'Owen was a hero': How a 12-year-old saved his dad's life with a clutch shot during a bear attack

When Ryan Beierman crossed into a tiny clearing in the woods near his cabin in western Wisconsin, the wounded bear he was tracking was crouched under an oak tree, looking him in the eye.

"He was in a stance like a cat about to pounce,'' Beierman recalled. "The next thing I know he was on me. He charged and knocked me down.''

If you've ever wondered what it's like to be attacked by a black bear — an extremely rare occurrence even for hunters — Beierman can tell you. Due to shock and adrenaline, he can't recall how long they wrestled. But he distinctly remembers the bear's hot breath as its fangs dug into his forehead.

"The bear was fighting for its life, and I was fighting for mine,'' he said.

The 43-year-old business agent for Teamsters Local 120 in Blaine says he probably wouldn't have survived the mauling if not for his 12-year-old son, Owen. While his dad was pinned to the ground under the 200-pound boar, Owen scrambled with his hunting rifle and fired a shot from his hip that struck the bruin's vitals.

"I was flat on my back and could feel the bullet going through the bear,'' Beierman said. "Owen was a hero. He shot that bear and killed it on top of me.''

Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources conservation officer Dustin Gabrielson confirmed the tale. Everything about the father-son hunt on Sept. 6 was legal, he said. DNR officials in eastern Burnett County have known Beierman as a generous supporter of the agency's learn-to-hunt programs. The officer described the location of the bear attack as in the midst of "super thick'' conifer trees and heavy underbrush just north of the Polk County line.

Beierman, who lives in River Falls, Wis., with his wife, Ali, and their two boys, gave an exclusive interview to the Minnesota Star Tribune. The encounter left him with a gruesome facial gash, other cuts and fang punctures to his forehead, right arm and leg.

What follows is the avid hunter's account of what happened, edited for clarity and length:

'Bear, bear, bear'

I took a half day off work on Friday and pulled Owen out of school to drive to our cabin near Siren. It was Owen's bear tag and not his first hunt. We sat together in a tree stand above a bait station that our neighbor stocked for us. It was a beautiful afternoon to be in the woods.

The two of us were looking in opposite directions when Owen whispered: "Dad. Bear, bear, bear.'' He was armed with a 350 Legend hunting rifle and we watched as the bear approached. Bang! Owen's shot hit the bear, but missed the ideal kill zone. The animal whirled, snapped its head around to bite at the bullet wound and ran out of sight. It was around 6 p.m. We sat for 20 minutes before starting our search. If the bear was downed somewhere close to us, we were allowing it time to bleed out without prompting it to flee further.

When it was time to search, we saw no blood near the bait. It wasn't long before we picked up the trail, but our progress was slow. A neighbor who heard the shot came to help us. Given the spotty nature of the blood trail and terrain heavy with buckthorn and other brush, we accepted an offer from another neighbor to use their tracking dog.

Darkness fell as we followed the chocolate Labrador. We were sort of hung up in a thicket when we heard the dog yelp and sprint past us in retreat. Just then, I stepped into a semi-clearing. I said, "There he is, Owen.''

I reached for my sidearm initially hoping to scare the bear away with a warning shot. He was only 5 or 6 feet away, point blank. As he charged, I shot to kill. I shot eight times but missed. I had no time and I never got the gun high enough to use the sights.

Before I knew it I was flat on my back. I started pistol whipping him and it felt like I was striking a brick wall. I remember thinking: "You have to do something different.'' I tried hitting him between the ear and mouth with a blunt edge of the pistol.

At that point, the bear released my leg, maybe reared back a little, and lunged at my head. All I could see were his claws and teeth. I lifted my right arm to block him. I remember the first bite. I heard a crunch. My thought was: "He broke my arm." But it was punctured, not broken. The bear was still attacking. He wasn't going to leave me.

The fight ensued. The whole thing might have lasted only 45 seconds or more, I can't really remember. But it was as if he was attacking in slow motion. I wasn't fearful. I didn't have time to think about death.

I'm fighting for my life. I'm punching and kicking and flailing around. That's when I saw a flash from the muzzle of Owen's rifle. The bullet transferred the bear's weight to one side and I pushed him off. We heard the bear's final moans and I can't recall if we fired another round or not. My head was spinning and our ordeal wasn't quite over.

Owen had been incredibly composed and he helped me find my glasses. I can't really see without them and they were under the bear. I was confused about our location so I pulled out my phone to look at my compass. My left cheek was sliced open and blood was oozing out of the flap. There were two fang marks in my forehead and my face was smattered with blood. My phone didn't recognize my face so I punched in the code to open it.

I tried calling my bosses to tell them I wouldn't be in attendance for a special weekend event. As I looked down, too much blood was falling on my phone to make more calls. I also needed to call my wife. Owen, still composed, helped me with all of that and a neighbor showed up to help us out of the woods.

My neighbors were great. They took care of the bear, cleaning it and hanging it in the cool night air. Another neighbor drove me to the emergency room in Grantsburg, but after phoning 911 to say we were on our way to the hospital, the dispatcher sent an ambulance to intercept us and take me the rest of the way.

A good doctor and nurse examined me and reattached my cheek with 23 stitches. They found seven puncture wounds on my right arm and a cut that required stitches. They found more puncture wounds from bear bites on my leg. The most pain I felt the entire night, including the mauling, was from the two lidocaine shots to my face to numb me for the stitches.

I was proud of Owen. He really held it together. But after it was all over, you could tell he was pretty shaken.

When we returned home to River Falls, I told my wife I was done bear hunting. Now, I don't know, but she'll have something to say. It was a wild ride. It was a hell of a night, to say the least.