Bear Grease - Ep. 480: This Country Life - Cinnamon Bears and Chocolate Gravy

Episode Date: July 17, 2026

The week long wait is over! Brent is finally getting to the meat he left on the bone from last week's episode on his Saskatchewan black bear hunt. It was a grand adventure for him and he took away lessons from that he didn't see coming. It's time for the second part of Brent's trip north of the border, but whether it will be the final installment is yet to be determined, you're just gonna have to give it a listen. 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.

Did you hear Phelps has teamed up with a bunch of other high-end brands to do the Ultimate Elk giveaway? Anyone who is 18 or older can sign up to win an amazing gear package that includes a new rifle or bow along with great supporting gear. The winner will pick their rifle package or archery package. For every $25 spent, you get 10 additional entries. The signups end July 26 at Phelps gamecalls.com. 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 Eater's Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast that Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate.

I've got some stories to share. Cinnamon bears and chocolate gravy. Good night, nurse. We got a lot to talk about this week. I left y'all hanging just when the action was getting good. The weight is over. I'm fishing to go bear hunting. Meet me at the fire.

Let's get started. Last week I told you, the story of the struggle of getting me in all my plunder across the border into Tim Hortonland. It wasn't really all that hard, and it could have been a lot worse had it not been for a couple of employees of the airline everyone up north seems to love to hate. They took an unsolicited interest in yours truly. Like them or not, the unnamed lady in Toronto and Jocelyn and Saskatoon sought me out

in an effort to offer assistance after I'm sure seeing a look of despair on my face. If you miss that one, go back and listen. right here. We ain't waiting on nobody. They'll catch you up. So now that the slackers are out of here, let's get into camp, meet the rest of the cast, and start chasing bears. I introduced you to Nick Goss last week. Nick's a young man and a professional lineman who builds the big power transmission lines that push electricity through the endless miles of Saskatchewan. The big suspension towers that supply power to the bulbs of around the rinks where all the little hockey players practiced really hard to come in second place

at the Olympics. He met us back in Stony Rapids and flew with us. Waiting there to help get our gear unloaded was Spencer Richards. Spence is the native of Nova Scotia and a wildlife biologist working on his master's degree. Spence is smarter than a lot of folks I know. He's quiet, reserved, and his muscles have muscles. I thought I was going to have to take steroids just to watch him in the kitchen. He would serve as our chef in camp and was a college football teammate of our host and lead guide, Dante Tabaku. The three of them ranged in age from 25 to 27, and I'll admit, when we pulled into the dock and started unloading our stuff, I had mixed thoughts about the kind of week we'd be having.

I was in the guiding business for a long time with my brother Tim. Hunting camp atmosphere usually coincides with the folks that run it. With the COVID era of college sports, giving these boys some extra rounds of college life, I dreaded the thought of that lifestyle all over again. I wasn't worried about Dave Gardner and I. We were there to do a job. Turned out, I didn't need to worry about anything.

Dante Tobacco's father was a Romanian immigrant who met Dante's mother in the land of the living skies 30 years ago. And while Dante's only been present on this spinning orb, we all call home for the last 25 years. The last decade, he's been guiding in one fashion or another with each passing year being more in depth as he delved further and further into the business and the lifestyle. Dante played quarterback at Acadia University in Wolfville, Nova Scotia, quite possibly the greatest college town name in the Milky Way. Why their mascot isn't a wolf is a complete mystery to me. But during the off-season, Dante came back to Saskatchewan to guide fishermen and hunters. A few years ago, he partnered with Patrick Babcock and has been operating this part owner of Pilots Lodge.

We were in what I affectionately referred to as Fort Fondelot. The remote cabin and area I had just flown into that's part of the bigger concern headquartered over at Cree River. The log cabin was built in the 60s, seemingly with plans drawn up by Dick Prenneckee. And that would be our headquarters. If you don't know who Mr. Prenneke is, do yourself a favor and look him up. Anyway, the main cabin housed the kitchen in the rooms for Dante, Nick, Nick, and spins. Dave and I would share an A-frame bunkhouse with separate rooms for each of us. Dave's entry door faced the log cabin. Mine faced the river. On the east side of the A-frame was a

tool and equipment shed. Adjacent to that was a metal building that sat on a concrete foundation. Concrete that was flown in a few bags at a time until the requisite number was obtained. Inside there, bear bait was stored, secured with a heavy metal. door hinged across the top that took two folks to safely open and tie it off or an ATV winch if you were there alone and if you were there alone you were most assuredly by yourself as far as humanity went the closest community of people were 41 miles away by air i think that's like 600 kilometers or something not not really sure but by yourself as far as nature went no sir You were in the very hub of activity.

Underneath the doorframe where it sealed against the concrete foundation of the bait shed was an eight-inch trench dug out by bears trying to get into the bait cache of oats and grease. How do I know that bears did that? I saw them do it the second morning I was there. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's take it back to the walk around. North and east of the main lodge was the privy or the outhouse. Now we'd call that a two-holder where. I grew up, and a plywood wall separated each seat. It was more than reasonably comfortable

to tend to one's business there. One side had a door for the more modest guest, while the other offered a more scenic view of Saskatchewan, as that portion had been repurposed for a casting deck in one of the boats tied up along the dock. The absolute can-do spirit of true Canadian and outdoors men and women always brings a smile to my face and warms my heart as they thrive among the elements, making do with what they have and using only what they need. It is a common thread between all of the Canadian provinces and the people I've been blessed to meet and interact with. On the west side of the log cabin was a shower room. West of it was another bunkhouse, so that's it. That was it. That was the whole camp.

easy football pass from one end to the other sitting on the north side of the Fondalock River less than 70 miles from the southern border of the northwest territories. Dave and I got unpacked and we made a plan to actually start hunting that afternoon. Dante said we had plenty of time and the bait site he wanted to try first was less than 30 minutes away up river by boat. We wanted to grab a bite to eat. I need to shoot my boat. Dave had to get his cameras operational. time was not of the essence we were in no real hurry to get going for the evening hunt even though it would be after 2 p.m. when we decided to load up and hit up river

it's late june in northern Saskatchewan where it never gets dark enough that you can't see how to get around in the darkest portion of the night you wouldn't need a flashlight in open terrain to tell man from east my bow seemed to be dialed in I shot two groups in camp the same distance I'd be shooting at that bait. Both groups were right where I was aiming. Eric Canada may have temporarily misplaced the case with my boat, but they hadn't allowed any misfortune to bother the sights. The weather was warmer than I expected, and at times the mosquitoes were worse than I remembered. I deal with mosquitoes in Arkansas. As a matter of fact,

The worst experience I've ever had with mosquitoes was an hour away from my house on the White River levee on an August cune hunt a few years ago. I have never seen them worse than they were then. The dogs and us were absolutely covered if we stood still on the levee for any period of time. So we kept on the move and they weren't nearly as bad down in the bottoms away from the high ground. Here though, they seemed to be worse in a different spot. The thermocels did a great job of keeping them at bay when we were out on the baits, and if the wind picked up enough to make those less effective, it blew the mosquitoes away. So, it worked out.

The only time I really ever noticed them is when the thermocels weren't running and the wind wasn't blowing. But inside was a different story. I burnt a cord of mosquito coals the week I was there. Normally I'd get back to camp in about an hour before, Bedtime, I take a short piece of coal and let it fog up my room like a Cheech and Chong van while I sat in the cabin with the rest of my contemporaries. By the time I retired for the evening, the coal was burnt out, and so were the mosquitoes. The floor was littered with enemy combatants, the likes of which I took great pleasure

and sweeping out the door each morning, along with any sand I'd tracked in the evening before. You've heard the chaos. Now you can see it. Hello. My gosh. Watch all your favorite podcasts from start to finish, right inside the free IHR Radio app. Gets the blood going up.

Catch every laugh and eye roll on shows like the Tom Green Farmcast and park the bus. Now with full video, it's the same hosts and the same chemistry, with all the hilarious moments you've been missing right on your screen. Cheers. Open the free IHRR radio app. Search video podcasts and tap watch. Well, it's here, folks. the 2026 Meat Eater

Auction House of Oddities is back and open for bids now. This year's auction features eyebrow raising outdoor gear donated by the meat eater crew, employees, and friends of the brand, including Steve's dad's shitty old truck full of badass hunting gear,

the Honda Outboard Motor from Das Boat Season 3, Clay Newcomb's Alaskan Wetsuit Bearhide, fly fishing memorabilia from the personal collection of Lefty Cray and more. The auction house kicks off July 8th and runs for two weeks with 100% of proceeds going to our land access initiative, which to date has helped fund new public land acquisitions, such as the recent 200-acre

Tuckertown acquisition in North Carolina, the 328-acre Wildcat Bend acquisition in Montana, and the 215-acre Shilohan Project in Maine. Visit themeatheater.com slash auction to place your bids now, get your hands on some meat their history and become a meaningful part of our next public land access campaign. Our first evening hunt started a little after six when a young black bear walked into the bait. He was totally aware of our presence and absolutely unconcerned with us being there. He took up position at the barrel and began to feed. Here's the deal of hunting bears over bait.

I'll say it here and will not entertain any discussion to the contrary. Anyone can argue against it all they want, and I, along with members of my family, serve the nation where you have the freedom to oppose it. I have zero concern over any opinion saying it's unethical or cheating. On any chance meeting with this bear on a spot and stalk where time is on their side and decisions have to be fast as whether you shoot or don't shoot, I'd have probably started flinging errors at him. Having him stationary at the barrel and being able to really look him over good allowed us the opportunity to judge his age, size, and form an overall opinion that this bear had some growing to do. So, we just sat and watched him.

Even at 20 yards, using binoculars really gives you a good look you just wouldn't get any other way other than walking up to him while he stuffed his gullet full of oats and cooking oil, the latter of which he'd more than likely take offense at. But giving him the once-over with the binoes revealed huge bite marks and puncture wounds. Some were very fresh and oozing what can only be described as looking like gorilla glue. It was nasty and brutal. He had puncture wounds on his head and his throat, his chest, and his shoulders. Stark reminder that regardless of the perception,

of black bears being in contrast to grizzlies, which in most cases they undoubtedly are, they could still open up a can of who flung the chunk when they want to. And there was another bear out there somewhere that had opened one up on him. And that's the one I wanted to see. It wasn't long before bear number two showed up, another black-colored bear about the same size as the chewed-up one, but way more timid. He didn't have a mark on him. but he wouldn't commit to the bait while the battle-scarred bear was there,

and he showed no signs of leaving. As a matter of fact, he'd gotten so relaxed that a couple times he went to sleep. Bear number two slipped around behind us and out of sight in the bushes and was whining a kind of low-key moaning. I never deciphered if it was directed at us or the snoozing bear that was laying on the groceries. He eventually ambled his way out from behind us and back toward the barrel. bypassing it and the napping bear to disappear for a while down the ridge toward the water. The bait was located at the back of an unnamed bay off the Fondalock River,

30 yards from where we parked the boat and 15 feet above it in elevation where the gentle slope wouldn't peak until reaching another 30 feet higher, 100 yards beyond where we sat. Our blind was makeshifting, built from dead limbs and fresh, cut jackpines piled and stacked around like a fortification. There was no roof, and we were subject to whatever fell upon us just as the bears were. As far as the piled-up limbs went, they were were mostly there for aesthetics and peace of mind. The bears 100% know you're there, and a waste-hile pile of brambles ain't going to keep them out if they want to get in there

and rummage through your plunder. I tell people who ask me for advice about hunting bears from the ground that the best thing to do is to not look like you taste good or at least not as good as anyone's sitting with you. That's worked for me so far. Those two bears hung around, rambled back and forth and eventually moved away. By now, light was fading a little and the sun was dipping behind the ridge to our southwest, and it looked more like it was really cloudy than actually getting dark. I checked my watch. It was 10 p.m. We loaded our gear and called it a night. We were a day ahead on gathering content.

The hunting wasn't officially scheduled to start until the next day. But because of a smooth transition flight from Saskatoon to Stony Rapids and then a float plane hop that got us in camp plenty early enough, Dante said we could go. Dave and I were there to hunt and tell a story. So we went to work. Supper was ready when we got back, and that's the way it would play out the following days.

We'd go out, sit and look at bears, just waiting on the one that would stand out as the one I wanted to take home with me. Another part of the daily routine was looking both ways before stepping outside every morning. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't either wake up to a bear in camp or see one out the window before the coffee got ready. And by outside the window, I mean right outside the window. They've got drone footage of the bear. in camp. It's a statement for what Dante and the folks at Pilots Lodge have done for the game in that

area, which is mostly leaving it alone, hunting it with very minimal pressure, making as little impact on the land as possible. Now, before anyone gets their drawers in a night thinking, okay, here comes Brent's commercial for Pilots Lodge since they let him come up there and hunt for free. Well, number one, you ought to know better than that, but now. And number two, that ain't the way we do things here. I paid what everybody pays to hunt there. I don't owe them anything for us filming there. If it had been a bad time, I'd be telling that story instead of this one.

But it wasn't a bad time. We made a team from the beginning. Supper conversations were about hunting and strategy for sure, but that was only part of it. I learned about Spencer and his family and the work he has left to do on his master's degree, along with the research he's done in connection with salmon, that he calls salmon.

There's an L plainly in the spelling there, Spence, so I hope that's not a question on your master's degree test. Anyway, he should be a guest on Steve's podcast with the facts and the figures and the interesting stuff he was spitting out at the supper table. Spence learned some stuff about Dave and I. One story was, when New York State-born Dave Gardner was down in Arkansas filming a squirrel hunt with me and Clay.

We went to a cafe for breakfast one morning, and Dave saw biscuits and chocolate gravy on the menu. Chocolate gravy is as southern as it gets. If you're unfamiliar, that's a whole other podcast for another day, so just relax. Anyway, I showed them the picks of Dave's face as he tested his first biscuit and chocolate gravy. and according to Dave, it was a life-altering event and all for the better. I tell you that story to tell you this one. One evening after coming in from hunting, Spence had looked up a recipe for biscuits and one for chocolate gravy and had them waiting for us when we got there.

Now, how cool is that? Not only had he been paying attention, but he nailed the chocolate gravy recipe. His biscuits were good enough. But the gravy was what made the effort shine like a diamond in a coons behind. Then there was Nick, an accomplished fly fisherman and fishing guide himself with a little girl and wife back home in southern Saskatchewan, counting the minutes until he got back to him. I never saw him when he wasn't smiling or looking for something to work on, clean up, cook, or improve. He showed legitimate concern for the success of our hunt and reminded me of my brother Tim.

easy going with a big laugh and telling one story after another about guiding and dealing with people. The concerns I had upon arrival were short-lived. Each of these guys had roles for playing, and they played them very well. It made it very easy for Dave and I to do our work, which was to tell a story while waiting for a good bear, and allowed the story to play out on camera, and then try to bring a bear back to Arkansas. We sat at another bait further upriver, but something always brought us back to the unnamed bay. It was our third sit that the action peaked for us. It was two hours before we'd really expected to see anything when Dave heard a bear from over 400 yards away across the opposite side of the bay sloshing through the water. We watched through Binos as he slowly but steadily made his way purposefully in our direction, crossing and swimming streams.

hugging the edge of the bay as he closed in on where we sat. It was the one that had been there on day one that wouldn't commit. He repeated the same thing this time as well. He eventually moved off. A short time later, the first barrier we'd seen there return. His wounds didn't look any better or worse, but he also didn't appear to have any fresh ones. He only stayed a fraction of the time that he had the first time

when we saw him come before leaving at a step. at a pace with plenty of food left. Now, the bear hunters listening are probably thinking, oh, some bicker's coming for him to abandon his post like that. I was thinking the same thing. And we were both right. The bears in northern Saskatchewan do not carry the weight. Normally, the bears in the south do.

They have the frames, but they're more lean as a rule. They make up for poundage with bigger skulls. it's not unusual for a 200-pound bear there to have a 20-inch skull or better. There's just not a ton of calorie-rich food sources for them to choose for them up there. That's what makes the baits such a good source to choose animals in or pass their prime to take off the landscape. Killum Bears comes with a cost and a responsibility. That would be validated about 20 minutes later after I looked up to see a mature cinnamon-colored bear approaching the bait from the direction the last bear had left.

That bear walked from behind the bait, passed the barrel, and stopped a few yards between it and where we sat. He could see us sitting there and could smell the bait bucket we'd sat less than 10 yards away to our back right. I came to full draw as he walked to our left, and at less than 15 yards, he stopped. Dave whispered that there was a tree between the camera and the bear. Now, if I had shot, it would have defeated one of the purposes that we were there.

The story that we were telling was how I had transitioned from behind the camera to being in front of it. And then when Dave told me not to shoot because he couldn't see it, I knew the position that he was in. I'd been there before. I let my bow down and watched that bear disappear to my left in the bushes where the bear on the first day had gone and stopped and stayed behind us. This bear didn't do that I could see the tops of the small jackpines and willis shaking As he made his way through them on a course It would have him come out within a few feet of where we sat

He didn't stop he never even slowed down He kept the same pace as he had when he entered And he walked behind us within 15 feet And stopped at the bait bucket where he promptly stuck his face inside to clean up what was left And there we all sat Dante to my immediate right. Beside him was Dave and 15 feet behind Dave was a wild northern Saskatchewan cinnamon-colored bear running a search warrant on what was left of the bait. For his next trick, he got up and walked down to the boat, climbing inside and messing with bags of oats he had stashed in the back.

From there he made his way back up to the bait barrel. I came to full draw and at 20 yards, a liver. shot the prettiest color-faced bear I'd ever seen in the wild. I was less than excited about the shot placement. Did I torque the bow by squeezing the grip? I don't know. I didn't know. All I knew was that I didn't gut shoot him.

Now, that's a very distinctive pop. And this shot didn't have that. It was a hundred percent liver shot that was confirmed 30 minutes later when we went over and looked at the air. dark liver blood and zero gut smell. The blood trail started not far from the bait and was considerable for about 60 yards and then it stopped completely. It was like you'd cut the faucet off. It's not uncommon occurrence when the air goes in and comes out on the same plane.

You know, fat can seal off the exterior holes and long, thick hair can soap up what's coming out. And unless the bear rubs up against something, there could be, little to no blood to see. For 30 minutes, we started over and over, trailing the blood looking for clues, but lost it each time at the same spot. We walked out to the corner of the bay on a path the bears have been using, coming to and leaving that bait site. But there was nothing but tracks, no blood.

We decided to go back, pack up our stuff, and come back later in the morning. Now, in my mind, I was going to make the argument when we got back to camp. to just wait a while and bring Spence and Nick back with us and start over. I would never get to plead my case because once we got back to the ridge where the, where the bait was, Dave looked across the corner of the bay less than 50 yards from where we'd stopped and saw over the tall grass where we'd been unable to see. And there he saw my bear laying face down on the trail. He'd gone less than 200 yards.

and in my urging we walked over and Dante followed him up with a shot from his rifle and that was the end I do not apologize for killing animals my regret lies not in the taking of a life it lies in the way it all came about and I don't have to preach to folks here about the value and necessity of

conservation stewardship and how regulated scientific based management is and how it works It was my improper sight alignment that turned what should have been a short window between the impact and death of only a minute or two to almost 45. I don't know what else to say about it other than I will continue to shoot and practice to safeguard from similar events in the future. Now, we ain't even talked about the fishing, and guess what? We ain't going to have time to this week. I might have to tell you about that one on the next episode, along with some fishing that,

I'll be doing closer to home. Matter of fact, I'm leaving here when I get done with this to head down to Louisiana. The World Championships Squirrel Cookoff, it's happening September the 12th at the J.B. and Janelle Hunt family, Ozark Highlands Nature Center in Springdale, Arkansas. I'm going to be there. My whole family's going to be there. And Lake Pickle's going to be there, the professor at the Backwood University. Also going on right now is the auction house of oddities.

Meteor does this every year and we raise money for the land access initiative. One of the items is this bow right here. It's a Matthews Verdex bow. It's got a dialed archery side on it. It comes with the quiver. There's lots of life left in this bow. And I used it to take the life out of that bear hanging on the wall back there, among some other critters.

It's a good cause. Lots of fun. Next week, don't forget. I'll be back. We're going to be talking about the fishing that went on that I hadn't told you about and what I'm fixing to do. So until next week, this is Brett Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful.

Did you hear Phelps has teamed up with a bunch of other high-end brands to do the Ultimate Elk giveaway? Anyone who is 18 or older can sign up to win an amazing gear package that includes a new rifle or bow along with great supporting gear. The winner will pick. their rifle package or archery package. For every $25 spent, you get 10 additional entries. The sign-ups end July 26 at Phelpsgamecalls.com.