November 2026
The Shack: A Minnesota Black Bear Hunt Over Bait
Hunter: Justin Downes
Species: Black Bear
Location: Northern Minnesota
Method: Rifle (30-378 Weatherby), over bait
There’s nothing flashy or glamorous about a baited black bear hunt. Yet this one felt different for so many reasons. We had a spectrum of ages involved, from eighty-six to four years old, and that alone made it special.
Since moving to Northeastern South Dakota in 2019, I’ve heard countless stories about “the Shack” from my colleague and friend, Dan. He has one-seventh ownership of the small, hand-built cabin tucked away in northern Minnesota. Each year, the seven owners can invite one guest to pile into the rustic, two-bedroom shack with no running water and no frills for deer season. I’d heard so many tales that by the time I arrived for the first time to start our baiting process, it felt like I had already been there a hundred times.
Up North at the Shack
Having grown up in central Minnesota, I knew what it meant to be “up north.” Crisp mornings, nights that grow dark fast in the timber, and a peace that settles over you like nowhere else. The Shack sits half a mile off any road, surrounded only by beavers in the ponds and whatever critters are wandering nearby. Inside, the walls are covered in antlers. None would be called “trophies” by today’s social media standards, but each one represents a hunt, an experience. Fourteen guys spreading into the woods from one tiny cabin is certainly its own adventure.
This group isn’t about wall hangers. It’s about meat in the freezer and camaraderie at night. Minnesota even allows “party hunting,” where one hunter can keep hunting after tagging out so long as another member’s tag is unfilled. You can imagine the atmosphere that creates.
Drawing a Bear Tag
As an outsider, I felt privileged to be invited to apply for bear tags with Dan. My dad joined our party too. After four years of applying, we were finally drawn the year before last, only to turn our tags back in when my little girl was diagnosed with cancer. Thankfully, we knew that meant we’d be locked in to draw again the next year.
Dan’s father-in-law, Jerry, is also an owner of the Shack. I’d met him shortly after moving. He was a longtime dentist, a prominent community member, and just a good man. He and Dan probably get more use out of the cabin than the other five owners combined.
When we learned we’d been drawn, we got busy collecting bait. I tracked down doughnuts, Dan grabbed trail mix from local distributors, and my dad focused on scent attractants. If nothing else, we were going to give these bears cavities!
Passing On the Outdoors
I should pause here for some context. My parents lost a son to cancer two years before I was born. It’s no wonder my dad and I have been practically inseparable my entire life. He taught me everything about the outdoors, including shooting, trapping, hunting, fishing, and camping. If all the critters we’ve harvested together are waiting at the pearly gates, we might be in trouble!
Dad also passed on his love of fur. Growing up with little money, every animal we harvested was used: the meat eaten and the fur sold or tanned. There’s a picture in my office of him crouched in front of a barn wall covered with 140 fox pelts, trapped in just a couple of weeks. As a kid, I once disappeared at the fur buyer’s, only to be found fast asleep under a box on a pile of fox pelts. That love never left me. Bear hides are no exception. They have beautiful fur, delicious meat, useful fat, and a skull to show the kids. My first bear, shot in high school, still has its hide—stretched and tanned by my mom—laying on the floor of my reloading room.
Keeping these traditions alive is harder today. Kids have endless distractions. My wife and I limited electronics pretty well until Kimber got sick. Forty-two weeks of hospital stays, chemo, and radiation changed that. Still, our girls love the outdoors, and I bring them along whenever possible while hunting and fishing.
On our first baiting trip, Dad and I left them at home. Dan brought Jerry and two grandkids. We set barrels, filled them, and told stories late into the night over a little whiskey. On the second trip, I did bring my girls. They loved the generator that powered the Shack, the outhouse, and the whole adventure (aside from the four-hour truck ride).
Ten Hours on Stand
Opening day landed on Labor Day last year, so the girls couldn’t come. By then, anticipation was high. Our cameras had shown at least twenty different bears hitting the baits early on, but activity tapered off as acorns dropped. The last daylight bear I’d had was a rare noon visitor forty-eight hours prior, so Dad and I planned to be in our stands by 10 a.m.
If you’ve ever hunted over bait, you know it’s hours of nothing until suddenly it’s not. After ten empty hours, I finally glimpsed my bear behind the barrel. I set my phone to record but didn’t check the lens, and it left me with a blurry video. The bear only offered me a frontal shot I didn’t want, so I waited. After sniffing the wind and licking peanut butter, it plopped down like a hound on a porch, belly-up at the bait. Finally, it stood, quartering away, and I aimed my 30-378 Weatherby at the offside shoulder. The bear bolted, but I knew the shot was good.
Dad had insisted I get him if I shot one. Despite needing oxygen at night, having left his best overall health behind him, his instincts in the woods are still sharp. Together, we quickly found it. Rolling the bear over, I was stunned to find out it was a big sow! Later, Kimber and I stretched an unofficial tape across her, paw to paw: six feet, four inches. I can’t wait to get her age results.
Judging Bear Size
Judging bear size in the wild is incredibly difficult. I once watched a hunter in Idaho shoot a bear he thought was a trophy; I later picked it up by the scruff and set it on a four-wheeler rack that it didn’t even stretch across. For me, barrels are the best reference for size rather than digging a hole and laying logs across it.
After a long night of generator problems affecting his oxygen machine and little sleep, Dad and I decided to register the bear, then head home to skin and butcher it in my garage rather than the Shack yard. I may not be that old, but two nights with two hours of sleep is not enough! It was a rough day in the office on Tuesday, to say the least.
This hunt will stay with me forever. Sharing it with Dad, Dan, Jerry, my kids, and Dan’s grandkids made it truly special. Life is unpredictable, and I’ve learned through Kimber’s cancer fight to appreciate these moments even more. With luck, the bears will keep coming, and Dad and Dan will have their chance to punch a tag as well.
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