When out-of-staters think of New Jersey they tend to highlight a few of the classic staples: Snooki, Tony Soprano, traffic, Bruce Springsteen—the list goes on. However, what remains less known is that Dirty Jersey is also renowned for its astounding black bear population. Residents in the northwest counties are numb to the encounters, bears rummaging through your trash are just as common as a morning ride to the bagel shop. Living with them demands certain adjustments. Don’t leave your garbage on the curb overnight, keep your bird feeders stored away until hibernation time, and avoid getting too close. However, keeping a safe distance isn’t always possible in a state with the highest population density of people and bears.
Two apex predators in great numbers with limited habitat create the perfect storm for drama between neighbors. Northwest New Jersey, steeped in bear history, has always carried a culture stricken with countless stories of hair-raising bear encounters—a region where having your lineup of bear encounter stories is as ubiquitous as suspecting a few neighbors of mob ties. However, this coexistence really took a turn for the worse when people began to ignore the advice of experts.
Enter Phil Murphy. In 2018, Governor Murphy took office with a campaign promise that had profound implications for the state’s wildlife management. His intention was clear: eliminate the only sustainable method of controlling the staggering predator population. That same year witnessed the immediate closure of bear hunting on state land, abruptly forcing the majority of bear harvesters off the landscape with no access to the limited private land hunting opportunities. The final blow came in 2020 as the management plan expired with no intent on renewal. This left many residents to assume it was the last black bear hunt they would see in the state.
The following two years unfolded as expected. Bears and humans clashed, and negative encounters skyrocketed well over 200%. Residents were living in fear—scared to leave their dogs outside, coping with property destruction, and even maulings on people just checking their mail. As the horror stories mounted, the public perception of Ursus Americanus soured.
Less than two years after achieving his initial goal, Phil Murphy found himself at a crossroads. Faced with the escalating conflict and glaring unintended consequences of prior decisions, he had no choice but to change course. In a pivotal move, he steered the state back into the embrace of the world-renowned North American Wildlife Conservation model. In December 2022, authorities implemented an emergency bear hunting season, spanning five days of gun-only hunting. The target was clear: a 20% reduction in the bear population, with the option to extend additional days if the initial goal fell short.
Coincidentally, 2022 was my first year hunting the Garden State as one of its newest residents. I had already taken home a nice buck during permit bow before the emergency season announcement, and the opportunity to participate was captivating.
Unfortunately, buying the tag was the most excitement I saw out of bear hunting that year. As it was for many other hunters. 2022 produced a third of the bears that the final season in 2020 had, even with the elimination of public land two years prior. How could this be when there are more bears now than ever? Was reinstating the hunt a misguided decision? Is the population overinflated? All these questions were bound to come up after a season already under the public’s microscope. Fortunately, the answer was simple. When you look at historic NJ harvest reports, nearly all the bears taken have come from the early October archery-only season. The fall bow season that 2022 did not get to experience.
Bears in that time of year are in a biological phenomenon known as hyperphagia, where they eat 20000 calories a day and are up covering ground relentlessly. The cold mid-December second season historically trails the first segment by a third of those harvested in October. Poor conditions and few bears left awake cruising, the impromptu season had the deck stacked against it.
Nevertheless, it lit a fire in me and many others. I spent the off-season binging every piece of bear hunting for newbie material I could get my hands on. Eager for the opportunity to put my studies to practice, I prayed for the return of fall bow season.
Anticipation reached its peak when the spring 2023 Fish and Game magazine was published. It revealed an astounding victory for conservation. There on the calendar was segment A, fall bear, and archery only. I took off work, gearing up to pound the timber.
Planning came from a combination of early bow season bear encounters, terrain funnels, and a quote from Clay Newcomb that stuck in my head. I am paraphrasing, but it was something along the lines of: “Bears in the fall will eat a food source until it is gone, find something they are in the middle of eating, and odds are they will be back shortly.”
On day two of the fall bear season, I found what Mr. Newcomb was referring to. The slightest notion of bears was absent my first three sits, but going into that evening hunt I changed location and worked my way down a standing cornfield. On the far side, the bear sign was clear, abundant, and as fresh as can be. Scat littered the ground, adjacent to entire stalks ripped from the root and devoured. I quickly hung my saddle where four trails converged leading from bedding to the hot food source. No more than twenty minutes after stumbling across the bear’s preferred feed, the biggest bear I had seen started working its way down the trail. Nose in the air, soaking up in synthetic donut spray I had used to cover my scent, he paused at the crossroads before turning perfectly broadside, stepping perfectly on my mark. I did my best to slow my pounding heartbeat, put the 20-pin middle of the middle of his profile, and squeezed my release.
The “wack” resulting from perfect arrow flight echoed through the trees, followed by a roar that sent a chill down my spine. He took off, blood trickling from both sides and crashing through the thicket. 48 hours into my archery bear hunting career, I arrowed my first boar. Deep down, I anticipated leaving the 6-day season empty-handed. But here I was, climbing down and hiking out to wait for the much-needed help dragging out my harvest.
We let him sit an hour post shot and quickly found my bear 70 yards from the stand, piled up in a briar thicket. Rigamortis had already set in, indicative of a quick and ethical shot. The cherry on top of an amazing hunting story. The only thing remaining was a quick cutting job and the three-quarters of a mile uphill drag back to the truck.
State law requires a check-in of every bear harvested at one of the state-run check-in stations. Biologists weigh your bear, pull some samples for study, and check for tags given to problem bears trapped in the past. I eagerly watched as the officials hooked up the chains and my truck’s suspension relaxed as the bear lifted into the air. We gathered around the screen and waited for the results, 282.5 pounds lit up the scale. An incredible first bear harvest, leaving me with more than enough delicious meat for the year and a story tattooed to the forefront of my mind.
Now, the magnitude of my luck is not lost on me. A series of rare occurrences had to align for me to find myself at that check-in station, and oddly, none of them relate to the actual act of arrowing a bear. In today’s landscape, where politicians and misguided ecological groups often encroach upon people’s rights to manage resources in harmony with the ecosystem, the recent success in New Jersey stands out as an unfortunately rare triumph for hunters and anglers. The East Coast’s most controversial hunt returns after only a three-year hiatus and displayed remarkable success. While states like Washington witness the loss of predator seasons, New Jersey reinstates them— quite the unexpected narrative.
As I write, we are still a few weeks away from the gun season, but early archery season (Segment A) has already seen nearly triple the harvest compared to the emergency order in 2022. I applaud the state of New Jersey for recognizing the need to change course before a challenging situation worsens and thank them for the unforgettable tale. Here’s to hoping that 2023 continues to unfold as one of many fruitful bear hunts in the Garden State, providing individuals like myself with the opportunity to engage in this extraordinary experience for years to come.