Speaking of guides, you'd have a hard time finding a crew that's nicer, harder working, and more fun than the guys here. There's Wayne, Dwayne, Mike, and Blair, the owner of the outfit. Blair's guiding me this week. He is as big as a bear himself and has one of the baddest handlebar mustaches you will ever see. (One day, he wore a T-shirt his friends had made for his birthday. It read: THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE MUSTACHE.) When we come back to camp after our hunts, usually between 11 p.m. and midnight, we all hang out in the shed, indulging in some late snacks and beer or Canadian rye and laughing as the guides make fun of one another. The shed is also where the guides skin and butcher. Over the first three nights of camp, four hunters brought back bears. On night four—the night I fired—three more filled their tags, making me the only hunter not to come back with a dead bear.