By Eric “Mo” Morris

This is a story of a spring bear hunt in Alaska that Eric “Mo” Morris found and booked on BookYourHunt.com, told in his own words.

“In Alaska, the weather calls the shots”

Disappointment hit early on my first day in Yakutat. We were supposed to head out to camp, but the weather had other plans. Winds were too strong, and the boats couldn’t safely make the trip. It was a letdown—we were all ready to get out into the field. But in Alaska, the weather calls the shots, and today it said: “Stay put!”

I had a long way behind me, from Maryland via Seattle to Juneau, then on to Yakutat. Yakutat’s airport is tiny—think more fishing lodge than terminal—but it’s easy to navigate. Waiting for me was John Latham, a true legend in Alaska hunting and the kind of man whose stories change how you look at life. I also met my hunting partner, Bill, and George, our master guide for the trip.

With some daylight to kill, George suggested I sight in my rifle. We drove out to an old gravel pit outside of town and I got ready to shoot in a steady downpour. Despite traveling cross-country, my cold-bore shot was dead-on. It gave me confidence in my gear.

Later in the evening, Pete—our outfitter—finally arrived in town. We all went out to dinner at the Glacier Bear Lodge. It wasn’t bad at all, and we got to check out some massive halibut hanging up behind the lodge—easily 150-plus-pound fish.

Inside, I found a map of the area, and we located the small island in Russell Fiord where our camp would be. Seeing it marked on the map somehow made it feel more real—like the hunt was finally about to begin.

“I got to scoop glacier chunks straight out of the bay”

The ride to camp took about three hours, the first half bringing us up toward the Hubbard Glacier. Along the way, I soaked in towering mountain views, with waterfalls pouring down the cliffs—an Alaskan masterpiece in motion. The water stayed fairly calm until we neared the ice pack.

As we approached, Pete told the captain we needed to grab some glacier ice for camp. Out came a big fish net, and I got to scoop glacier chunks straight out of the bay—just another surreal moment. That ice would end up in our coolers for days. Seeing that glacier from the water and its deep blue colors was unreal.

As we got closer to Hubbard Glacier, we passed a cruise ship. Having been on a cruise recently, I knew the passengers would be looking at our small boat and wondering where we were headed.

The second leg took us down Russell Fiord, where we encountered rain, sleet, and snow for most of the ride. Then, as we turned into a protected cove, I caught sight of the camp—wooden structures peeking through the trees, skiffs pulled up on the beach, and the last group of hunters waiting to leave. They were a bit haggard looking; it had been storming for eight days straight, and they had seen very few bears.

I went out to glass a little bit. I found a good spot with a 180-degree view of the fiord and built a rain shelter just in time. Five minutes later the rain started coming down hard. I spent about thirty minutes unable to see anything before making my way back to camp, where the guys were getting dinner started.

I went to bed around 10, and it was still raining. The rain drummed constantly on the plastic-lined roof and it was pretty soothing, as long as Bill was not snoring. The rain, the snoring—it was all good. I smiled. I’m in Alaska. And the hunt starts tomorrow.

“We’re hunting the tides here”

First hunting day. I was up around 6, sipping coffee and chatting with George and Bill while the rest of camp slowly woke up.

We’re hunting the tides here. The bears come out at low tide to feed on mussels, and the receding water opens up more beachfront to glass. The bears are on the beach a lot—it’s not only a food source because of the mussels, it’s like their highway. They use it for ease of movement, so the goal is to get in front of them in a tight corridor and ambush them.

My guide, Hunter, and I were heading out to a small island, where we set out another covered observation point. There were harbor seals on the beach just laying in the rain hoping for a little sun. We would glass from there, and if we saw a bear, we’d ride the boat and try to stalk it.

Hunter spotted a black bear and we decided to make a stalk on it. We jumped into the boat and motored southwest across the fiord, landing about a mile short of where we’d seen the bear. What we thought would be a quick leg turned into a mile-and-a-quarter hike—through rocks, mud, and brush, with a soaked ruck. By the time we got close to where we saw the bear last, he was nowhere to be seen.

The walk back was a haul. My gear was wet, my legs were smoked, and it was all rocks underfoot. That 14-foot Lund boat was a welcome sight through the fog. Just as we got in, another squall blew through, and the two-foot swells almost jarred the teeth out of my head.

“As big as these bears are, it’s still hard to see them”

Day six was the first time we saw the sun for more than thirty minutes. There were intermittent showers, but not as bad as the driving rain we had seen earlier. Glassing continued to prove difficult. As big as these bears are, it’s still hard to see them. They blend in with the rocks and green-black colors of the low-tide algae.

About 11:45 we saw our first bear. We crossed the channel, climbed up a rock face, and sat where we could catch the bear coming down the beach. We sat there for about twenty minutes, expecting him to come around a bend. Then Hunter said the bear could have taken a trail that went up and around us. We repositioned and I was able to spot him in the brush about 800 yards out. We tried to catch up with him, but then we lost him.

This routine repeated several times. Once, the bear moved into a meadow off the beach with very little open area. We tried a predator call but had no luck. Then both guides called out a big bear. We thought they were looking at the same bear, but there were two—one a beautiful chocolate color. We watched one charge toward the other and then lost sight of both.

Another time, while waiting in ambush, we saw two sibling bears coming down the beach at about a hundred yards. They suddenly took off into the brush. We thought the big bear must be coming. Nothing showed.

We were easing back toward the island on the electric motor when George spotted the bear.

He was walking the beach and we were parallel to him about 400 yards offshore. We didn’t want to spook him, so we continued on the electric. It was painfully slow creeping along in a loaded 14-foot boat. It felt like a race and we were barely making any headway, but the bear kept heading down the beach.

We finally got in front of him. By this time I was smoked after all the stalks. We had covered about six miles according to my Fitbit over horrible, slick, rocky beaches. I had barely drank any water and had no food all day.

The Beach Boss Hits the Ground

As we made our way to the ambush spot, we saw the bear had cut up into the brush about 100 yards out. I took a knee behind a rock and both my hamstrings went into a brutal cramp. I couldn’t stretch or move and had to wait for the pain to stop.

When it finally eased, any movement set them on fire again. We saw the bear pass about 50 yards away, but the brush was too thick for a shot. As he moved past us, we trailed him down the beach. Hunter broke out the predator call. I was cramping again, but I could see the bear slowly pushing toward us through the brush.

I dropped behind a rock. All I could see was a massive, light-colored shape lumbering forward. He stopped and turned to look at us when he heard the call, then started our way.

My scope was a little foggy. I cleaned it, dialed the power down to five, and centered the illuminated reticle on his chest just below the chin at a slight quartering-away angle. I waited while the bear filled the scope.

As soon as the bear was clear of the brush, and about 30 yards from us Hunter said, “Take him,” and I squeezed the trigger.

The massive bear bellowed as the 200-grain Terminal Ascent rocked him and spun him left. Hunter’s .416 Rigby knocked him down. We were told to keep shooting, so I followed up twice and Hunter fired one more round. Steam rolled off the bear. He wasn’t moving.

The bear looked big in the scope, but only when we walked up did we realize how massive he really was. His face was scarred, his back and sides torn. He was clearly a battle-hardened bear. The guides called him the Beach Boss because he had been running off all the other bears.

Hunter said it was one of the biggest bears he had ever taken, and after measuring it proved to be the largest brown bear he had ever harvested for a client.

We headed back to camp, had a celebratory whiskey with glacier ice, ate dinner, and I passed out completely smoked.

Camp, Chores, Mussels, and Shrimp

The next morning, George, Hunter, and I skinned the Beach Boss. I helped where I could, mostly sharpening knives. We resupplied at the Tongass trailhead and checked shrimp pots—about 28 shrimp from two pots, which we ate later.

The food in camp was excellent. Pete sous-vides his meat before sending it out, so meals were simple and outstanding. We also picked mussels from the beach. Hunter’s advice was simple: go for the big ones attached to rock above the mud. It was slow, methodical, and oddly satisfying.

Bill and Jared got his bear the following day, a beautiful chocolate with full fur. We tried our hand at some fishing  but it was slow—we each caught one cutthroat trout. We checked out a whale skull Hunter had found earlier and saw another brown bear right in our cove.

The camp itself was well set up. A drip kerosene heater and drying system over the stove were essential—without it, gear wouldn’t last long here.

We still had some time left in our trip and I wanted to get a Glacier Bear.  Before going after a black bear, I checked my zero. It was a good thing that I did, because somehow the turret had spun three minutes left from going in and out of the waterproof bag. Once dialed back, it was dead-on again.

Rain hammered the roof all night, but by then it was just part of the Alaska soundtrack.

A Black Bear on a Clear Day

For the first time, the mountains were fully visible as we headed toward Cape Stoss to glass for blacks. Judging distance over water is incredibly deceptive.

I had been glassing what I thought was a rock at about 1,200 yards. Hunter looked and said, “That’s a black bear.” Sure enough, it was.

We made a careful approach, switching to the trolling motor late. The battery was dying, but we got close enough. After landing, we hugged the shoreline using boulders for cover.

We were still about 800 yards out. We had to hustle because we wanted to get to the rock and use it as our shooting spot. As we got closer we eased up and started cutting the corner to see if the bear was still there. Sure enough, he was gone. 

We took off up the beach to the next point to see if we could spot him. Again, trying not to kill myself on the rocks. We went another 200 yds and peaked around the bend and there he was walking away from us down the beach. 

The bear moved, then reappeared around a bend walking away. Hunter called the range at about 225 yards. There were huge boulders on the beach and the bear was moving in and out of them. Hunter was on the predator call but this time it was having no effect. 

The bear finally stopped and gave me a quartering-away shot. I held just behind the shoulder and squeezed. The thump told me it hit true.

I sat there afterward and thanked the Lord for the opportunity and the scene—the mountains clear, the full moon rising. It was the only day it didn’t rain the entire trip.

End of the Journey

On the way back to Yakutat, we had to break through ice. It was tense, but the young captain got us through. I nearly missed my flight after running late to Game and Fish, where the bears were sealed and officially measured. The brown bear taped at 28⅛ inches—one of only nine over 28 inches taken in the region since 1961.

I was never able to see the elusive glacier bear that this area is known for besides the one at the airport. The glacier bear is officially a black bear, but with a white tinted fur. This mutation only occurs in one of 40 black bears, so they are very rare. Still, as I got on the plane, I realized it has been an adventure of a lifetime and nothing I will ever forget. I’m truly thankful to the Lord for the opportunities he has provided to me.

Gear After-Action Review

Layering and waterproofing were critical. A rotating base layer, hoodie-plus-puffy mid-layer, and a truly waterproof rain shell kept me dry through 15 of 16 rainy days. Simms G3 wading pants and Crispi Nevada Legend insulated boots worked well, and Xtratuf deck shoes were ideal for camp.

My Vortex Fury 10×42 range finding binos were adequate but outclassed at distance by the guides’ Sig Sauer 18×42 stabilized glass. My spotting scope saw limited use, as decisions had to be made quickly, and there was seldom enough time to deploy it. My Mystery Ranch Treehouse 38, which was great for organizing and transporting all of my gear, was not a match for this environment. A fully waterproof dry bag is essential.

My Browning X-Bolt .300 Win Mag with 200-grain Terminal Ascent performed flawlessly on both bears, though its length was cumbersome in brush. A scope throw lever on my Vortex Viper PST 5-25x was invaluable. Belt-mounted sidearms didn’t work with waders; chest mounting would be better.

Standard gloves failed in rain. Showa Temres insulated rubber gloves were outstanding. Skip solar chargers—bring power banks. There is no sun, and power is limited.

J. Eric “Mo” Morris retired in 2022 after 31 years of government service in Department of Homeland Security, Border Patrol, and the Marine Corps. He held various executive positions, including Director of the Department of Homeland Security’s Migration Indications and Warning Cell, is  a certified K-9 handler, vessel commander, sniper and firearms instructor, and led several special operations within the country and internationally. Morris and his wife live in Maryland and Texas with their stepson. He has three daughters and enjoys hunting, fishing, and camping.

Here is what he says about our online marketplace: ‘BookYourHunt.com was an incredible resource when I was looking to book my bucket list costal brown bear hunt.  I was able to see many different offerings and actually interviewed multiple outfitters before selecting Barela’s Alaskan Outfitters.  An extraordinary team of experienced guides, untouched Alaskan wilderness, and a hunt you’ll remember for a lifetime. I continue to use BookYourHunt.com to plan my next hunting adventure.”

Next in ‘Hunting Stories’

“The Hunt Was Nothing Short of Incredible”: The Moose in British Columbia That Took Four Years

By Brandon Fontenout

This is the story of the hunt with Ram Creek Outfitters, that Brandon Fontenout booked on BookYourHunt.com. Or, to be precise, of one booking that ended in several hunts: one rescheduled, one unsuccessful, and one that nearly ended up unsuccessful. Only through an incredible perseverance of the hunter, understanding attitude of the guide, and perfect communication between them could Brandon’s trip to British Columbia end in a well-deserved trophy. But let Brandon tell everything in his own words: 

Early in 2020, as COVID was just beginning to appear on the radar, and nobody knew yet where it would lead, I scheduled an archery moose hunt with Ram Creek Outfitters. I found it on BookYourHunt.com, sent an online request for information through the website’s chat system, and Steven Leuenberger replied the next day. He answered all of my questions, and we were able to discuss details of the hunt. It didn’t take long for him to gain my trust, as he was extremely personable and very easy to talk to. CONTINUE READING