Ray's Corner
|
Ray's Corner
|
Of
Bears and Boys
Part
I
There is
nary a field geologist that has worked in About six
days into my first stint as a full-fledged party chief with a five-person party,
I noted that one of our two new axes was missing. I told myself that it would
eventually turn up, and went back to compiling the first threads of the geology
immediately east of the Renabie Mine on the new mylar base map. But it didn’t
show. A couple weeks and one camp move later I casually mentioned its apparent
loss to one of the assistants. “Oh, it’s not lost,” he replied “Joe has
it stashed under his bed because he’s afraid of bears. And,” he added, “He
sleeps with his hunting knife under his pillow for the same reason!” Now our
Joe was an interesting young lad. No matter what the subject, he been there,
done that! He had obviously packed a lot into his short lifetime given that he
had just finished first year at Carleton. I remember one day suggesting
to him that it might be less dangerous if he took his foot off the stick of
firewood he was chopping. His response was not to worry; that he had always cut
wood this way. No sooner did I turn around but he proceeded to cut his ankle and
had to be flown out to have it attended. In any
event, by the time of our third base
Our third
camp was an idyllic spot! Sandy beach, south shore of a large lake, esker
immediately behind camp, and small clear cool stream flowing out of cedar swamp
on the west side of the beach. After about a week at this campsite Joe came back
from the We were in
this camp for about three weeks. On our last full day there Joe was left to look
after camp chores while the rest of us went out to map those areas that either
have been missed or require more detail. It just so happens that about ten
o’clock in the morning I had to go past the camp to get to another one of
these last minute locations. Joe was in the office tent doing whatever he was
assigned to do, and a bear was sitting near the fire pit searching for last
night’s poorly burned pork chop bones. By the time Joe heard us and came out
to wave, Mr. Bruin had retreated into the bush. Should we tell him??? Yeah,
we’d better! Joe was definitely not impressed with the circumstances. That night
we returned about seven o’clock and the defensive perimeter of the campsite
was a phenomenon to behold. A large bonfire going in the fire pit! Cans of camp
fuel strategically placed to be ignited as required! Several sharpened 12 foot
poles strategically placed to be quickly brought into play should the
circumstances require! Upon
landing we found that during the day Joe and Mr. Bruin had had a disagreement
about the milk the bear was stealing from our cache in the cool creek under the
cedars. The final score for the day was six quarts consumed by Mr. Bruin, six
quarts saved by Joe. We had a tied game! With the
exception of hearing the bear smashing stumps on the hill behind the camp as he
searched for grubs, we didn’t see him again that evening. Bedtime saw Joe in
his tent next to the fire pit, the rest of us a considerable distance down the
beach. Sometime about two o’clock I was awakened by a loud unfamiliar clanging
noise coming from down the beach. As I got myself focused I realized it was Joe
banging a hammer against the top of a galvanized garbage can and
shouting over and over “Yeah bear! Go away bear!” The noise went on for the
better part of 15 minutes before I realized it wasn’t going to stop of its own
accord. Getting up, I went down the beach, got Joe’s shouting terminated, lit
a Coleman lantern, and sat down with Joe to prove to him that really the end of
the world was not at hand! We probably sat there for half an hour staring into
the thick bush and by this
time Joe was relaxed and ready to go back to bed. We did not see or hear the
bear during this time, but my six sense indicated he was just back of the glow
thrown by the Coleman, probably trying to figure what in the name of Sam Hill
these crazies were doing at this ungodly hour! We both
hit the sack and quickly fell asleep. In the morning we could see the bear’s
tracks in the sand. He had come out of the bush, done a quick survey of our
clean fire pit, made three circles of Joe’s tent, sauntered calmly down the
beach past the other tents and went up on the esker. Joe’s
request to site our next camp on an island was met without any derisive
comments.
Of
Bears and Boys
Part
II
It was a
poor berry summer and the bears had started to approach our camp by the middle
of July. The pact we established was simple - “Bears, you don’t bother us
and we won’t bother you!” Until
the end of July the pact had worked, and although we kept a close eye on each
other, no serious interactions had occurred. In early
August I had left the geological mapping and the camp in the hands of my capable
senior assistant for a few days. He was to pick me up by boat on Tuesday morning
and take me back in to the camp. Tuesday morning arrived bright and early and so
did the assistant, but he had a bit of a mad on. It seems he had arrived back in
camp at about six the previous evening to see three bruins finishing off the
last of our meat supply. Not only had they cleaned out the meat, but they had
demolished its container and our pride and joy - a sawdust-filled chest which
allowed us to keep frozen food in good shape for up to 10 days. As we were
getting a new meat order at the local grocery store he explained that after
surveying the damage he had considered the pact broken by the bears, and had
gone down the lake and borrowed a rifle from the local prospector. The bears had
not returned last evening however. Prior to leaving that morning he had sent two
of the other crew members out to continue the mapping. The third, a jolly young
farm boy from When we
arrived back at camp at about 10.30 am all looked peaceful and serene. In this
particular camp we had our 12x14 canvass cook tent erected over a 2x4 frame, and
had added a small board pantry on the back. We continued to look for signs of
life as we unloaded the boat, and finally saw a head appear over the top of the
cook tent - our jolly junior assistant was perched on the only high spot he
could quickly navigate, the roof of the pantry. It appears
that he had decided to bake a couple pies. When he opened the door to put the
second pie on the front step to cool with its slightly older and cooler sibling,
he had come face to face with one of the bears which, it appeared, had a
fondness for pies as well as meat. They both let out a bellow, turned tail, and
ran; Jim slamming the cook tent door and retreating inside, the bear hi-tailing
it down the shoreline as fast as his legs could take him. In his
aroused state of concern for his personal safety Jim automatically made for the
rifle and some ammunition, and the highest and safest perch he could find - the
pantry roof. Once safely ensconced with some distance between himself and the
ground, he realized he really had no idea how this rifle he held in his hands
worked. But being a good farm lad, a positive characteristic of which has always
been their problem solving skills, he managed to figure out how his only means
of protection functioned, loaded it, and waited. Some 20
minutes later his attention was captured by a movement of a large black shape in
the bush about 25 yards away. When the bear appeared, our daring young James
pointed the rifle in its general direction, and fired. The bear disappeared and
Jim had a black and blue shoulder. Discretion being the better part of valor,
Jim elected to spend the next couple hours on the pantry roof, only coming down
after he observed that our activities on the dock were not being interrupted by
anything with black fur, claws, and long white teeth. But
Jim’s fine efforts had saved at least one pie, and we had no more bear problems
that summer. |