A Bear With a .32 - .20
(from The High and Lonesome)

I had received many black bear calls this particular summer. These bears were left over, dyed-in-the-wool, meat-eaters that had survived a severe drought here in Colorado from 1998 to 2003. A lot of the bears died in their dens because they could not put on enough fat during the summer months. The one’s that survived learned how to kill and eat meat. Ordinarily this was no problem, but I was working predator control for the county and they were losing livestock to these bears. My job was simple – Hunt and kill any bear that was killing livestock.

Since I started working in this county, I had not killed a record number of bears, but noticed that those I did hunt and kill were extremely determined at what they did. On one particular job, when the bear ran out of dairy goats, he started to follow around a young woman’s sons, even coming up on the porch and peering in the door. While I know that most black bears are not dangerous, because they usually avoid humans, I did know some hunters that worked for the outfit that were mauled by black bears. I knew that the potential was always there and I sensed that one of these meat eaters just might try to sample some human flesh if the circumstances were right.

When I received the call, I was not prepared for what I heard. The livestock owner was obviously shaken and upset. He said he had lost a large steer to a black bear. He said his neighbor’s son had seen the bear mauling the steer. The rancher added that his foreman went up to the ranch and found a cinnamon colored bear still feeding on the carcass.

I was not prepared that day to hunt bear as I was trapping beaver and only had a .32-.20 Ruger handgun with me. I was using the pistol to shoot beaver in the traps. I usually carried an assortment of equipment, including bear guns and night vision, in the truck. But, I’d had the radio in my truck serviced earlier and had the truck cleaned out for the technician to access the wiring under the back bench of the truck. I thought about trying to go back home and pick up a rifle, but the rancher said the bear was still there and I was about 45 miles from home. I was also some 50 miles from where the bear killed the steer. It would be taking a big chance, but I thought I could kill the bear with the .32-.20 pistol.

As I steered the truck onto Hwy 12, memories of past bear hunts began to flood my mind. I’ve killed bears with an assortment of different calibers, but knew that no matter how big the gun was, they had to be hit right to put them in the dirt.

I was no stranger to shooting an assortment of varmints with the .32-.20. Most of them were coyotes in foot hold traps. But, I knew, from testing various handgun calibers, that chest shooting a coyote was a real good indicator of just how good the caliber was. Because a coyote is one of the toughest critters on God’s green planet, it gave me a lot of respect for the .32-.20.

This particular pistol was a Ruger, large frame, old model .30 Carbine. I built the gun up using the original barrel and chambered another cylinder for .32-.20. The gun was very reliable and accurate. The load I used was 140 grain, hard cast, flat-point with a gas check, under a heavy charge of 296 powder. I will not publish the exact load with the Winchester powder, as I know it was over maximum, but the big Ruger handled it well.

As I passed Monument Lake and came close to the area where the steer had been killed, I could not help thinking of the fisherman that had been camping up at the lake in the 1960’s and was killed and eaten by a black bear. I was also thinking that this area was pretty close to where I had a stock killing bear get out of a bear trap two years earlier in the area known as Whiskey Creek. I had been making bear cage traps for the department and had made one particular trap with a larger gun window. I did this because, in my experience, when you have a bear in the trap, a small window is hard to get the gun through and shoot the bear. I made this particular trap with an eleven inch window approximately twenty inches long. I did not see the Whiskey Creek bear escape, but a volunteer fireman at Stonewall had gone up to the ranch, directed by the rancher, and said he saw a cinnamon colored, good sized bear squeeze through that window like Houdini, squirming and undulating.

As I opened the gate and went into the kill area, I could see ravens and turkey vultures flying around and landing in a bunch of quaking aspen and spruce trees on the hillside. I stopped the truck and pulled out the binoculars, hoping I could spot the bear and maybe make a stalk. No luck! The trees were too thick on the mountain hillside. Well, I thought, this is it. I grabbed the Ruger and a pullover, camo parka and walked toward the hill. I came around the side of the hill using what cover I could find, all the while hoping for a clear shot at this bear. As I neared the carcass, I could see bear scat, and a lot of it on the ground, jet black from the bear eating the blood filled organs of the steer. There was not a whole bunch left of the steer except the front quarters and the head. I could see where the bear had been lying next to the carcass in the long, matted down grass. The area reeked of bear and carrion and I knew he had to be close.

I decided to set up a little above the carcass, about 15 yards, and utilize the trees on the hillside for cover. At best, it was a poor location and my back was vulnerable to the bear if he happened to come in the back way. The trees were doing a good job, though, as the ravens, magpies and vultures kept landing and feeding on the carcass. It was getting a little late in the day and still no bear. I was getting frustrated. I figured that I just as well look around a little and maybe I could spot the bear. I worked my way around the side of the hill and had a large meadow on my left. I was only 200 yards or so from the kill when I spotted the bear directly in front of me, about 100 yards, in the meadow walking towards me and the kill site. I immediately ducked behind some mountain laurel and froze, thinking the bear should walk right past me on the left. I readied the .32-.20 in my hand and waited . . . 15 seconds. . . 30 seconds . . . still no bear. Why hadn’t he shown? What happened to him? I had to look. I slowly raised myself from a kneeling position, from behind a small bush to find the bear directly in front of me starting to turn broadside. He was less than 10 feet away! I don’t remember aiming the handgun, but I do know I pointed the pistol at the bear’s shoulder and let loose. I’ll never forget that moment, because as the bear fell, it was like he was struck by lightning. In that millisecond I thought, “WOW! What a pistol!” And just as fast as that happened, I was snapped right back to reality as the bear was on his feet again. As he rose to his feet, I managed to fire another aimed round into his chest. And then another into his back as he began running up the mountain. I was relieved in that moment that the bear did not turn on me; but at the same time, dismayed that he was running like he wasn’t hit at all.

The bear ran up the mountain about 50 yards, then folded up and started to summer-sault back down towards me. In my experience, this is a bad situation to be in because, if the bear is only wounded, he tends to grab and maul the first thing he can get ahold of. I trained the pistol on him as he tumbled and when he stopped I fired another round into him. He didn’t move.

As I settled down and pulled myself together, I thought I would go get the truck and see if I could load the bear onto it. My job entitled me to shoot any bear that was causing livestock problems, but I was mandated to turn it over to the Colorado Division of Wildlife. I never did find out what the live weight was on this bear, but I could not load him by myself. It took me, my supervisor and the rancher’s son to load him the next day. They took the bear into the Pueblo District Wildlife Office for examination. I was told that two of the four bullets exited the far shoulder and one of the bullets destroyed his heart.

As I think back on that hunt, I should have gone back to my place and picked up a more substantial firearm. Sometimes, though, circumstances dictate our actions. I do not know how many hunters have shot black bears with a .32-.20 and anchored them. But I do know, through my experience, that the .32-.20 maybe small, but it’s got a mighty good bite!