Jack Beesler and Trophy Alaska Polar Bear!

The Old Man's Trophy
Scrapbook

I shot this Trophy Polar Bear in February 1965 on the ice cap off of Wainwright, Alaska. I tracked the bear for three days. Open leads prevented me from getting within range of the bear until the third day and then, just by luck, the bear and I ended up on the same side. I initially spotted him across the lead...about 1 1/2 miles away and he looked huge even at that distance. I kept following the open lead and the bear sign he had left behind. He was hunting and feeding on Oogrut seals. He would skin the seals with his razor sharp claws and lick off the fat that lay beneath. He left the rest of the seal meat and carcass and would head out for yet another plump meal. I continued to follow the trail of one carcass after another along the vast open lead, that is, until about 1/4 mile past the last carcass, the lead petered out. I still wouldn't cross however as the ice was punky...too soft to be walking on, even at the end of February. Then all of a sudden I saw him again, walking toward the end of the lead. He came across and was 175 feet broadside to me, and then passed me just as I had hoped he would. I took aim right behind the shoulder and let go...he got right back up and I shot again...and then I shot a third time. The last shot knocked him down, but he got up and went to edge of the lead and jumped into the overflow. He would dive under and bust back up through the ice with his headfirst...then he disappeared - I thought I had lost him. I went over to a pressure ridge area and could do nothing but wait. Then, without warning, he came pounding up through the ice like a demon rising from the ocean depths. He pulled himself up onto the ice shelf...and now rested 75 feet away. The ice roared and cracked as it moved back and forth, bellowing and thundering, at times it was deafening. Then, one such episode seemed to alarm the bear again. He rose up on his back feet, sitting up...and I took him solid in the shoulder. I thought for sure that the fourth shot was the final one, but I was cautious. I got to within 30 feet of the big bruin and I didn't know if it was my imagination or not, but he appeared to be alive. I knelt down to get some ice to throw at him just to be sure he wasn't alive, when all of a sudden he reared and charged me full bore. I was quick to react and cut loose one last time with my fifth and final shot, and nailed him dead center in the chest. It was a hunt I will never forget, and the villagers at Wainwright were delighted with the meat!

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