Well, it went like this;
With only a few days left of squirrel season the three of us decided to try our luck up on the Mogollon Rim. After driving back into the boondocks a long way we found what promised to be a good spot for squirrels, we even heard a couple barking off in the distance while we gearing up.
As usual we were using scoped .22 rifles and each of us had a handgun for backup. Roger was carrying a 4' GP100 .357 mag on his right side and Jesse was carrying a 2 1/2" S&W model 19 also in .357 mag in a shoulder holster. I was the only one with a .44 mag, a stainless 5 1/2" Redhawk carried in a right hand cross draw holster.
Jesse had bad knees so he decided to walk up on the clear hillside, I went along side a beat up logging road and Roger went down into a grassy ravine. Because of my position as the middle man I was able to maintain constant view of both Roger and Jesse, however neither of them could see each other. For safety sake I took one of the radios and Roger took the other one.
Roger was positioned about 75 yards down hill to my left and I could see him just under the tree canopy, which was perfect for me. Anything that he scared would more than likely
run up a tree and come around to my side, dead squirrel. It looked like there had been a tornado or wind shear in the area because all of the trees on the side of the hill between Roger and I had been knocked down, creating a long log jam effect. Providing perfect cover for the squirrels to be in.
And if Jesse scared up a squirrel it was likely to run downhill toward the tree cover past me, again dead squirrel.
Oh yeah. I had the sweet spot.
We tried sitting still in several spots but never saw anything, just an occasional bark or two from distant squirrels. Later on we tried stop and stalk, still without any sightings. Damn squirrels were having fun with us, barking off in the distance and remaining silent when we got nearby. The area obviously had seen a lot of hunting pressure before we arrived.
It was getting late and we must have walked over four miles from the truck. I figured it would probably be dark by the time we got back to the truck, so we agreed to hunt for another fifteen minutes or so.
Moments later I saw Roger quickly drop to one knee raise his rifle and fire. He worked the bolt and fired a quick follow up shot. He stood up fast and broke into a trot so I assumed he had bagged one. I lost sight of him briefly a couple times during the next minute or so and then I saw that he was running. I heard several more shots and I wasn't sure what the hell he was shooting at, he even swapped mags once.
Jesse couldn't keep up so he had fell behind quite a ways.
Suddenly I heard Roger yell "I got him!" Then he came strolling out into the clearing holding up the biggest squirrel I'd ever seen. It was so big I honestly thought he'd shot someones house cat, it was freeking huge!
While we waited for Jesse to catch up Roger shouted uphill to tell me what had happened. Evidently he made his first shot just as the squirrel saw him and then it broke into a run fleeing as fast as it could. It tried to go behind a couple trees in an effort to escape but Roger wasn't about to go home empty handed, not after all the walking we'd done. Just as Roger made his final shot the squirrel leaped up onto the side of a tree, turning the perfect head shot into a gut shot. Messy!
Altogether that little episode took about five minutes to transpire. What happened next turned my blood into ice for a good three minutes more.
We had just turned to head back downwind toward the truck, when we all heard the same thing. Although I knew in my gut what the noise was, my mind tried to rationalize the situation in an odd way. I knew it was impossible, that there was no way anyone could get one back to where we were, but my first thought was...where in the hell is that loud Semi Truck's Jake brake coming from?
It was so loud and went on for such a long burst that I was able to pinpoint it's location. About fifty yards straight behind Roger! I could see over and under the tree canopy but I couldn't see what was causing the ruckus.
My first physical reaction was to reach down and turn my radio off. Rogers first reaction was correct, as he spun around he reached for his backup gun. But a split second before I could turn the damn thing off, Roger grabbed his radio and asked me if I heard what he thought he had just heard. Crap!!! Now the Bear knew where I was too!
The best I could figure was that the bear equated all the gunfire with food. This late in the season it had probably been feeding off of wounded animals and gut piles. It must have come over the ridge to Rogers left when he first began shooting at the squirrel and being downwind of us, it got a good snoot full of the gut shot squirrel. I'm sure that it was expecting another easy meal and then it saw Roger standing there, in it's way. That must have been what pissed the bear off so much!
It made several more challenges and we still couldn't see it! I yelled down to Roger to start up the hill a quickly as possible, without running. Like that was even humanly possible with that huge log jam in between us. I also told him not to stop for any reason, even if he heard me shooting. And if I was reloading he should begin shooting, then vise versa until we got him to the top of the hill. When Roger was about half way up the hill the pissed off bear let out one more tremendous roaring growl. Right then I sincerely felt that my .44 mag was just not big enough. That was one Royally pissed off Bear!
I assumed that the bear wasn't happy with or didn't find the squirrel, so I yelled down to Roger and asked him where he left it. He shouted back "It's in my game bag." Incredulously I shouted back "Throw the damn thing for Gods sake!" Roger shouted back "NO! It's mine!" Oh yeah, my .44 mag just wasn't big enough.
We managed to make it back, downwind all the way, with that freeking pissed off Bear between us and the truck. In the dark!
Needless to say I called "Magnum Research" the next day and asked them to "FedEx" me a holster for my 45/70 "BFR". The nice lady on the phone asked me why I sounded almost desperate to have the holster, so I recounted the story to her. Part way through the tale she asked me to start over, because she had just put me on the office speaker. Apparently the others in the office were shocked by her facial expressions and gasps and they wanted to hear what was being said.
After I had finished my story I told her that I knew what "BFR" actually stood for. I heard moans in the background from some of the others and when the nice lady responded she seemed overly agitated (and understandably so. the common nomenclature stands for the "Biggest Freeking Revolver"). She said "Yeah we all know what it means "But it officially stands for the "Biggest Finest Revolver".
That's when I told her "Not anymore!" Now it stands for "Bear Food Repellent!"