The Prince William Sound Bear Hunt: Bears On The Beach

The Prince William Sound Bear Hunt: Bears On The Beach

The Prince William Sound Bear Hunt: A Family Adventure in the Wild

Alaska is home to a massive population of black bears—somewhere between 100,000 and 200,000 roam the state’s wild places. One of the best spots to find them is right here in Prince William Sound, where thousands of these bears live among the coastal forests and islands. It’s an incredible place to hunt, with breathtaking scenery and some of the best opportunities for bear hunting you’ll find anywhere.

But hunting here isn’t just about the thrill of the chase. Sustainable harvest is key to keeping these populations healthy, so hunters like us make sure to follow strict regulations and do our part. We use everything the bear gives us—meat for our family, the hide for practical and traditional uses. It’s about respecting the animal and ensuring that future generations can enjoy the same experiences we do.

The salty air hit my face as we motored into Prince William Sound, and I couldn’t help but take in the raw beauty of this place. There’s something about Alaska that just gets in your bones. It is a feeling of a pure wild and untamed spirit. The water was like glass, reflecting the snow-covered peaks towering above us, and the thick, green forest crept right up to the rocky shore. A layer of cool mist covered the surface of the water like a blanket tossed over the world, softening the edges, and hiding the wildness just beneath, waiting for the day to wake up. This wasn’t just a place—it was an experience. And we were ready for it.

Our boat cut through the still waters, heading toward a remote bay. The shoreline stretched out ahead of us, wild and untouched, a mix of jagged rocks, moss-covered logs, and dense patches of alder and spruce. This is where bears roam, free and undisturbed by the world beyond. And today, we were in their domain.

On the first evening, it didn’t take long for us to spot our first bear as we glassed a distant stretch of the beach. The wind was perfect, and we wasted no time planning a careful stalk. I climbed to the top of my 26-foot Weldcraft boat, unstrapped the 12-foot dinghy resting on top of the cabin, and tossed it into the water. We would use the dinghy to quietly slip onto the beach, making for a stealthy approach that would keep us undetected by the bear. Once we reached the shore, my wife Jen and I moved along the water’s edge, weaving through rocks and bushes, doing everything right to keep the bear in sight. It was one of those moments where everything seemed to line up—or so we thought.

As we stalked closer, we encountered a steep cliff that dropped straight into the water, cutting off our path. We couldn’t get past without being spotted. At 128 yards, I told Jen to steady the rifle on the rockface. The bear was feeding on green grass near the shoreline, nestled among a pile of driftwood logs. Jen slowly loaded her rifle and rested it on the rocks.

Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she moved into position, steadied herself for the shot, and slowly squeezed the trigger. POWWW! The rifle barked and echoed across the bay. But things didn’t go as planned. We saw the dirt above the bear explode, and in an instant, the bear bolted into the thick alder, disappearing into the shadows. It looked like a clean miss. Jen was visibly disappointed, and I could feel it too. But she didn’t let it get her down. Missing is part of hunting, and she was hopeful that tomorrow would bring another chance.

Sure enough, the next day delivered. After an early morning glassing session, we spotted another bear along a different stretch of beach—bigger than the one she missed the day before. You could see the fire in her eyes as we made our way toward the bear. This time, the stalk was a little further than the prior day. We had to cross a small river and scramble over the rocky beach, all while staying as silent and as unseen as possible. The wind was in our favor, and the terrain offered just enough cover for a slow, deliberate approach.

We finally reached the edge of the trees. The bear was feeding along the shore, completely unaware of us. Jen found a washed-up log to use as a brace for her rifle. She knelt down, took a deep breath, and steadied herself for the shot. This time, everything was perfect. The crack of her rifle echoed across the bay, and the bear dropped in its tracks.

It was an incredible moment, one of redemption and triumph. Jen had overcome the disappointment of the previous day, stayed patient, and made the shot count when it mattered most. I was proud of her, watching her walk up to that bear with a smile that stretched ear to ear. Perseverance had paid off, and the wild beauty of Prince William Sound had gifted us another unforgettable experience. Jen and I went back to the boat, grabbed the boys—Leo, Caleb, and Fisher—and headed out to recover the bear. It was a special moment as a family, walking up together to see Jen’s bear. We were all proud that everything had worked out, and Jen had successfully gotten her bear. Together, we processed the bear, saving all the meat, the hide, and the skull. Once everything was packed up, we loaded it into the raft and hauled it back to the big boat. It was one of those great days we’ll always remember.

Fishing, Shrimping, and Fresh Shrimp Feasts

Between the hunts, we took full advantage of being in the sound, where the waters are teeming with life. We set out shrimp pots in the early morning, eager to see what we’d pull up. As the lines came up, they were heavy with the catch. The pots were full of bright pink shrimp, fresh from the cold waters of Prince William Sound.

We wasted no time. We grabbed the biggest ones, still wriggling, and tossed them straight into a skillet of melted garlic butter. There’s nothing quite like the taste of fresh shrimp right from the shrimp pot, sweet, and tender. Especially soaked and dipped in the rich flavor of garlic butter. We sat on the boat, savoring every bite with the sun glinting off the water, knowing we were living in the moment. As we munched on the buttery shrimp, Jen and the boys got their fishing rods ready. The sound of the reels clicking and the excitement in the air was contagious. Before long, they started pulling in a few fish—some nice rockfish and a couple of Irish lords.

Now, if you’ve never seen an Irish lord before, it’s not exactly the most glamorous fish in the ocean. These guys are all about blending in with their rocky surroundings. They’ve got this mottled, almost camouflage-like coloring—brownish-red with blotches of yellow, orange, and black, making them look like they’re straight out of the sea floor. Their heads are wide and flat, almost prehistoric-looking, with sharp little spines along the gill plates. Not the prettiest fish, but they’re tough and perfectly adapted for life on the bottom, hiding out among rocks and kelp waiting to ambush smaller prey.

You don’t typically keep them for the table, but they’re always fun to catch because you never quite know what’s coming up when you're reeling in. The boys loved seeing those wild, alien-like fish come to the surface, and it added a bit of excitement to an already amazing day.

 It wasn’t just the hunts that made this trip special—it was these in-between moments, the simplicity of good food in an incredible place, that really cemented the memories for us.

My Close Encounter: A Bow Hunt to Remember

On the third day, it was my turn. After the high of my wife’s success, I was eager to get out there and have my own moment. The weather was calm, and the water lay still, with a cool sea breeze so gentle it barely disturbed the surface as we scanned the beaches for movement. It didn’t take long before we spotted another bear, this one moving along a rocky stretch of shoreline. We watched as it made its way up into the alders, disappearing between the branches. I knew this was the perfect time to make an approach—the bear was out of sight, and if it came back down toward the beach, we’d be there waiting.

With the wind in our favor, I grabbed my bow, and Leo and I hopped into the raft, heading toward the shoreline. We rowed about 300 yards before the raft crunched onto the gravel beach, and we stepped out. The ground beneath our boots felt different—wild and untouched, like we were about to experience something we hadn’t before. The shoreline was covered in shale gravel and tangled with washed-up green seaweed. Just beyond the beach, a large patch of spruce trees climbed the hillside. Every step was deliberate, the crunch of gravel and the swish of water masking our movements as we crept toward where we had last seen the bear.

We moved slowly, scanning the trees and alders, searching for any sign of black fur moving among the branches that had just begun to bud with the early spring growth. We walked in shin-deep water to muffle the sound of our footsteps, inching closer and closer. Just as we reached the spot where we had last seen the bear, Leo whispered, “There he is.” Sure enough, the bear was feeding just ahead, about 40 yards away in the alders, completely unaware of our presence.

The bear was munching on the freshly sprouted buds of the trees as I readied an arrow. As it fed, it started to move closer, making its way down toward the beach. At 30 yards, I thought I was about to get my shot. I drew my bow, ready to take the shot, but the bear continued feeding, oblivious to us. It found a wild pink rose bush and used its long tongue to pull the flowers into its mouth. A minute passed, and I was still at full draw, my muscles beginning to tire. I debated letting down my bow when the bear finally started moving down toward the beach again.

Leo and I stayed perfectly still at the water's edge, with no cover between us and the bear. At 25 yards, it was now on the shoreline, still completely unaware of our presence. Two minutes had passed since I first drew back my bow, and my muscles were starting to give out. My bow began to shake, but I couldn’t take the shot—the bear was facing us, and it wasn’t a good or ethical angle. The bear continued feeding on a patch of green grass. By the time two minutes and 45 seconds had passed, I couldn’t hold the weight of my 70-pound draw any longer, and had to let down my bow. Thankfully, the bear didn’t notice the movement.

At about 20 yards out, the bear kept feeding right in front of us. The adrenaline surged through my veins, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The bear was massive up close, its powerful shoulders moving as it foraged. Finally, at 15 yards, it turned broadside, giving me the shot I had been waiting for. I took a deep breath and drew back my bow again. The string hummed with tension in my hand, and I quickly settled my pin behind the bear’s shoulder, knowing my muscles were still tired from holding the draw for so long.

Just as I prepared to release, the bear looked up, having caught the movement of my draw. We locked eyes, and I knew this was my moment. I released the arrow, and everything felt perfect—until the bear turned slightly at the sound of my bow. The arrow struck its shoulder, and the bear took off down the beach before disappearing into the spruce trees. I saw my arrow as the bear ran by, and then it broke off as it headed up the hill.

I turned to Leo, who had been filming the whole encounter, and the look of shock on his face said it all. Being that close to the bear and witnessing a bow hunt at such close range was an experience neither of us would forget. We gave the bear some time before walking over to where the arrow had broken off. From the blood and penetration, I knew the bear wouldn’t go far. Sure enough, we started tracking and found the bear just 60 yards up the hill.

It was an intense, unforgettable moment—a perfect end to an incredible stalk, and a day Leo and I will always remember.

It was one of those moments that you replay in your mind, knowing it will stay with you forever. Getting that close to a bear, with nothing but a bow in hand, is an experience that’s hard to put into words. It’s a feeling of deep respect for the animal, the land, and the hunt itself.

Prince William Sound had given us an adventure like no other. From Jen’s miss and ultimate triumph, to shrimping and fishing between hunts, to my own close encounter with a bear—it was a trip filled with highs, lows, and everything in between. The bears fed our family, and the memories will feed our souls for years to come. Alaska is more than a place—it’s a way of life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

As we motored back toward camp, the sun dipping low behind the snow-capped peaks, I looked around at my family, the wild landscape, and the stillness of the water. This was more than a hunt—it was a journey we’d carry with us, through every adventure and every story we’d tell for years to come.

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