The Legend of Fred Bear

Fred Bear Bed Time Story

When I learn to read, I started reading everything I could find. One thing that was always around was hunting magazines, so following my father's example of reading when I pooped. I read every article in the Field & Stream magazine. My young mind was formed by these stories.

In 1974, I waited for tales of the adventures of Fred Bears. The man was a legend. He was probably the best archer the hunting world ever knew. My interest lay in the hearing of all the incredible animals he hunted. The adventures he lived filled my dreams. He went hunting pheasant in Pennsylvania and took one with his Long Bow. Anyone familiar with pheasant hunting knows how difficult a feat this is. The average size of a pheasant is 21 inches to 34 inches. To anyone thinking a pheasant is a large target and no major feat, he went down to Georgia and took quail with a flu-flu arrow and a re-curve bow. Most men have troubleshooting quail with a shotgun.

I had to wait a month for each installment of the articles. I wanted more Fred Bear. During my waiting time, I was frustrated because the family took my older brother, who didn't want to go hunting while I was left at home with only my stories, by the age of thirteen I finally had an opportunity to hunt. I felt like Fred Bear, only I had cheated and used a gun. Unfortunately, I had no remorse.

Fuel was added to the fire. After that first successful adventure hunting deer, my mother's boss took me on a camping trip. From daylight to dark, I hunted. It was as if I was destined for this life. I bagged the bucks when my friend would see nothing. I was too young to understand that I was given the best spot and stand. My ego was huge. I thought I was Fred Bear.

I made money by mowing the grass on hilly slopes of the art district in Chattanooga Tennessee. My Mom's boss owned a gallery. One day he came out to pay me and surprised me with a Bear Bow, including three arrows. He had bought himself a new bow and wanted me to hunt the bow season with him. In those days kids didn't have a lot of things. This became my prized possession that my Idol/Hero had made.

Around this time Fred had become a leader in the Bow industry. His compound bow was coveted. Having my bow in my hand. My mind on the hunt. It seemed to me as if that one bow had been made special for me. I practiced every day. Anticipating the opening day of Archery season.

The day finally came and the Boss and I were off to Middle Georgia. At camp, we had a friendly competition. A dollar bill was placed in the center of the target. Then each participant put a dollar on top of the target. The first one to hit George Washington got the pot. Everyone took a shot, George Washington sat perched, nary a hole. Another round of dollars was placed upon the target. Another round of shots. After several rounds the pot was large and my accuracy was faltering, in hindsight I realize it was the pressure that made me waver. I had practiced. I had taken down so many deer. I do not recall who won. I just knew I had mowed a lot of lawns to lose that money so easily.

I slept that night with my bow beside me. How had I missed that shot?I practiced every day. I was intimate with my bow, but I was no Fred Bear.

The next morning, we were in our tree stands by daylight. Even with the disappointment of yesterday in my mind, I clutched my Fred Bear bow in my hand. I stood in my stand silently waiting for my pray. Straining only my ear, the wind rustling the leaves. I stood quiet and still, finally, a doe came through and I drew my bow. My entire body was shaking uncontrollably. The shot missed. I notched another arrow. How did I fail? Fred was in my hand. Minutes later a nice buck came into the clear. Once again, heart racing, whole body shaking, the scent of deer mingled with the musky scent of earth. I missed it again.

At this point, my entire being was in shambles. I could never be Fred Bear. When I collected my arrows they were inches apart. I had misjudged the distance. On the way back to camp, I wondered how Fred Bear had stalked a grizzly within 10 yards without losing his composure.

My first deer with a bow was later that year, and when I saw him I remembered to let the adrenaline come after the shot. I had just hit George Washington.

Hunting is not about killing. Hunting is primal. You have to learn control over instinct and mood. If you cannot control your mind, it will control you. Fred Bear taught me about life. If you can face a grizzly with only a longbow, then things like job interviews are child's play. Fred Bear was no fairy tale, he was a simple man who learned to control himself no matter the situation.