Bear Grease - Ep. 436: This Country Life - Knives, Shotguns, and Bears. Oh My!

Episode Date: March 27, 2026

Brent's first encounter with a bear happened many years ago on a hunt with his dad and a longtime family friend. It is a favorite memory involving an animal to which he would form stronger ties as he got older. The annual celebration of black bears has also introduced Brent to a large number of people he now counts as family. He's sharing that first experience with his father and a special project that spawned from the annual Black Bear Bonanza in Arkansas.  Thank you to our sponsors, Case Knives and Stor-Mor. Shop This Country Life Merch Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop This Country Life MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

First Lights fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.

Welcome to this country life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and Just General Country Living, I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented by Case Knives from the Storemore Studio on Meat Eat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcasts that Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share.

Knives, shotguns, and bears. Oh my. Man, am I excited to tell you about what's been going on in this country life of mine? I'm going to talk about my first almost encounter with a black bear that happened with my dad a long time ago. And since then, I've had the fortune of hunting them in two different countries. I've also attended every black bear bonanza there's ever been. And my association with that most iconic creature has been nothing short of spectacular. But as amazing as that's been, the best part by far is the people that I've met along the way.

And I'm going to tell you about one of them in particular today. So let's get to it. The Black Bear Bananza has been a homecoming of sorts for me since the first one five years ago. What began as a modest event recognizing the return of an original. Arkansas icon to the landscape is grown into a conservation celebration success story like no other. Arkansas now boasts a reported population of over 5,000 bears. A conservative figure by all accounts with bears being seen where they've never been seen in generations.

My family's history goes back nine generations in southeast Arkansas, and there are zero stories of bears to my knowledge in the catalog of Texas. that have been passed down through my family's history, except for this one. I was in elementary school and coyote hunt with my dad one night. For the new folks following this weekly amalgamation of stories and memories, coyote hunting consisted of turning a pack of hounds loose at night to listen to them bark on the scent trail of where a coyote had been. That's it.

We just sat on the tailgator and lawn chairs on the timber company roads or laid down on the top of the dog crate, passing the time looking at the stars while the dogs barked in what sounded like complete calamity to the uninitiated. But to my father, his friends, and me, it was a symphony of orchestrated music that sang the virtues of the good hounds

while exposing the faults of the lesser. The dog that was in front of the pack that barked and bald was the lead telling the rest of the world that they were fastest. and they set the standard for the rest to follow. Not only did they need them to be fast, they needed them to have a recognizable voice and rhythm to their barking that would allow the listener to tell whose dog was whose.

It was and is still a primal connection between man and dog that has been manufactured over the past 15,000 years. But in 1977, all I knew was it's where my dad wanted to be, and I wanted to be with him. Plus, there were hound dogs. What more could a boy want? Mr. Billy Bryant, a man who'd recently become my brother Tim's father-in-law and would become my turkey hunting mentor had joined my dad and me,

and we were all listening to the hounds, scald on the track south of the county road that wound its way through the country, eventually ending at the Calford boat ramp on the Saline. River. We were parked at the old Robbie Sims place, a house place that had only the remnants of a structure there but had been known locally as the family's property and served as a landmark before the advent of GPS systems. Anyone could have bought it and built a house there, but regardless of the tenants, it would always be known by that name. At least to us it would be. As the dogs made their way into a thicket 100 yards off the road, they started baying.

That's a totally different sounding bark than they give while they're running, and they were in one spot not moving. Regardless of the different tones of barking, anyone that could hear would realize the dogs were no longer chasing, but acting as if they'd caught whatever they were after, in this case a coyote. But dad and Mr. Bryant decided they needed to go get the dogs out of that briars. patch and as I bailed off the dog box in the back of the truck to go with him

Dad said, you can't go on this one. That is a bad thicket son. We're just going to go get the dogs and come right back. I get it now why he didn't want me to go then. It was a briar thicket that a rabbit would have to tow the hatchet to get through.

It was going to be hard enough for two grown men to fight their way into much less little boy. I didn't see it that way and I was mad as a mashed cat after he told me to stay at the truck. I watched him and Mr. Bryant buttoned up to jackets and put on thick leather gloves and grab flashlights and wade off into the darkness.

They disappeared after only a few steps into that Blackberry and Greenbrier jungle with the sound of breaking limbs and briars scratching across the cotton duck of their jackets, fading into the chaotic roar of the bay and hounds as they got further and further away from the road. I waited anxiously for them to return as the barking slowly decreased, and dogs started to emerge one by one from that unforgiven tangle of nearly impenetrable undergrowth. Eventually, all the dogs fell silent. Two flashlights appeared creeping towards where I sat waiting to hear what was going on with the coyote the dogs had bade. The rest is according to Dad and Mr. Bryant, but as they got close to where the dogs had,

the coyote surrounded, the noises they heard coming from where that coyote was didn't sound like a coyote. They both knew the sound to be that of a bear. Pretty recognizable even to two fellas that had never seen a bear in the wild. The dogs started passing them through the path that they'd struggled to open up. Mr. Bryant looked at dad and said, I think that's a bear. Dad responded with, I think you're right. and they stood within a few feet of it, even though they'd never had a 100% clear view, they saw enough of it and heard way more than they'd bargained for to confirm their suspicions as to exactly what it was.

A bear in Cleveland County, Arkansas. Less than five miles as the crow flies from the ancestral home of my family and less than 100 yards from where I was sitting, and I didn't get to see it. the 49 years that have passed since that night haven't lessened my aggravation for not being allowed to follow them into that thicket, but the full scope of my destiny with black bears wouldn't start and stop at the edge of that briar patch the year Helvest died. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps Game Calls and building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts.

Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut.

I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out prime cuts at Felps. I think you'll be glad you did. And you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. Five years ago, we gathered at a smaller venue

than where we've been for the last three years. A testament to the event put on by the tireless volunteer work of the Arkansas chapter of the backcountry hunters and anglers. And it's through that organization's efforts that they bring an ever expanding group of people and families to the northwest corner of this state.

And there they gather and support the stewardship, the regulatory and legislative mission of the wildlife professionals who are on the front lines for the betterment of the black bear, their habitat, and the entire ecosystem in which they thrive. It's also where I have made. at some truly incredible families and individuals, people that I look forward to seeing every year.

It's on average nine plus hours of nonstop talking and visiting with people who like me like to be around others with similar interests and passions. Chance meetings at first that have been nurtured by time into a true kinship. Some names I know by heart and some I have to be reminded of, but all the faces, the smiles, and stories are as easily recognizable as folks I've known all my life. I've watched their kids grow, been introduced to fiancés, met husbands, wives, grandkids, and held more babies than a hospital nursery. I look forward to that event where for a single day my extended family shows up

to appreciate all the things wild and share some of their time with me, at least long enough to allow me to thank them for supporting the event. and all the sponsors who donate so much and the ones who support this podcast. One fellow I met and became friends with because he happened to be the person who drove the farthest to be there. Three years ago, I was emceeing the Alhudan contest and after the final contested had performed

and the judges were counting up all the scores to see who would win, I had some time to feel. So I decided I'd give a prize to the person or the family that had driven the farthest. I posed that question and several raised their hands, and folks from all over the country started shouting out where they'd driven from. One guy said Canada, and I thought, well, there's a winner. Then a guy in the back of the room said Idaho.

I asked the towns they were from, and a quick Google search of the distances revealed that William Roberts in Idaho had driven several hundred miles further. I asked William to come up on the stage to get his prize, and what followed was a touching moment for everyone who witnessed. William told me that he had drove down a day early and showed up at the event center to make sure he could find it the following day, and he saw all the BHA folks working to get it set up. He just walked up and volunteered and went to work alongside the chapter members without hesitation.

Several members had told me about what he'd done before I met him, but I didn't have a clue he was the guy who did it until he stepped up on that stage and someone pointed it out. I told the crowd what he'd done. They gave him quite an ovation. I asked what he did for a living, and when he said he'd just gotten out of the service, the crowd went completely wild. The other thing I've noticed that we all share at that gathering

besides a love for wildlife is a love for this country and the men and women who serve it. I was moved, and though it was a small gesture on my part, on top of whatever the prize was that William received for driving the furthest, I reached into my pocket, and I gave him a case mini-trapper that Bailey and Alexis had given me for Christmas. Now, I've never sold a knife in my life, but I've given away a fortune in them. And while that knife was special to me because of who it was from and how it represented my family's generational love for that particular model,

I felt like I should give him something that meant a lot to me to show how much I appreciated what he'd done for all of us. He graciously accepted it and walked off the stage to a thunderous applause and we finished the contest. Later on he came back up to me after I left the stage and said, hey, I had to go out to my truck and get something for you. And I told him, you don't have to give me anything. and he said, no, we're trading knives, and I want you to have this one.

I held out my hand, and he placed a bench-made tactical knife in my palm. It had been taken well care of, but obviously it had been used a lot. I looked at that knife and then looked up at him, and he said, I carried that on all five of my combat for the first time all day at an event where all I do is talk. I couldn't think of anything to say. To this day, I have no recollection to what I said to him. That memory is an absolute blur of emotion and pride

and having been given something that stood for the duty and sacrifice of one man for me and all those with me and the rest of this nation. It still holds the edge right now that Will Roberts put on there. I have never used it to cut anything. It remains the only knife in my possession not made by my cancer. Case family in Bradford, Pennsylvania, or handmade by an individual craftsman. It is one of my most prized possessions, not because of what it is, but for what and who it represents.

I could end this story right here on my friend William Roberts, who I and most folks call Will, but his story is far from done. Before we parted ways three years ago, Will mentioned that he was a Gunsmouth, and that would be his trade now that he was retiring from the service. He said, I'm going to build a rifle, and I'm going to bring it back next year and donate it to the event as a fundraiser. Building a rifle is hard, and the next event was 12 months away. A lot can happen in that length of time.

Plans change, priority shifting, through no fault of anyone, plans don't always go as they'd hoped. But a year later, when I walked into the building at the Benton County Fairgrounds, there sat Will Roberts, with one of the most beautiful bolt-action rifles I've ever seen. I remember standing there looking at it with my friend John Pantuso and both of us all struck by the beauty and the functionality of a true craftsman's work. I was busy all day and didn't get to visit long with Will as he was busy himself with the fundraiser he was working for that rifle. Towards the end of the day after we'd said our goodbyes and almost as an afterthought as I was

leaving, Will said, hey, if I give you a shotgun to hunt with that we could auction or raffle off next year, what would you want? Well, I kept walking toward the door and more or less answered him over my shoulder, a 16-gauge Browning A-5, and make sure it was made in Belgium. That was in March of 2025. Five months later in August, I got an email from Will. It was the first communication we'd had since our abbreviated conversation as I left the fairgrounds back in March. Will, like service folks do, don't really need a lot of extra talk and encouragement.

Once they know the assignment, it is going to work. The email contained pictures of a brown and auto 5, 16-gauge receiver, and Burrower. that had some outstanding scroll work engraving and gold inlay. Best research puts the manufacture date of 1925. And here's what was shaking in 1925. Mount Rushmore was dedicated. F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby was published, and folks that had a radio gathered around it

to hear Calvin Coolidge get sworn in at the first presidential inauguration to be broadcast. And that shotgun? It cost $79. A few months later, I got another photo from Will that was a piece of walnut that the stock and forearm would be carved out of. It was unfinished, unstained.

The grain was exquisite. And in my head, I thought I had it mapped out how it was going to look when it was finished. But I missed it. Will wouldn't send me a picture of it completed. He wanted to do the big reveal when I saw it for the first time at the 2026 Black Bear Bananza we just attended three weeks ago. During this time, I had to pitch several film ideas to meet it as my projects for this year, and that shotgun was one of them. My idea was to use it this turkey season and next duck season, film it, and tell the story with that browning being the central character of the story.

My producer and bosses liked the idea. And a few days ago, the Brown and 16 gauge project became official. My friend David McDaniels loaded his camera full of picture-taking bullets, and we headed off to Bentonville, Arkansas for the 2026 offering of the old Triple B. He was there for two purposes, one to take video of the event that will play on the Meat Eat Eaters YouTube channel, while this and all my future podcasts air, in addition to just being regular podcast. They won't all be of the bonanza,

just relative video of the things I'm talking about, shot in direct support of the episode or something of similar to nature. They call it fireside TV. It's different for sure, but I did find last week's episode enjoyable as various but relative scenarios played out in the background while I talked about whatever the subject matter it was.

Anyway, David, had his camera rolling. When I uncorked that browning from the case, Will brought it to Arkansas in. Ryan Callahan and I took turns ooh and on over the tremendous piece of historical art. Will and some of his profession of firearm artisans created from a 101-year-old piece of neglected metal that had been destined for the scrap pile. The entire piece had been gone through inside and out, tested and retested, cleaned, blued, finished, and fitted, determined, to be safe and in perfect working order. In 1925, the 16 gauge was made for shells measuring 2 and 9.6.7 inch, not 2.3 quarters

like they are now. 3.16.7 inch, the thickness of a standard pencil was removed from inside the chamber to allow modern 2 and 3 quarter shells to fit. The process that became standard in 1947. Now, I didn't know Will had done that, but Tim, y'all know my brother Tim, he's also a gunsmith and fellow Brown and A5 connoisseur. As most of the folks I know that Spell Reeves correctly with an AR, he told me to check and see if it had been done. And then I may have to get some ammo special made to fit it. Well, got kind of nervous, and I contacted my friend Austin Forrester at Rocky Ridge Ammo and Berta, Arkansas.

and he said they could handle whatever I needed. I was relieved and ready to run some shells through a shotgun that was only 89 years younger than the state of Arkansas. Good night, nurse. How did I get here? This turkey season and next duck season, me and John Moses Browning's masterful creation and marriage of wood and metal will be all over the country hunting and filming adventures

with a shotgun that will be offered up in some way to benefit the Arkansas chapter of backcountry hunters and anglers. Those details will be worked out and announced later, but rest assured when it gets nailed down, I'll be telling you all about it. And so will the great folks over at BHA. Someone is going to get to home a true piece of American craftsmanship while helping a true American icon of the wilderness. Thank you all so much for listening and watching along.

you enjoy this new video format that'll kind of give you a glimpse into the places and the people I get to share this country life of mine with. Claybo's got a 12 and 26 film that'll be dropping about Utah mountain lines. That's going to be good. And the next week is Turkey Week. So until we meet next week, that's going to do it for me. This is Brent Reeves, signing off. Y'all be careful. collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days and real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns

the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.com.