Bear in the Woods

In the Fall of 1966 my brother David and I hooked school to go deer hunting, (I should say pouching). It was something we did, not because we loved hunting, it was a necessity.

David and I split-up, he going one way and I another, as we did later in life. I wanted to check out a little meadow that had a creek flowing through it, but to get there I had to walk through a thicket of buck brush. Bear people scare me, always have scared, scare me to this day. I have never had the desire to shoot one, but I would if I had to.

Walking through thick buck brush is looking for trouble. The side of the mountain where I stood was thickly covered, and to walk around was to far. At the time I had a small M1 carbine, and ahead of there were many deer trails, so the going wasn't to rough, just the same my heart was pounding with fear.

Holding the carbine high over my head I waded in. Half-way through the buck brush thinned, and I could see the deep green meadow. The wind must have shifted, because I caught a whiff of scat. Growing up as I did, and having the daddy that I had, hunting and tracking by then was second nature.

I would walk several yards then do a 360 degree turn-around, just to be safe. If you've ever been hunting and had a big doe follow close behind, only to bellow at the back of your neck...well, you learn to turn around once in awhile. I circled around while walking, looking for a good spot to view the meadow. Woo! There in the middle of the path, a big fresh pile of bear scat. Oh god, just my luck. It was late mourning, this stuff was steaming it was so fresh. My knees were shaking as I stooped for a better look, a natural thing to do. I saw David out the corner of my eye on the far side of the meadow, and waved him over.

"Damn! David, look at this bear shit, he's been eating corn." David gave the most disconcerted, disagreeable, disgusted look I ever saw, and walked away cussing me under his breath. I stood there a while before I could put two-and-two together in my head. Then rolled on the ground laughing.

Of course I'll never let him live it down...more ammunition for laughs. I no longer have to carry a gun to hunt food, or to protect myself from man, nor beast. That's a blessing. Now I just carry a big stick, it's called a dictionary; I have a big one, and it's growing. OHooo!