Speaking of pi$$ed off bears...
Dear Dillon Precision,
My name is Rod Black. Last month I was fishing with my brother at Seneca Lake Arizona, on the San Carlos Indian Reservation. Just after midnight on the 16th of July, 2002, a bear wandered into my camp and attacked me while I slept. He clawed my head open, severing a small artery, and bit me on the back before throwing me off my cot onto the ground.
I found myself on the dirt, in the dark, with blood gushing and literally squirting from my wounds. I was in a state of absolute panic and horror. I had a Ruger Vaquero by my cot, but in the chaos and confusion I could locate neither the revolver nor my glasses, and could see or hear nothing. I was paralyzed by fear and terrified that the bear would come back from out of the darkness and resume his attack on me at any moment.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was perhaps less than a minute, my brother could see the dark form of the bear moving and began to scream. I realized that we were going to die if I didn't come to my senses, and I fell to the ground and located my shooter in the dirt. I asked my brother to try to make it to the pickup and turn on the lights. (He could not find the flashlight, as the bear had knocked it on the ground before the attack.) Without my glasses and in such darkness, I was nearly blind.
After repeatedly asking my brother to go, he somehow made it to the truck and turned on the lights. (Later, I realized that by asking my brother to go into the dark to turn on the lights, I might have sent him to his death - that will haunt me forever.)
The lights came on and revealed my worst nightmare: Not three to four feet away and looking straight at me was the bear. The bogeyman. The thing that goes bump in the dark. This thing had come to kill me and eat my flesh that night... and I knew it.
When he turned for an instant to look at the light, I wiped the blood from my eyes and fired my first shot from the caliber .44-40 Vaquero. I was painfully aware that if my first round was not a good one, I may not have a chance for another. In all my life, I will never forget the sound of the blast or the acrid smell of the gunpowder. The bear was knocked from his feet and hit the ground hard. He thrashed about while I fired again and again - and cursed him while I did - until I was hammering on empty cartridges.
After it was over I was transported part-way down the mountain by off-duty police officer Goode, of the San Carlos Police Department, who had been camping near by and heard the screaming and shooting. I was flown the rest of the way by helicopter to a hospital in Globe.
I have written a letter to Ruger to thank them for making such a quality firearm. One that saved my life. But I realize that it would have been no good at all if the ammunition had not done its job. That is why I am writing this letter. Those .44-40 rounds had been loaded on a Dillon XL 650 that I had purchased a few months ago. I can tell you now that there is NO SUBSTITUTE for QUALITY.
So, if on some dark and bloody night you ever smell the breath of the bear, you will know that you cannot go back and undo what is done. If your life ever hangs by a thread...nothing is better than the best, I can assure you!
From the bottom of my heart I truly thank you folks at Dillon - all of you - for making nothing but the BEST.
Rod Black - Marana, AZ
Article from The Blue Press November 2002 Issue #125.
