all the front sheet metal off and the hood was leaning against the shade tree in front of my shop. As I painted (with a brush, I am old fashioned) I noticed a dark shape moving in my peripheral vision. (I still have some left over situational awareness from my soldiering days.) I looked up and beheld the scrubby bear standing on the top edge of the hood and holding my shade tree with it’s left paw. I looked at the bear. The bear looked at me. I stood up, made myself big, waved my arms, and yelled. The bear growled and bared it’s teeth in a snarl. The bear was hungry. I was not happy.
This bear looked to be about 250 or 275 lbs and seemed insane. It was bigger than me and probably meaner. I slowly backed toward the door of my shop about 15 feet away. As I moved the bear jumped down from the hood and advanced toward me growling. I moved a little faster. When I got to the door I said in a quiet voice: “I will be right back.”
I took one step inside the door and fetched my shotgun, Martha Mossberg. She is a Mossberg 500A 12 gauge home protection shotgun loaded with alternating double-ought buckshot and rifled slugs. I moved quickly back to the door while pressing the slide release, working the pump, chambering the round, and moving the safety to off. One quick motion. I said nothing. When I first moved toward the bear it stopped advancing but increased its growling. The bear charged. I fired.
I do not remember aiming or hearing the shotgun fire but I do remember fire and smoke and the bear falling in slow motion. Before it hit the ground I pumped and fired again. Everything was still in slow motion.
I flanked the bear to the left as I chambered another round of buckshot. I had a clear shot and placed it in the bear’s head. I heard that one and noticed Martha’s kick. My first shot had killed the bear but training took over and I made sure. The whole episode took about two seconds. BOOM-BOOM…BOOM!
I left the bear where it fell and withdrew. It is best to leave the carcass and not get near until it has cooled and most of it’s fleas and other parasites leave. The dead bear remained as it lay till the next day.
Since I had so much help from the State Police I decided to merely report back to them that the sick bear was eliminated. I will not take samples for them. I did get my bolt cutters and removed one of the bear’s front toes complete with a 2 1/2 inch claw and some coarse black hair. It is a mementoe and is in my machinists chest with the rat face gift my cats gave me.
Upon examining the bear I could see that it was desperately malnourished and had been shot at least three times before. It is no wonder that it was insane. It was a sick mad wounded bear. I am angry that people would do such a thing to a poor animal. I told the bear I was sorry for what people did to it and what I had to do.
So now I was faced with disposal of a dead sick bear that weighs about 250 lbs. Sigh. I did not want to handle it any more than necessary. I knew that I had some help since there were many vulture families on my mountain. I just needed to move the bear to a safe location for them to have a picnic. I came up with the idea of lassoing the bear with a long chain and hitching it to my lawn tractor. I then dragged it about a half mile up my mountain road to a clearing. There was enough takeoff room for a large vulture to get up to air speed and a cliff to allow them easy flight home.
Over the next two months I watched as the happy vultures came and went to the picnic and the bear slowly disappeared. I was fortunate to be on the road passing when the final moment came. A much larger than normal vulture had the last remnants of the bear flapping in it’s beak and was having some problems taking off with the extra weight. I stopped my car to watch. The persistent vulture finally attained enough airspeed to make it over the cliff and for a moment it disappeared. Then it slowly rose in the distance as it took the bear home to the kids. I was happy again.
