Finally, though, our efforts paid off. The next evening, as we sat in the spot where I'd ended up shooting my bear from, things began to pick up. First we had a lone caribou trot out right in front of us, and a few minutes later a beautiful wolverine came charging in to feed on the meager remains of my bear's carcass. Right about then, we also spotted a large boar working his way across the rocky mountainside above our camp. He acted as if he was looking for something, then all of a sudden charged down into the alders and chased out an absolutely enormous bear. They walked up the ridge and out of sight snapping back and forth at each other. About 45 minutes later, the smaller bear came back and bedded down in the snow. With our hunt drawing to a close, Steve knew he had to get it done, and we took off up the mountain. With not a minute to spare, Steve spotted the bear at 280 yards, and with the last glimpse of light fading away, dropped him with his .416. The wind and rain were too severe to do much in the dark up there, so the following morning we hiked back up to skin the bear. Even though he was the smaller of the two, he was still over 9½ feet.