Throughout my career in community journalism, I have often prided myself on my memory, but some recent revelations have provided a serious challenge.

I remember writing a feature story for the Hastings Reminder about Gun Lake area resident Robert S. Munger who told me interesting yarns about his exploits in big game hunting with his sidekick, Fred Bear. Indeed, Fred Bear has become almost legendary, at least in Michigan, as one of the greatest bowhunters of all time.

It was a local feature story because Bear made some his biggest big game scores in Canada, Alaska, Africa and South America with his good buddy from Gun Lake.

The problem, all the pictures I have seen of late of Fred Bear the legend have led me to insist, wrongly of course, that the man in the photo is Munger. I was certain that the man I interviewed in the late 1980s was the same as the guy in the pictures.

Somehow, my aging mind has played tricks on me by switching my visual images of the two men.

Munger himself gained a measure of fame by writing book about the many adventures of Bob and Fred, called “Trailing a Bear.” It wasn’t published until 1994, four years after Munger’s death and six after Bear’s.

A “Mr. James,” published a chapter “Unforgettable Bowhunters,” and declared Bear to be the greatest of all time. A portion of what he wrote:

“In the late 1980s, Bob Munger, Fred’s lifelong bowhunting companion, sent me a rough draft of an autobiographical book manuscript he planned to publish. Bob asked me for a candid editorial evaluation of the book he had titled ‘Trailing a Bear.’I eagerly read it and promptly discouraged him from including the details of how these two friends first met back in 1951.

“Briefly, for any readers who might not know the story, one morning Bob witnessed a virtual parade of Michigan deer crossing onto private property owned or leased by the Port Huron Hunting Club. Unable to resist temptation, Bob trailed after the whitetails. He finally took up a ground stand in a brushy area and before long got a shot at a passing buck – but missed. As he was nocking a second arrow for a follow-up shot, he heard a stick crack nearby. Another hunter was approaching.

“‘Oh, my God!’ Bob muttered, his heart sinking. ‘It’s one of the Port Huron Club members, and he’s caught me red-handed.’”

“Not to worry. The approaching hunter was Fred Bear, who just like Bob had given in to the urge to sneak onto private land to arrow a deer. And, thus, with that chance meeting of two admitted trespassers, began a 36-year friendship that would take these hunting companions to many of the world’s wildest and most remote regions.

“Late in his own life, Bob perfectly summed up his personal feelings about his famous friend with these words, written shortly after Fred’s death in 1988:

“‘It was my good fortune to see first hand the many things he did with his bow. Fred was always a true joy to be with, because of his jovial and friendly personality. He was a storyteller extraordinary! Fred, in my opinion, was the world’s best bowhunter, the best bow designer and one of the greatest American sportsmen of our time.’”

“…I remained very uncomfortable with Bob relating his Fred Bear trespassing tale for the whole world to read. And it’s likely that introductory chapter soured me on the balance of Bob’s book manuscript, which I promptly returned to him with myriad observations and suggestions, plus a long letter explaining why the book shouldn’t be published in its present form.

“Among other things, I urged a complete rewrite of that first chapter. I told Bob it was my editorial opinion that no writer or publisher should help to cast a shadow – even a small one – across the legend of Papa Bear.

“As it turned out, Bob’s book of personal reminiscences wasn’t published until 1994, several years after his death. As I read a copy, I noted that Bob had followed some of my suggestions and done some rewriting, but he’d left the story of the initial meeting with Fred pretty much intact. In retrospect, I’m honestly glad he did. After all, Fred Bear was no saint; he was human. Bob’s story merely underscores that fact.”

Munger also sent a photo of his famous sidekick with a huge bear he felled.

“Clipped to it is a note which reads: ‘M. R., Can’t remember if I sent you one of my favorite pictures of the Two Bears, one dead and the other one happy’. 

“Mr. James also has copy of Bob’s book, which contains the following notation written by his daughter, Ann: “M. R., Thanks for your help with this book. Wish Dad was here to give this book to you himself.”

“So do I, Ann. So do I.”

I do remember writing a feature story about Fred Bear and Bob Munger. But how could a guy who crows about his memory switch images of the subjects of his story?