I have a list of scariest stuff.

My first experience I consider scary was while putting up a hang-on style stand in a creek bottom in Illinois when I was about 18. I was on my way down from the endeavor, when I slipped and basically free-fell to the ground (approx. 16ft or so). The bad part was one of the tree cranks hooked me in the gut on the way down. I pushed off the tree during the free fall to avoid total pennetration, but I still have a hefty 6" scar from the experience. My grandmother (rest her soul) fixed me up that day, and slapped me in the head I don't know how many times for being an ignorant dingbat kid.

Things went pretty well for quite a few years after that, but I finally had another close encounter when I was about 26 in the state of Montana. Not knowing much about the mountains, I proceeded to elk hunt way out into them in the evenings. One night a low, black cloudy rain front came in about 45 min. before last light. I was way in on a system of logging roads and trails when it hit. No compass. No GPS. I came out of the woods on a logging road which was totally different than the one I had come in on. I ended up just sitting down on a rock on the edge of a huge clear-cut and waiting it out. Two hours later things cleared up enough that I could see some man-made light in one direction. I made for that light, and about two and a half hours later (after sliding down rock chutes on my butt, wading through a.. deep deadfall (I'm 6'-7"), and basically being beat to horse pucky, I made a road I recognized. 5 miles later I was at my truck, on foot, very tired, sore, and completely reeducated on how I was going to go into the mountains next time.

The very next year I was still hunting my way into some elk wallows also during bow season, and ironically in the very same area, when I had an extremely enlightening encounter with a furry friend. I heard an elk squeal on my wallow up ahead about a hundred yards or so. His cows were mewing somewhat excitedly, but no other bull was returning the favor. I thought hey...he he he... I'll just pull out my bugle and give him something to be ticked off about. As soon as I bugled a stiff triple bark came back at me directly from the brush, maybe 25-45 yards away. I thought, hey, what do ya know, there's a bull right there. I bugled again. The bark came back again accompanied by some aggressive stomping. I stood there, bow in my left hand and bugle in my right, wondering what the heck I had just heard. Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was facing a bear. Not only was I facing a bear, but my wind was now going directly to it, and it was still there, no quarter! I remembered someone telling me that a griz sow and two cubs had recently been seen twice in this particular drainage. Gulp. I put the bugle up, stowed the bow, pulled the .44 and began backing up. I know you guys want a juicy story, but I got out without actually having to face off the bear. I was scared enough.

I was told that If I wore bells and whistles while hunting, I would run the bears off ahead of me. I was also told that the difference between blackbear and Griz droppings was that Griz droppings have bells and whistles in it. The things you hear when you move to Montana. Whew...!