Frank Bergin, 26, of Pelham, N.Y., unloaded his rucksack and propped his .30/06 rifle against a tree. He had driven half the night, hiked five miles through the wilderness from the highway. Now for a snooze, and then on with the great bear hunt. A year before, in the same remote Adirondack clearing, he had come across black bear tracks, marked the spot carefully on a map. Came the dawn. Bergin yawned, stretched, looked around—to see twelve equally expectant faces peering curiously at him from behind the trees. Without a word, he...
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