Last week I traveled to Flagstaff, to hike into Red Mountain. Since the hike would take less than a day, I also planned to visit Walnut Canyon National Monument. After my disappointment at Tuzigoot I only allowed for an hour at Walnut Canyon. That was a mistake, it should be allotted 2 to 3 hours. None-the-less, these two activities can be accomplished in one long day. Regrettably, nothing of interest happened during the day for me to report by way of a story. Fortunately, my brother-in-law called the other night, so now I have a new klutzy camp story to tell. Our conversation also refreshed memories of some other camp stories which I can also relate.
Several decades ago, we used to go camping and fishing; well, the family went camping and I went fishing. On one trip to Pinedale, Wyoming, we drove way back into the woods near a lake and camped on the banks of Boulder Creek. After pitching our camp, we fished and did all of the usual things, finally getting the kids to sleep and turning in ourselves. Just as we were about to go to sleep, some small critter started scurrying up and down the sidewalls of the tent. Bothersome, but not alarming. Shortly thereafter, we heard thunder up in the nearby mountains. I simply commented that I hoped we wouldn’t have a flash-flood and rolled over and went to sleep. Needless to say, visions of her family and herself being swept down a swollen creek by a 30 foot wall of water kept Ms Trekker awake all night. That little off-hand comment has caused me a lot of grief over the years.
A few years later, we went camping in Saratoga, Wyoming. Again we pitched camp and I went to try my luck fishing. Immediately after making my 1st cast, my entire arm turned black, covered by a zillion mosquitoes. With each cast, a buzzing black cloud would arise from my arm as I drew back to make the cast, only to resettle on any exposed piece of flesh as soon as the cast was completed. I was sure I was going to run out of blood before I caught my first fish. The other guys in our group were having the same experience so we broke camp and moved to another campground, up in the mountains, far away from the water. No mosquitoes, but we had moved into bear country. While we were in the process of pitching camp, for the second time that afternoon, our daughter wandered off by herself up a road. She had just gotten out of sight, when we heard two blood curdling screams. We looked up to see our grade schooler streaking down the road towards the camp, screaming at the top of her lungs. We quickly learned that she had come face to face with a bear cub which in turn had gone streaking up the road in the opposite direction, screaming at the top of it’s lungs. We went up the road to investigate. Apparently, the momma bear, showing more common sense than the rest of us, had collected her youth and moved on.
After settling in, we learned from other people in the campground that a marauding bear had ripped the top off of a camper the night before – and we were in a tent. The following day, our son and one of his friends went to investigate the damage caused by the raging bear. Expecting huge slash marks, peeled sheet metal and a totally rent camper-shell, the ten-year-olds were disappointed. Only an aluminum vent on the camper had been bent and torn. Later in the day a ranger showed up with a bear trap and proceeded to incarcerate the offending yearling cub.
Now, on to the real story: This last weekend our in-laws, of “Spain Fame”, went to climb one of the 14’ners (peaks over 14,000 ft. in elevation) in southern Colorado, I have forgotten which mountain, it is not important other than to note that it was in bear country. After having successfully scaled the peak they returned to their camp to celebrate their conquest with a few Coronas and a succulent, aromatic, savory chicken dinner. Which I might add, was cooked in the great out-of-doors, probably in the middle of their camp. After devouring this feast, they proceeded to put the empty bottles, accompanied by the chicken bones and remaining carcass, into a plastic trash bag which then was tightly tied and placed on top of their car.
You should know that our relatives have two dogs: Thor, a Pomeranian and Kalua, a friendly but no-nonsense Chow Chow, a huge black dog with a purple tongue. I am told that Thor normally sleeps in the tent and Kalua normally sleeps outside at the tent’s door; both raise a ruckus at the slightest sound from the dark edge of camp.
In the middle of the night, the in-law’s were both awakened by the sound of the Corona bottles hitting the ground – not a sound was heard from the dogs. She asked, “What’s that!” Armed with nothing more than a flashlight and his “tighty-whiteys” for defense, the brother-in-law decided to investigate; he shined his flashlight out of the tent towards the car - towards the large black silhouette with two beady eyes. The beady eyes just stared at the flashlight and then ambled off across the road. Kulua, the faithful family defender, was just sitting there at the door of the tent, staring straight ahead, a stone statue, not moving a muscle, not breathing and surely not making a sound. The low, quiet, throaty growls were coming from Thor, the pipsqueak “safely” ensconced in the tent. Our sister-in-law, probably still unaware of the true nature of the intruder, asked again, “What happened?”. “It was nothing but a bear,” my wife’s brother replied, while trying to calculate his chances of going back to sleep.
At this point in the story there is a wide disagreement between the parties involved. My brother-in-law relates that every night, about this time in the middle of the night, he gets up to relieve himself at the base of a particular tree. So, shortly after the bear decided to move on, he did what he normally does and visited the tree.
My sister-in-law on the other hand tells a different story. She claims 1) to have known all along that the thing was a bear, 2) that her husband had established intimidating eye contact with the intruder, 3) in response, the bear submissively slinked away and 4) after having successfully stared down the beast, her husband proceeded to mark his territory!
They both agree that once his wife heard “bear”, all thoughts of sleep for anyone were eliminated, they broke camp and returned home. My brother-in-law reports that the long trip home in the middle of the night was totally devoid of drowsiness!
His wife has noted that certain lessons have been learned: Bears are interested in trash, which certainly does attract bears. Bears are big enough to reach the top of a vehicle in order to get your trash! Corona bottles work better than car alarms. And finally, bears don't like guacamole!
Here’s another last minute offering for your consideration:
I have a friend who has a mountain cabin near a lake and each year he and his wife spend some time up there, fishin' and veg'n'. On a recent trip, while sitting around with a group of the local citizenry, one of the neighbors told a story about recently watching a bear forging around the park’s trash dumpster down at the end of our friend’s lane. The bear climbed onto the dumpster and proceeded to jump up and down until one of the lids collapsed, dropping him in among the goodies. The trash and junk went flying as he tossed out undesirables while looking for the targeted edible morsels.
A few nights later, the friend’s wife carried the day’s garbage down to the dumpster, all the while thinking about the latest bear story she had heard from their neighbor. It was dusk, the light was bad and when she opened the dumpster to dispose of the rubbish all she could see was a pair of beady eyes staring up at her. According to my friend; in no particular order she dropped the dumpster lid, tossed most of her garbage into the air, peed her pants and ran all the way home - setting a new age/gender record for the length of their lane.
Of course the beady eyes belonged to the trouble-some neighborhood raccoon. But it is a big raccoon! And I am sure that over the years, our in-laws will stick to their story that he had intentionally “marked his territory” – on the other hand, there is a certain sense of wholesome, authentic integrity in the latter tale as to the origins of that puddle.
Trekker