Be sure to pack extra
food in the Fall...
by Bryan Whitehead (continued from page 1)
With a grunt the bear turned around and looked at us….I think for the first time. Then he seemingly shrugged and turned back to his labors.
I dissuaded my friend from pitching any more rocks, pointing out that I was the faster runner of the two of us, and the guy in second place would lose in more ways than one!
Finally starting to think, I grabbed a small dead Jackpine tree. I took string from the pocket of my down vest and tearing off the dead and dried branches I gathered them at the end like a peasant’s twig broom.
I took my lighter and started this torch ablaze. Swinging this portable bonfire back and forth, I rushed quickly into the campsite. The bear, confronted by a somewhat demented camper with a crackling fire thrust in his direction decided to leave. This was a good thing for me, since Jackpine blazes tend to burn quickly…and go out.
The bear left before the fire went out.
We reassembled our camp, took down the tent, rolled up out sleeping bags and took inventory of the damage wrought by the bear. Our packs would never be the same, but the straps were intact and the pockets could be reattached with some needle and thread – at least well enough to get us back to the car some 15 miles away.
We retrieved the rest of our food from the hanging stuff sack. The mice, or at least their cousins, had returned and further depleted our rations. We had enough for a good breakfast – and we clearly faced a long hike back. I took out my stove and quickly prepared pancakes. As I served them up, I noticed a black snout slowly rising out of the brush, sniffing the wind…. and aromas of instant syrup and flapjacks. Backing out of camp, we carried our breakfast and gnawed-up stuff sack with the bear walking confidently back in.
I figured we better eat quickly.
The bear surveyed the area and quickly picked up my compressed butane campstove. Undoubtedly there was syrup on the fuel can, so he sat contentedly down and began to lick it.
This bear had discovered somehow that there were very good things to eat in cans. Maneuvering the mini stove cylinder in his paws, he bit down into it.
Hard.
The cylinder erupted in his mouth, spraying compressed butane across his face, into his mouth and I would imagine up his nose. The rapidly decompressing fuel immediately turned to frost on this cold morning, rendering Mr. Bear comically painted with white dripping spray across his face and mouth.
I watched breathlessly – glancing down the path and wondering if I really could outrun my friend.
No need, this bear harrumped loudly, and turned and walked with as much dignity as he could muster back into the forest.
We imagine that he spent the nest week in streams and lakes trying to wash the taste out of his mouth. I also imagine that he never again bit into a can, hoping for a quick snack!
Bryan Whitehead