Scariest was back in the very early 80's. My deer hunting partner talked me into going bear hunting up in Northern Ontario, Canada. We were in a remote camp a bazillion miles from ANY civilization, so the whole experience was new to me. I set up a ground blind and bait pile about 3 miles from camp. I had to have my buddy drop me off by boat, then hike in about 200-300 yards. This particular evening was a bit spooky to begin with. It was darker than usual due to overcast skies and a drizzling rain. The only good thing was, the woods were eerily quiet due to the wetness. My buddy dropped me off and I stood on the shoreline until I could no longer hear the boat motor as he returned to camp, then I started tip-toeing into the bush.

When I got about 20 yards from my stand, I could hear it. There was a bear ripping my bait pile apart (I had it covered with heavy logs, etc.). It sounded like he was throwing those logs around like tinker toys. Did I mention this was my FIRST ever bear hunt? I froze and my heart was about to pound it's way right out of my chest. The bush was so thick, it made the woods even darker and I about strained my eyeball muscles trying to see the source of the noise. I couldn't see a dang thing, so I started easing forward ... inches at a time ... the whole time directing 100% of my attention in the direction of that bear. Oh ... did I mention this was my first ever bear hunt?

I stood listening for a couple minutes ... couldn't see a thing ... but that bear sounded BIG & MEAN!! I decided to ease forward a few more steps ... slowly ... slowly ... and again stopped. I again strained to see if I could catch a glimpse of this man-eater and at that instant ... a FUCKING GROUSE EXPLODED OUT OF THE WOODS!! It had been huddled not two frigging feet from where I stood! Like you, I'd pee'd at the shoreline just before heading in or I'd have had an embarrassing tale to tell back at camp. After I quit tap dancing and screaming like a little girl, I stood in the bush and heard nothing but silence. I'd heard a big "WOOF" just as I started hollering and high-stepping, so I knew ol' bruin was half way to Quebec by then.

I eased back out of the woods and when my pulse dropped back to about double-normal, I fired 3 quick shots (our signal to come help and/or be picked up). I went back in the next morning to re-set my bait and was on stand a couple hours earlier the next evening. The dumbass actually came back in and I had my first bear. A nice 250-275 pounder. I took many more in the following years ... but that had to be my most ... ummm ... exciting!