I pressed my back against the tree trunk, my rifle held vertically, to not be seen from the other side, and looked at the deputy facing me across the narrow lane. He also was beside a tree, leaning over a gravestone, rifle in hand. With his free hand, he waved to my right.

I shifted to face that direction, and waited. Keeping an eye on the man across the lane.

Now he waved to my left. I peeked around the trunk, and caught just a flash of black among the many headstones.

He's coming right to me.

I popped off the safety, with just the slightest little 'click'.

And waited.

I didn't have to wait long. As I looked to my right again, I could see my shadow, long in the early morning sun, snug against the shadow of the tree. And there, just immediately on the other side of that tree shadow was...

The shadow of medium-sized black bear.

Not a yard away. If I reached around the tree, I could touch him.

Or get bit, depending on which way he was looking at the time.

Now, I am proud to admit, the first thought into my mind was professional: "He's too close to shoot." At this range, my tranquilizer dart, my third for the morning, would go right through him, just like a bullet.

And that's exactly the outcome we were all working so hard to prevent here. I'll have to wait for him to pass my tree, and go for a butt shot when he gets far enough away.

But the second thought coming out of my brain?

Totally unprofessional.

"This is so incredibly cool!"

There was no time for a third thought. The bear caught my scent and let out a deep snort of alarm, the shadow of his face rippling. By the time I could spin around the tree and lower the tranquilizer gun, he was barreling away through the graves again. And the hunt began anew.

Now, I have learned, hunting bear in a cemetery is fun. Lots and lots of trees and headstones to use as cover, even a mausoleum or two for sniper ambushes. Running when you see bear butt, freezing when you see bear head. And ducking behind the nearest gravestone or tree when one of the dozen or so law enforcement vehicles circling around and through the graveyard herds the bear back your direction.

Lots of benchrests for shooting from, too.

Which is how the end began. Me kneeling and hiding in a copse of taller stones as the bear came trotting past. And paused to turn to look at a cop car.

Pop. And there's an orange-tipped dart sticking out of the bear's right flank.

This physical attack leads him to try to climb a tree, which gives the deputy the opportunity to put a second dart in the bear, just inches from mine.

Then it's all over except for the waiting. And the picture taking, answering questions from cops & civilians, checking the bear's colour, keeping him cool with pails of water, loading him into the bear trap trailer, pulling a tiny little bear tooth (for aging), punching an eartag into his right ear (which yielded a quickly awakening swipe of a bear claw, and a tiny little bear claw puncture on my hand), getting two new tires on the bear trailer because one blew coming to town, and then finally hauling said bear 30 miles south to let him out.

All and all...

A good day.