Wednesday, May 28, 2008
“It’s a bear.”
“What do you mean a bear? Where?”
“Its right over there I can see it. Can you see it? Come closer.”
“No, I’m not coming closer. Where is it?” Sharon was whispering and I wondered a little if she was putting me on. I couldn’t reconcile her wide curious eyes with her calm demeanor. Her sight fixed on a spot ahead which I couldn't see from several paces behind her.
It was definitely not funny in the moment. I think some of the best things are that way. The weight of the risk equals the reward I have always believed. Our reward will be many years of laughing. The kind of teary-eyed, aching, laughing which can shake the entire body and last a lifetime.
“Its coming this way. Run!”
“I’m sure that Chris would say we should back slowly away.”
I looked back over my shoulder and, as promised, there he was investigating the ground where we had just stood. He didn’t immediately run like other bears we have seen. He was moving slowly but easily closing the space between us of what had been no more about six feet. Sharon guessed the bear was about 300 lbs. I was too stunned to estimate and I’ve never been good at that anyway. My feet began moving against my will. My God, I was running too as I was instructing this was the very thing one shouldn’t do.
The trail was so beautiful that morning, though, and so enticing in its peaceful restraint. Its overgrown emptiness. Everyone else had taken a different route today and the thick vegetation suggested to us a kind of quiet we just don’t get in the city. The trail didn’t go very far. About three miles and we would reach some cabin ruins before making our way back. It was dim and shady all the way there. Spicy and still. As I consider whether or not the adrenaline rush will fully combat the impending mauling, I briefly recollect on a day just like this when, on a different trail, I had surprised a small red fox. I should have helped myself from stepping in for a closer look. The animal was likely as scared of me as we were now of our bear brother. His strategy was to climb a tree, which is a poor strategy if one is a red fox and should only be a final resort. Not generally a tree-climber, the red fox fell and instantly snapped his neck. His life ended there because of me and I reflected on that now. Maybe the universe corrects itself. Maybe I will pay this morning with my life for the life which ended on that day due to my intrusion.
I would never have thought I would be so frightened. We had worked up to a fine sprint and I thought I might vomit. What is the preferred strategy in this situation? Stop, drop and roll or some such thing? That bear spray I have... where is that? And what good is it doing me on the kitchen counter? And *&^%$# why-oh-why did I bring nuts and berries today? Open and exposed even in my side pocket? I cannot stop visualizing the nuts and berries. It has become all I can think of. I am consumed by my choice of trail mix. This will be my undoing.
I wanted to look back again but surely I might trip or run off the side or perhaps run straight into a tree. And do I need to know if he’s still there? What can I possibly do? I am resolved. If the bear kills me and eats me, that will be that. There are, after all, worse things that can happen in the end. And I can only hope that Sharon does not become heroic attempting to pull my limbs free or whatnot but instead moves on. Its best if those back home know exactly what happened and straightaway with it. No wondering if I haven’t returned by some specified time. No search and rescue. Neither of us can take on the bear. The other should forge ahead with the information.
Doug Peacock wrote in “Grizzly Years” that he hopes when he meets his end that his body can be cast deep into the San Juan Mountains so that the bears he loved so much in life can benefit from his death. The very final thing he has to give can perhaps allow his wildlife brethren to carry on. I find some comfort in this thought but I remind myself that the unfortunate thing here is that the bear will be held responsible for my death. When humans and wildlife collide the animals always lose. So I run faster.
Finally, I risk a step or two for a quick look behind. I whisper to Sharon that I believe our brother has vanished. Had he forgiven our interference? Was he just messing with us the whole time? Would he pop out just ahead? Maybe he was just curious, as I was with the red fox. Maybe when he saw us run he felt badly for us and turned back. Maybe he’s laughing now too.
“What do you mean a bear? Where?”
“Its right over there I can see it. Can you see it? Come closer.”
“No, I’m not coming closer. Where is it?” Sharon was whispering and I wondered a little if she was putting me on. I couldn’t reconcile her wide curious eyes with her calm demeanor. Her sight fixed on a spot ahead which I couldn't see from several paces behind her.
It was definitely not funny in the moment. I think some of the best things are that way. The weight of the risk equals the reward I have always believed. Our reward will be many years of laughing. The kind of teary-eyed, aching, laughing which can shake the entire body and last a lifetime.
“Its coming this way. Run!”
“I’m sure that Chris would say we should back slowly away.”
I looked back over my shoulder and, as promised, there he was investigating the ground where we had just stood. He didn’t immediately run like other bears we have seen. He was moving slowly but easily closing the space between us of what had been no more about six feet. Sharon guessed the bear was about 300 lbs. I was too stunned to estimate and I’ve never been good at that anyway. My feet began moving against my will. My God, I was running too as I was instructing this was the very thing one shouldn’t do.
The trail was so beautiful that morning, though, and so enticing in its peaceful restraint. Its overgrown emptiness. Everyone else had taken a different route today and the thick vegetation suggested to us a kind of quiet we just don’t get in the city. The trail didn’t go very far. About three miles and we would reach some cabin ruins before making our way back. It was dim and shady all the way there. Spicy and still. As I consider whether or not the adrenaline rush will fully combat the impending mauling, I briefly recollect on a day just like this when, on a different trail, I had surprised a small red fox. I should have helped myself from stepping in for a closer look. The animal was likely as scared of me as we were now of our bear brother. His strategy was to climb a tree, which is a poor strategy if one is a red fox and should only be a final resort. Not generally a tree-climber, the red fox fell and instantly snapped his neck. His life ended there because of me and I reflected on that now. Maybe the universe corrects itself. Maybe I will pay this morning with my life for the life which ended on that day due to my intrusion.
I would never have thought I would be so frightened. We had worked up to a fine sprint and I thought I might vomit. What is the preferred strategy in this situation? Stop, drop and roll or some such thing? That bear spray I have... where is that? And what good is it doing me on the kitchen counter? And *&^%$# why-oh-why did I bring nuts and berries today? Open and exposed even in my side pocket? I cannot stop visualizing the nuts and berries. It has become all I can think of. I am consumed by my choice of trail mix. This will be my undoing.
I wanted to look back again but surely I might trip or run off the side or perhaps run straight into a tree. And do I need to know if he’s still there? What can I possibly do? I am resolved. If the bear kills me and eats me, that will be that. There are, after all, worse things that can happen in the end. And I can only hope that Sharon does not become heroic attempting to pull my limbs free or whatnot but instead moves on. Its best if those back home know exactly what happened and straightaway with it. No wondering if I haven’t returned by some specified time. No search and rescue. Neither of us can take on the bear. The other should forge ahead with the information.
Doug Peacock wrote in “Grizzly Years” that he hopes when he meets his end that his body can be cast deep into the San Juan Mountains so that the bears he loved so much in life can benefit from his death. The very final thing he has to give can perhaps allow his wildlife brethren to carry on. I find some comfort in this thought but I remind myself that the unfortunate thing here is that the bear will be held responsible for my death. When humans and wildlife collide the animals always lose. So I run faster.
Finally, I risk a step or two for a quick look behind. I whisper to Sharon that I believe our brother has vanished. Had he forgiven our interference? Was he just messing with us the whole time? Would he pop out just ahead? Maybe he was just curious, as I was with the red fox. Maybe when he saw us run he felt badly for us and turned back. Maybe he’s laughing now too.
Friday, May 09, 2008
The Spin Cycle
Who says they're living the hard life? Joan, Chris and Joe moved a new washing machine into Sturtevant Camp! Pics below reveal Joe did most of the work loading it into the truck, moving it over Newcomb Pass and using the one wheeled mule to push it two miles down to the camp. Good work, Joe!
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