Some hunts start with a tag. Others start with a moment. Mine started with both.

In 2017, I drew a once-in-a-lifetime elk tag—one of those tags you dream about for years and can hardly believe when you see your name next to it. I stepped into that country expecting to fill an elk tag. I left with far more than backstraps and antlers.

I left with an obsession.

The mountains that fall were rugged, quiet, and honest—everything I love about the West. But scattered through that country was something else. Something bigger. Track after track sunk deep into the mud. Fresh scat piled like something a horse might leave behind. Trees raked and scarred higher than I could reach.

Bears.

Not ordinary bears.

Giant bears.

Every ridge I hiked, every basin I dropped into, every patch of timber I quartered my bull in—the sign was there. I remember staring at one track the size of a plate and thinking, Whoever made this… he runs this mountain.

I didn’t know it then, but that single track lit a fuse. A long one. One that would burn for more than a decade.

From that year forward, this place wasn’t just elk country. It became the place. The place that tugged at the back of my mind. The place my brother Erik, my cousin Clint, and I applied for year after year.

We were hunting more than bears.

We were hunting a legend we hadn’t even met yet.

Three years later, in 2020, Erik drew the bear hunt.

The second he called, the mission was clear. Go find the monster I’d crossed paths with in 2017—or the beast that had replaced him.

We baited deep. The kind of deep that makes you question your sanity packing 50-pound loads up and down that country. We ran cameras. Pulled cards. Checked them like kids tearing into Christmas presents.

And then one day… there he was.

A massive, brick-red boar. Thick-bodied, big-headed, and built like something out of another era. His hide glowed reddish-orange—a color we’d never seen on a bear that size.

Erik didn’t hesitate.

He named him Megalodon.

But he wasn’t alone. A big black sow also hit the bait regularly. And then came the camera sequence that changed everything:

Megalodon breeding her.

The beginning of a bloodline.

Erik hunted that bear harder than anyone I’ve ever seen hunt anything. Over twenty sits on that bear hunt. Long, painful days of silence. A few close calls that still sting today.

But Megalodon was a ghost. He slipped in and out like he controlled the air around us.

Eventually, he vanished.

No shot.

No blood.

No closure.

Just the birth of a legend.

In 2022, Clint killed a giant bull in that same country. A year later, he returned with a bear tag and bear hunt of his own, determined to finish what Erik had started.

Early in the season, we found her: the same black sow from 2020, now with two yearlings trailing behind her.

Megalodon’s offspring.

We couldn’t prove it scientifically—but in our bones, we knew. Clint passed her out of respect. He eventually took a solid boar, but our true target stayed buried in the timber.

Meanwhile, the story spread wider.

Gage—who’d helped Erik in 2020—called to say his dad drew the bear hunt that same year. Ten miles from our original camera site, a massive red bear showed up again.

Same color. Same build. Same unbelievable size.

Could it be him?

We didn’t know. But the possibility turned the story into something bigger than a hunt.

They never caught up to him.

In 2024, the legend added another chapter.

Gage and a friend both drew tags to bear hunt the same area. And once again, the red giant stepped in front of a camera. This time, Gage's friend got a shot.

A single chance.

A miss.

And the bear vanished again, like he had the whole mountain memorized and knew exactly how to disappear.

At this point, Megalodon wasn’t just a bear. He was woven into our family’s hunting story—this thread twisting through seasons, tags, and near-misses.

But everything was about to come full circle.

After thirteen years—twenty-six collective seasons of applying—my name finally sat at the top of the draw results.

My turn to bear hunt.

My chance.

My target list was simple:

Big Black Betty - a tank of a sow with a build bigger than most boars.

And…

The red giant we still believed could be Megalodon.

This year, we were more prepared than we’d ever been—because we had two major tools:

HuntStand’s updated 3D maps became one of our biggest advantages when selecting bait sites for this bear hunt. In country this vast, you can waste days trying to guess where an old bear might travel. But the 3D terrain layers let us scout the entire mountain from home.

By tilting and rotating the map, we could identify the kinds of spots giant boars love:

• Deep, dark canyons where they can bed undisturbed
  
  

• North-facing slopes that stay cool throughout the day
  
  

• Thick pine pockets where they can slip away and never be seen
  
  

• Creek bottoms and spring seeps they rely on for shade, water, and travel routes
  
  

Those maps helped us locate the benches, folds, and natural funnels where a massive bear would feel comfortable slipping in—and those, coupled with crucial insight from my buddy Gage, ultimately guided us to the bait sites that produced.

But what truly tied the entire thirteen-year bear hunt saga together were Stealth Cam trail cameras.

They didn’t just help us hunt. They helped us identify the bear—piece by piece, year after year.

They helped confirm the color.

The stature.

The timing.

The movement pattern.

Every photo was evidence.

Every video was a puzzle piece.

And finally, in 2025, Stealth Cam helped us verify what we hoped was true:

That the red bear hitting our bait could be the same giant we’d been chasing since 2020 - and he was hitting both of my baits!

Maybe even since the tracks I found in 2017.

Those cameras didn’t just help us pattern him.

They helped us finish the story.

My first sit of the bear hunt season brought a shock I’ll never forget. Out of the timber, like a shadow turning solid, Big Black Betty stepped onto the bait. She was a sight to behold—bigger than most boars I’ve seen in all my years of hunting, a walking tank of a bear with presence you could feel. She was legal. She was massive. And for a moment, I’ll admit… the temptation was real.

But this hunt wasn’t about “a” bear. It was about the bear.

I hadn’t even sat the bait where I believed Megalodon was most likely to show up, so I let Betty walk—hoping, trusting, that the red giant still lived.

I moved to my other bait, the one I’d hand-picked using months of Stealth Cam intel and HuntStand scouting. After a couple sits without so much as a twig snapping, doubt crept in. Maybe I’d guessed wrong. Maybe Megalodon was long gone. But something in my gut told me to give it one more try. One more sit before heading back to the bait where Big Black Betty had already proven she was on a steady rotation.

And that “one more” changed everything.

The canyon was dead silent when he materialized—huge, red, unmistakable. Every Stealth Cam photo, every piece of sign, every story from the past five years snapped into perfect focus. It was him. Megalodon. The bear we’d been chasing since 2020.

When I settled my sights and squeezed the trigger, it wasn’t just a shot—it was the final chapter of a story nearly a decade in the making. A story written in boot tracks, bait barrels, trail cam photos, missed chances, and miles of country. A story shared between brothers, cousins, and friends.

And when it was over… the red giant finally lay still.

Megalodon—found, confirmed, and harvested at last.

Watch the full hunt play out in the film below.

As I knelt beside the bear, I thought back to the moment in 2017 that started it all.

The track.

The feeling.

The obsession.

Hunting—real hunting—isn’t just about the kill. It’s about the years that lead to it. The people involved. The lessons learned. The country that shapes you. And the stories that become part of your family’s history.

Whether this bear was Megalodon himself, his bloodline, or simply the next giant to rise from that mountain… he represented something bigger.

A story written in sign.

In maps.

In trail cam photos.

In failure, persistence, and eventual success.

In dedication shared across brothers and cousins.

In patience earned over thirteen long years.

Some hunts are worth the wait.

This one was unforgettable.

This one was full circle.

This one was mine.

Every backcountry baited bear hunt comes down to preparation, gear, and patience. Here are a few pieces of equipment that were critical to my success on this hunt:

• Kawasaki Ridge Side by Side – Navigating slippery, treacherous mountain roads was seamless with the Ridge. It allowed me to get in and out of bait sites safely and efficiently, even when conditions were downright gnarly.

• Boar Masters Attractants – Bears can’t resist them. Their pastes, sprays, and powders kept both Black Betty and Megalodon coming back, and the scents held strong for weeks after applying.

• Stealth Cam DS4K Trail Cameras – High-quality photos and video were crucial to identifying the right bears. One smaller red bear could have easily fooled me, but the trail cams ensured I didn’t make a mistake.

• HuntStand 3D Maps – The 3D terrain views helped me select the exact locations for bait, pointing me toward the deep canyons, thick pines, and creeks where giants like Megalodon travel.

• 25 Creedmoor Rifle (TS Customs on MDT Chassis) – Compact enough to travel in the side by side, easy to carry on my pack during the drag, and perfect for shooting off a tripod on steep side hills.

• MUTNT Gear Tripod – Lightweight, smooth, and rock-solid, this tripod made glassing and taking the shot in a challenging position much easier, giving me the confidence I needed to harvest Megalodon.