My cousin and I settled into our stands at about 10 p.m., and after an uneventful three hours, we heard some cracking back in the trees. I was sure it was the big boar. I heard his breathing before I saw him in the thick timber, and my heart started pounding. I was almost embarrassed about how excited I was, but there in front of me was the bear I'd dreamt about. He flopped down to eat at about 14 yards, but I didn't have a shot. After five minutes--which felt like an hour--we heard another bear coming in. I held ready to draw as the huge boar became more agitated with the approaching bear. Finally, he stood up. I drew, he turned broadside to face the incoming bear, and I buried one of my Easton FMJs up to the fletching behind his shoulder (coincidentally, I was hunting with a Bear's Paw bow and the arrows are fitted with Grizzly broadheads). It was a perfect shot. The bear tore through the brush and piled up only 40 yards away.