Full Circle: An Idaho Bear Hunt Twenty Years in the Making

Some stories take years to tell.

This one took nearly twenty.

I grew up in Boise, Idaho, where hunting was a regular part of life for my dad. He spent countless days in the mountains chasing elk, deer, and bears. But despite growing up around it, I never had much interest in hunting myself.

Like a lot of kids, I think I was more interested in finding my own path than following my dad's. Hunting was his thing. Sports were mine.

Then there was the bear.

I was young when my dad took my little brother and me into the Idaho backcountry for a weekend camping trip. He had been elk hunting in the area and wanted to take us back to explore. We found a spot near a game trail and settled in for the afternoon when a black bear stepped out of the brush.

At first, it wasn't alarming. Bears usually want nothing to do with people. But this one kept coming.

My dad yelled. We threw rocks. The bear didn't care.

He fired a warning shot in front of it. Nothing.

Another shot. Nothing.

The bear continued walking toward us.

As my little brother kept throwing rocks, I completely melted down. I wrapped myself around my dad's leg and held on for dear life while crying and screaming. My dad was trying to manage the situation, keep an eye on the bear, and somehow calm me down all at the same time.

When the bear got within 20 feet it turned and disappeared back into the brush.

The encounter didn’t last long but it left a lasting impression. For years afterward, I had zero interest in going back into the woods with my dad. Hunting definitely wasn't on my radar.

Life has a funny way of bringing things back around.

Years later, after joining MTN OPS, I was introduced to hunting through an Axis deer hunt in Maui. What started as a new experience quickly became a passion. The more time I spent in the field, the more I fell in love with the challenge, the adventure, and the connection to the outdoors.

Before long, I found myself putting in for a spring bear hunt through our annual MTN OPS employee hunt draw.

And somehow, I ended up right back where the story began.

Idaho.

This time, though, I wasn't the scared little girl hanging onto my dad's leg.

I was carrying the tag.

The weeks leading up to the hunt ended up being some of my favorite parts of the entire experience. My dad and I talked almost every day. We discussed gear, rifles, shot placement, bear behavior, terrain, and everything else that comes with preparing for a hunt.

What struck me most was how naturally we fell into those conversations. This was something my dad had loved his entire life, and now it was something we got to share.

The morning of the hunt, we loaded into the truck with our guide, Rikki, and her incredible team of hounds. Before long, the dogs struck a scent and disappeared into the mountains.

If you've never hunted bears with hounds, it's hard to describe the anticipation. You don't know what you're walking into. You hear the dogs working through the timber, follow the sound deeper into the mountain, and wonder what you'll find when you finally arrive.

When we reached the tree, everything became real.

The dogs were doing their job. The bear was treed. The energy in the mountains felt electric.

I settled behind my rifle while my dad stood off to the side with a camera in his hands, ready to capture the moment.

For a second, nerves got the best of me. I squeezed the trigger and heard nothing.

I had forgotten to chamber a round.

I immediately knew what I'd done. I took a breath, corrected the mistake, settled back in behind the rifle, and focused.

Then I made the shot.

The bear fell from the tree and hit the ground with a thud that echoed through the timber. Relief, gratitude, excitement, and respect all hit at once.

When we walked up to the bear, I realized just how special the moment really was.

She was an old sow, estimated to be around thirty years old and over 200 pounds. Her teeth were worn down from a lifetime in the mountains. She was blind in both eyes. Battle scars covered her body.

She had lived an incredible life.

The experience reinforced something I continue to appreciate about hunting: the deep respect it creates for the animals, the landscape, and the responsibility that comes with participating in conservation. This wasn't just about harvesting an animal. It was about being part of a much larger story and gaining a deeper appreciation for the life that animal had lived.

But as meaningful as the bear was, it wasn't the highlight of the trip.

The highlight was my dad.

As the excitement of the hunt settled and we made our way back to camp, my dad and I had a chance to reflect on the experience together. During that conversation, he shared something I'll never forget.

He told me that if his story ended tomorrow, he'd be a happy and proud dad because he got to experience this with me. Not because of the bear or because of the hunt, but because we got to share it together.

That's what made this hunt special.

Years ago, the last bear my dad and I saw together left me terrified and wanting nothing to do with hunting.

This time, a bear brought us back together.

Back to Idaho.

Back to the mountains.

Back to each other.

Full circle.