Local man survives grizzly attack

by Don Welty

It was September 23 on Alaska’s southeast coast. A long stretch of warm, dry, sunny days had ended, and we were back to our usual rainy weather. A good frost had caused the color change of the deciduous trees and shrubs, the flocks of migrating birds and the clacking of moose antlers all reminding us the short summer was over.

Flying for a moose hunting camp can be frustrating during the cycles of fall and winter storms. This was the end of one of those cycles. The weather was improving with small breaks of sunshine between the scattered rain showers.

After a day and a half of waiting for a break, our packer Steve and I headed out to check our camps. If any of the hunters had been successful, I would drop Steve off to help pack out the 600 lbs. of meat, cape and antlers that would have to be carried to the nearest landing spot. Steve, fresh from Arizona and having packed out a half-dozen moose already, was relishing the adventure and feeling strong. His strength was certainly needed, as this is not airplane-friendly country and landing sites are infrequent where the moose hang out. Only the slow-flying speed and maneuverability of a Super Cub makes it possible to operate on any of the makeshift landing sites.

We headed east and after 20 minutes of sporadic rain showers came to a camp and saw from the air that they had been successful and really needed Steve’s help. As I circled the strip, however, it was apparent that the heavy rain earlier had flooded the area and an estimated foot of water lay on the strip, making a safe lading and take-off impossible.

We talked to the camp using a VHF radio and told them we would have to try in the morning. The hunters weren’t too happy about that, but since we had no option we headed back for the lodge.

Looking south along the beach the sun was shining, beckoning us to take a more southern route back to the base camp. We enjoyed the occasional rainbow and a beautifully lit up surf line, still wild from the last storm.

As we passed down the shoreline praising the Creator of all this beauty, I thought of a pair of winter-shed moose antlers I had seen the previous season. They would make a unique decoration at the lodge, and for me, a hike would be a nice break. We didn’t have enough daylight to check any other camps until morning.

We set down on a small but flat sandbar about a mile from the sheds, excited about a break from the unending chores at the lodge. Steve was enthusiastic as always. If all went well we would be back in the air in 30 minutes with plenty of daylight to make base camp. Steve had borrowed a .45-70 lever action gun for his packing trip, so we instinctively took it along. This was prime bear country as well as moose.

As we headed across a wide, sandy area, we could see we would be traveling into or across the light north wind and as we approached the low brush, we began to talk out loud and shouted an occasional “Hey bear” to allow any bears in the vicinity to leave ahead of us. As the brush got higher, we were pleased to see a moose trail leading in the direction we wanted to go. This made for easy walking.

Moose prints were abundant with an occasional old bear scat, but no fresh bear tracks. Expecting to see or hear a moose, I stopped when Steve said, “What’s that?” I then heard a woofing alarm of a bear. I hollered, “Bear! Give me the rifle.” Steve handed me the rifle and I put a shell in the chamber and let the hammer down slowly, still saying, “Hey, bear, get out of here.”

Thirty to 40 yards ahead a bear stood up. As we continued to talk, we waved our arms so it could see that we were people — not small bears! It was, I estimated, about an 8' boar. It was square-headed and dark brown over its entire body — a medium-size boar and larger than most sows in this area. No teats were visible or sign of cubs.

Since no sign of a kill was apparent, such as carrion birds, I expected the bear to turn and run off. Instead, after standing up for maybe 5 seconds, the bear charged. No sound, no angry, irritated look, just a full-speed charge. As Steve continued to yell, “Get out of here,” I leveled the quick-handling .45-70 lever gun and cocked the hammer. I was still hoping this was just a bluff charge, but at less than 10 yards, I had to shoot.

It was coming straight on, its head a bit lower than mine. The rifle’s sights were steady between the bear’s eyes, which were locked into mine. For a split second I thought of the trouble killing this bear in self-defense would cause. No matter, the boundary was crossed and I pulled the trigger.

The hammer fell, but all I heard was a click!

Thinking I had a dud shell, I quickly worked the action and at 2 feet tried again, only to hear another click. What a sick feeling, knowing that only God could save me now. Some confusion after the contact left me lying in the brush pulling myself into a fetal position still trying to work the gun.

The ground shook and and I felt the jaws of the bear slip over my head. As he bit down I heard a sickening, crunching sound and was amazed I was still alive!

Panic struck as I heard Steve’s voice, thinking he should be playing dead. I got up, knowing I had no way to defend him except to distract the bear back to me. As I looked through a cascade of blood coming down my face I realized that Steve was okay. Then his words broke through my mental fog — “Help us, Jesus.” He was saying it over and over. I joined in. He was 10 feet away and had thought the bear had killed me. Instead, after the one bite the bear ran off into the bush.

Both of us were pretty shook up. We endeavored to stop the bleeding and to get the gun in working order. Upon examination we found that a safety, unlike any lever gun I had ever used, was blocking the hammer just short of the firing pin and needed to be pushed sideways to fire. We reloaded with the only two shells we could find and made a plan on how to get back to the plane.

The bear had run away the same direction we had to go, so we waited and watched for 15 minutes or more, when I spotted three bears in the opposite direction, looking curiously our way. They looked like second year cubs and I was wondering why they would still be around so close.

This caused some confusion in my mind as to whether the bear that attacked me was a sow or a boar. If it was a sow, and these were her cubs, why did she run the other way and why hadn’t she taken them off now? As soon as they moved off, we headed back for the airplane. We walked downwind now, alert for any sign of movement. When we arrived at the beach, we knelt down and praised God for bringing us out of the attack alive and asked that I would be able to safely fly us back to the lodge before nightfall.

As we neared the plane, I gave Steve a quick rundown on how to operate the radio and what to do if I passed out.

I felt alert and had no serious pain yet, and in spite of a heavy rain and hail squall in the vicinity of the lodge, the Lord answered our prayer and we made a safe landing just before dark.

We told the crew at the lodge what had happened and began treating the wounds to prevent infection. It was decided that a rescue helicopter should be called, since it was impossible to get to help in an airplane until morning.

Pain started to set in and then shock. Along with it came severe headache, nausea, chills and shivering to the point I didn’t think I would make it through the night. I asked my daughter Rene, who was there in camp, to call a friend and start a prayer chain, which she did. I held on the few hours until the Coast Guard helicopter arrived.

I had developed a swelling in my neck, with increasing pressure and pain, which the doctors later said they couldn’t understand. Prayer was working on me already. By the time I made it to Anchorage on a Medivac flight from Cordova, the neck swelling was gone and the pain stabilized.

Doctors did a Cat scan, and determined I had one skull fracture but no damage to the brain. Now the concern would be to make sure meningitis would not set in, so they started me on a strong antibiotic. I was able to leave the hospital on September 26.

Along with many friends and neighbors’ prayers, visits and calls, a quick recovery followed.

Later I talked to a friend of mine who is a biologist. I described how, by all indications, the bear appeared to be a boar, running off in the opposite direction from where the cubs were. That, and the appearance of the sow and cubs 20 minutes later, caused us to come to the conclusion that we had perhaps run into a boar/sow confrontation. Were the bears distracted from hearing us? Did the boar think we were cubs? I guess we will never know for sure.

I thank God for His gracious protection and for the loving gracious people He has put in my life. I want to thank the brave, selfless Coast Guard crew that came to get me in the dark, stormy weather, and I thank all my friends and family for their faithful prayers.

I am reminded of these scriptures.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” James 5:16

“What is man that you make so much of him, that you give him so much attention?” Job 7:17