What is it
about winter that makes us think of bears?
They aren’t even around, right? They’re hibernating. Maybe it’s because polar bears make us think
of snow, or bear fur makes us think of warm coats. Whatever the reason, bears come to mind.
And, having grown up in the
Rocky Mountains, I am one of many who has a bear story. I was a little kid at
the time, probably 8 years old, my sister 13. We had just gone on a family vacation to
Yellowstone. This was back when black
bears happily roamed the park (hence the creation of the Yogi Bear and
Jellystone Park cartoon).
People weren’t supposed to
feed them, but then people aren’t supposed to break speed limits, overeat, blah
blah blah. People break rules. In fact, waaaay earlier the park even had
bleachers set up by the trash dump, where people would sit and watch the bears
rummage through bean cans and banana peels.
Finally this was stopped, as officials realized that garbage is bad for
bears. It’s even worse for humans
because tourists would occasionally get gobbled up along with the orange rinds.
But in my childhood, you
knew to steer clear of bears. Maybe roll
down your car window an inch or so, and toss out a lifesaver or a slice of
bread, and then snap a picture. But
basically stay away from them.
Unfortunately, no one has
trained bears to avoid humans. So when
my dad, an avid fly fisherman known for his uncanny ability to sense a good
bend in the river, pulled over into a meadow and took off in his waders for a
perfect place to fish, the rest of us waited inside the car, where it was safe.
Dad disappeared into the
trees, and we sat. Within five minutes,
we saw a gigantic bear lumbering towards us from the far end of the
meadow. Instinctively, we locked our
doors.
He got closer. And then closer. We looked around to see if there was
something else he could be heading for, but we were the only item of
distinction in the meadow.
Within seconds he was behind
our car, his long nose jabbing up into the air as he sniffed. It was at this moment that my mother realized
she had wrapped up some bacon and put it in the trunk. Yikes.
The bear took a swipe at our
bumper. Then at the fenders, denting
them in. He growled. He knew there was bacon somewhere in this
metal contraption. He placed his mammoth
paws atop the trunk and pushed down, bouncing the car on its shock absorbers.
“Don’t move!” my mother
whispered. But the bear was bouncing my
sister and me like ping pong balls on a trampoline.
Now he roared, slammed all
his weight onto the trunk, broke the car’s axle and popped a tire. It also bent
the lid in enough to pop it open, revealing all our luggage and, of course, the
bacon. Here's someone else's car after a bear got to it:
My mother was shrieking, my
sister was wailing that she had now sat on a fish hook, and I was frozen in
panic. The bear rummaged hungrily
through our belongings, piercing a 3-inch thick book with his teeth, and
finally finding the bacon. A few chomps
later he sauntered off, apparently unwilling to break windows and eat screaming
females.
No way were we going to open
the doors and survey the damage.
Besides, my sister’s fish hook was her greatest concern and getting a
barbed hook out of human flesh is no small project.
Two minutes later my father
returned, having decided this was not the best fishing spot after all. But as he approached the car, you can imagine
his surprise. The trunk lid was up,
clothing was strewn all around, and the entire back end of the car was
destroyed, like a bomb had gone off. Here's what a bear did to an airplane just this year:
“What on earth happened? I
was gone ten minutes!”
And that, my friends, is all
it takes.
You
can read even more hair-raising adventures in JUNGLE, my adventure romance novel that will take you to an
uncharted island in the Indian Ocean.
You can find it in hard copy or e-book here!