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Da Bears

 

     I like bears.  Sorta.

 

     I've liked bears since I was a little kid, when I first saw Disney's Humphrey the Bear cartoons.  And of course, about that same time (roughly age 4) I also learned about Smokey Bear, that most loveable and magnificent spokesbear for the U. S. Forest Service.  I'm sure I had coloring books for both - and did NOT color outside the lines!

 

     I still clearly remember Dad taking me to the Griffith Park Zoo one day when I was four years old.  Now, the zoo was a cool place, for sure, full of all sorts of exotic animals.  Sadly, I think I was a bit of a disappointment for Dad that day, as I was interested in seeing only two animals.  Pigs - I just had to see for myself that curly tail.  And bears.  Well, Dad may have been disappointed in me, but I was sorely disappointed to learn that the zoo folk just did not understand the importance of having a single pig on hand.  The closest they had was something called a "wart hog," a very poor substitute for my old pal Porky indeed. 

 

     But there were bears!   I don't recall exactly what kind of bears, but I do remember them being NOTHING like either Humphrey (and his buddies).  They kinda looked like Smokey, but scarier.

 

     Now, jump ahead about five years, to the fall of 1959.  Waco, Texas.  A grand Saturday afternoon; grand because that was the Saturday that my Uncle Bob took me to root for the Baylor Bears when they played the Arkansas Razorbacks.  A terrific outing, although Baylor lost.  Actually, Baylor got trounced.  But that's okay, 'cuz we got to see Baylor's mascots - a pair of real bears!  SO cool!

 

     And then something unfortunate happened. 

 

     I grew up.  And my perspective on bears changed.  Well, I still like Smokey and Humphrey, but otherwise I'd just as soon limit my bear exposures to television or snapshots.  Snapshots that other people have snapped, thankee ver' much!

 

     You see... when I grew up, I seemed to have turned into some sort of a "bear magnet." 

 

     It started in high school.  The Castlemont High Math and Science Club made an-end-of-the-year reward trip to Yosemite.  This was a first for me; the place was breathtaking.  First, the tremendous scenery.  And when I strolled along a trail and almost ran into the rear end of a pair of a pair of bears headed in the same direction.  Under their own power.  Outside.  No fence separating them from us.  Not even a leash.  THAT took my breath away!

 

     Off to college, where I fell in with a bunch of young nimrods who enjoyed spending time in the woods.  Hiking, backpacking, camping.  Every chance we got, we were off to the woods. 

 

     Wanna guess who lives in the woods?  Riiight!  Bears!!  LOTS of 'em, it seemed!

 

     Ol' Bob Stuart would tell us about his bear sightings - "If ya look up in the trees and see a big ol' lump on one, it's prob'ly a bear!" 

 

     Bill Wynuts was quick to add "And remember!  Anything that you can do in the woods a bear can do better!  He can outrun ya, he can outclimb ya, and he can outswim ya!  If that bear wants ya, he'll git ya!"

 

     No textbooks were ever studied any harder than I studied them trees.  I never did spot a bear lump in one, but did see lots of other things.  Heck, I even once found an ancient axe head, the handle long rotted away.  But no bears.

 

     Nope - those bears liked to stay on the ground. 

 

     I used to hate being sound asleep in my sleeping bag (known as a "fart sack" in some circles), either in a tiny tent or under the stars, and in the middle of the night hear someone's low voice growl out "Bear in camp."  I'd lie there, trying to remember if all our foodstuffs were hanging safely in a tree.  And of course, there were those shuffling pawsteps.  Usually imagined, but real as hell and always headed my way; my overactive imagination imagining a furry ol' bear imagining me in my bag as a giant burrito.  Eyes squeezed tight, 'til I'd finally realize the warm bear breath on my face was actually the morning sun.  Yay!  I survived!

 

     Late one night in the Mendocino Forest, I was sound asleep in my li'l tent, pitched about twenty feet or so from Stewball's.  Now, ol' Bob was a notorious and horrific snorer; any closer would have been intolerable.  There was actually another time when Bill and I thought we were about to be devoured in the wee hours of a late summer evening, only to discover it was Bobbo snoring. 

 

     So anyway, sometime midway between sunset and dawn on this night, I finally had enough and barked out "Bob!  Wake up and go to sleep!  For God's sake, man, you sound like a calliope with a steam leak!"

 

     "Snrk?  Bltzz... grmp?  Oh, awright.  Sorry!"

 

     Problem was, Bob's response came from the wrong side of my tent.  I slid down as low as I could into my fart sack and stayed there 'til morning... when I found all sorts of bear tracks around the other side of my tent.  And a mess of bear slobber on my backpack.

 

     Several years later found me in another section off the  Mendocino Forest, with my teenaged kid brother and young cousin along for a long deer hunting weekend in the woods.  The boys were the same age, and oddly, both were (well, still are, come to think of it) named "Charles," thanks to strange family dynamics that had kept my mom and aunt out of touch with each other for a few years.    

 

     We'd arrived early Friday, set up camp near the Monkey Rock area, and set out on a scouting hike.  We  were tromping along when one of the lads let out an "Ewww....!"

 

     "What's wrong?" I asked.

 

     "I stepped in some kind of poop!" he declared.

 

     "Well, there ya go!  You now have the answer to that age-old question, do bears poop in the woods!" 

 

     On our way back to our campsite, we crossed paths with another hiker, and stopped to talk for a bit, exchanging pleasantries and observations about the weather and such as outdoorsmen are wont to do.

 

     Suddenly, the fella's eyebrows went up and he said "Say... have y'all seen the bear?"

 

     "Well, no, we haven't.  But we did see some bear sign!  In fact, the young feller here stepped in some!"

 

     "There's something REALLY wrong with that bear!" he blurted.  "I saw it yesterday afternoon and it was chasing a doe!"

 

     That was startling.  A bear might eat an expired deer, but actually chasing one just ain't right.

 

     I was a mite skeptical.  But that night all doubt vanished.  With supper behind us, we'd settled in and were relaxing a bit before we turned in.  Had a nice fire going and enjoying mugs o' cocoa (mine might've been laced with a li'l sumpin extra) when there came a chilling growl from just beyond the light from our campfire.

 

     The bear!

 

     With our flashlights we watched as the enraged critter thrashed bushes and ripped at small trees.  For hours he stalked us.  We took turns sleeping; one guy would sleep while the other two stayed awake, keeping the fire blazing and with guns handy.  Quite disconcerting!

 

     The next morning, right after breakfast, Cousin Chuck disappeared.  Kid brother Charles was alarmed, and asked if we should search for 'im. 

 

     "Nope!  I'm danged certain he's hiking down the mountain and is gonna hitch-hike home.  He misses his new girlfriend, the knot-head!  Nope... what we're gonna do is hike down this trail to a spring I know and fill our water jugs.  Let's get to it!"

 

     I had a seven gallon jug on a backpack frame, and had the kid carry another jug and off we went. 

 

     About three-eighths of a mile downhill from our camp, the spring provided clear and tasty water.  I was surprised to see that several old-timers were camped nearby, with nice tents, tables, and horses.  One of 'em came over to scold me about taking "their" water; he was kinda grumpy about it, 'specially when I had the impudence to point out to him that this was a natural spring and did NOT belong to him.

 

     Then, on a whim, I asked if he'd seen the bear.  I explained that this bruin had a character flaw and wasn't to be trifled with.  The fella immediately adopted an even more sullen affect and announced that they'd never heard of bears in the area; furthermore, they weren't skeered o' no b'ar, and with that dismissed us young upstarts to hike on back uphill to our own campsite.

 

     We'd made it about a quarter mile up the trail when all hell broke loose back at the grumpy guys campsite.  It started with the horses literally screaming in terror, then the grumpy guys screaming in terror, then the cacophony of large spoons beating on pots and pans (their breakfast had evidently been interrupted).

 

     Suddenly I heard distant hoofbeats, and slipped off my water backpack.

 

     "Charlie!  Drop that water can and get ready to grab a horse!"  Moments later, two of the terrified beasties came thundering around a bend in the path, each trailing a length of rope with the remains of a bush on the end.

 

    We stopped 'em.  About ten minutes later the original grumpy guy came huffing along in slow pursuit.  When he rounded the bend, he was quite surprised to find his animals - and his tone radically changed, as he'd figured on having to track 'em for miles.

 

     "Oh!  THANK you, guys!

 

     "We couldn't believe it!  A few minutes after y'all left, this BIG ol' ugly bear charged outta the brush and tried to attack the horses!  I ain't never seen the like!  That bear was CRAZY!  Well, these guys weren't having any of THAT and ripped loose and took off.  We managed to run the bear off, prolly mostly 'cuz it's lunch had already left.  Good thing, too, 'cuz our guns were all packed away still.

 

     "Y'all can come down for water any time y'all want!"

 

     With that he collected the reins and moseyed on back down the hill.

 

     And the stories!

 

     One of the best was when Hank told me of a fella he went to school with.  Dave had become a forest ranger, and was working in the Sequoia National Forest.

 

     "So ol' Dave tells me," Hank said, "he was making the rounds of a campground one afternoon, reminding everyone to make sure all their food was in bear boxes (bear-proof steel lockers) or hanging by ropes from tree branches - and to make DANGED sure they knew to not have ANY food in their tents.  'Specially the young 'city couple' from San Francisco.  They were obviously out for their first ever camping adventure.

 

     "Well, 'bout some time in the middle of the night, Dave hears this San Franciscite screaming outside his cabin - 'Help! Help!!  There's a BEAR and he's KILLED MY WIFE AND IS EATING HER!!!'

 

     "Dave said that he immediately jumped up, grabbed his flashlight and revolver, and in his underwear ran after the screaming city dude as he dashed back to his tent.

 

     "Dave gets there, and sure 'nuff, there's a big ol' bear butt protruding from the tent flap.  And from inside the flap came a horrifying shlurp, shlurping, and gutteral sounds that sounded like the bear saying 'Yummmy mmmm mmmm....'

 

     "He said that in his mind's eye he could just see that bear gobbling up the city dudette's guts, so he quickly aimed his three-fifty-seven mangle 'em at that bear!  But then he said, 'But then I realized that if I shot and missed the bear, I might hit Miss Pacific Heights and if she wasn't already dead she would be then!

 

     "'So I looked around and spotted a random two-by-four someone had tossed on a pile o' firewood.  So I dropped my revolver, picked up that board, cranked that thing back like a Louisville Slugger and swung for the bleachers right onto that bear's butt! 

 

     "'That ol' bear let out a bellow like a train horn with a frog stuck in it's throat, and just took off and hauled ass into the woods - wearing that tent like a bear ball gown!  We found it the next day 'bout two hundred yards off in the trees...

 

     "'But then I braced myself.  I picked up my flashlight, took a deep breath and turned to see how badly the Fisherman's Wharf Fraulein's body was eviscerated.

 

     "'But when I looked, I was astonished!  There she lay.  Completely intact!  Shivering.  And lookin' for all that like she was blushing fiercely - her face was literally raw from that bear licking off every drop of  her apricot facial cream!  The Frisco Filly opened her eyes, looked around, then leaped to her feet, grabbed her husband and dragged him to their car, yelling 'We're going home NOW!' '

 

     "And THAT," said Hank, "was undoubtedly the end of their camping career!"

 

     And I wondered if it might've been the end of more than that.

 

     Years later, our ol' rancher buddy in Siskiyou County, Ryan F., shared another bear story of his own.

 

     A local friend of his, Will, was a beekeeper.  Now, keeping bees in that area back then wasn't exactly a bank-bustin' business, but I guess it kept the wolves away - metaphorically speaking, of course.

 

     Well, Will called up Ryan on the local radio network one afternoon (this was before cell phones had been invented) and said he needed help - please meet him at the southeast corner of such-and-so field on a particular ranch - and to bring a gun.  A BIG gun.

 

     Ryan grabbed whatever rifle he had handy and promptly made his way to the rendezvous point.  Upon his arrival, Will explained that his hives - distributed over multiple sites within a couple mile radius - were being raided by a bear, and he wanted Ryan to help him relocate some of the hives.

 

     "So ya want me to use the rifle and stand guard while you load the hives?" Ryan had asked.

 

     "Naw," replied Will.  "I want you to come with me.  But keep the rifle handy for your own protection - ya see, I can run a LOT faster than you!"

 

     A few days later, Ryan had another radio call from Will.  "Help!!"

 

     It seems that Will had found himself in a dire predicament.  He was tending some hives, about fifty yards from his truck, when along came Mister Honey Bear.  Double unfortunately, the direction he was hailing from when spotted was about a hundred yards away - on the opposite side of Will's truck.  So, bein' the questionably sensible sort he was, Will sprinted for the truck, where his own rifle waited in a rack.  He told Ryan that he beat the bear by a few yards, but that Mister Bear was NOT amused, and evidently took serious exception at some upstart human meddling with HIS honey boxes.

 

     "It was self defense, Ryan!  Honest!  I don't care if they say bears won't attack people, they obviously didn't tell that to THIS bear!  So I HAD to shoot 'im!  Please come on out here and help me load 'im up... but make a phone call for me, first, would ya?"

 

     So just before heading out, Ryan called the Department of Fish and Game.  He explained that a bear was raiding some bee hives, and wanted to know what his options were.

 

     "Mister, you will NOT molest that bear in any way!  You may build a bear-proof fence [which would be unrealistically expensive] or let the bear have the honey.  But Pal, if you harm that bear in any way, we WILL arrest you!"

 

     At this point, I had to ask:  "Damn, Ryan!  Wha'd ya do??"

 

     "Well, Hardpan... we called up all our friends and had 'em all out to the ranch for a barbecue.  I used the backhoe and buried the hide and bones where they'd NEVER be found, and we ate the rest of the evidence and a good time was had by all!"

 

     Yeah... I like bears.  I like 'em on TV, in books and magazines, and most importantly, I like 'em elsewhere.  Except, of course, my own teddy bear.

 

*   *   *

 

Post Script:

 

     For several years around the turn of the century, the county Victim Services department would sponsor an annual summer camp for disadvantaged children, particularly little kids who were victims of assault or abuse.

 

     The camp was cleverly named "Camp Ted E. Bear."  To help the youngsters adjust and feel safe, upon arrival at the camp each kid was issued his or her very own to keep Teddy Bear!  To some, this was a sorely needed focal point for their shattered emotions.  Indeed, it was not uncommon to see youngsters clutch their bears and  sob when it was time to board the bus for home at the end of the week. 

 

     Occasionally, a child would literally bolt for the woods, bear held tightly to their chest, in an attempt to escape returning to whatever hellish lives they'd been briefly paroled from.

 

     One year, I overheard two of the ladies planning the upcoming session discussing ways to reward the campers for any number of things.  I asked if I could help, and was immediately "drafted."  I made up a bunch of prizes and "medals."

 

     Evidently the kids were thrilled!  And when they were happy, so were the staffers.  As a token of appreciation, the camp leaders and sponsors decided to present ME with my very own Teddy Bear! 

 

     Well, I gotta tell ya - I was surprised, I was flattered, and to this day I am still the proud owner of my very own to keep "Camp Ted E. Bear" teddy bear. 

 

     I like bears.  Sorta.  This bear I like a lot.

 

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Not quite as colorful but:

 

When my daughter was nine, we went camping in Sequoia National Park in late October. We attended a Ranger presentation in the evening where the Ranger mentioned that the bears do not hibernate in Sequoia as it usually does not get too cold. She asked if anyone present had seen a bear and one person said they saw one across a canyon that day.

 

Well, my daughter was skeptical, so as we were leaving the park, we drove down the side of a mountain with switchbacks. I told my daughter to keep her eyes on the trees and she might see a bear harvesting acorns. Well, she finally saw one in a tree about 50 feet from the side of the road. We pulled over about 50 feet down the road and walked back. Now as this was a mountain road, the tree that was 50 feet from the road was also about 50 feet below the road so the bear was about at eye level with us. It was a small bear about the same size as my daughter. It started to come down the tree and my daughter made a beeline for the truck! When the bear hit the ground, it made a beeline in the opposite direction. I just stood there laughing.:D

 

A few year later, I accompanied my daughters Girl Scout troop on a camping trip to Sequoia. I was in a truck tent by myself and would awaken at the crack of dawn. There was no one else up in the campground at that hour so I would just walk around. I saw so many cars that had windows ripped off and door frames bent over where bears had broken in to get to food that they saw/smelled in the cars.:angry:

 

Lastly, a couple of years ago, my neighbor, Custer and I were four wheeling in the mountains north of Jerome AZ. We stopped at a water tank (water hole) to look for tracks to see if any turkeys or deer had come down recently. There were some fresh bear tracks in the mud. Custer took a whiff of the tracks and wanted to get out of there! He pulled me back to the SxS and jumped in. He did not want anything to do with that scent!:lol:

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11 minutes ago, Injun Ryder, SASS #36201L said:

Not quite as colorful 

 

A few year later, I accompanied my daughters Girl Scout troop on a camping trip to Sequoia. I was in a truck tent by myself and would awaken at the crack of dawn. There was no one else up in the campground at that hour so I would just walk around. I saw so many cars that had windows ripped off and door frames bent over where bears had broken in to get to food that they saw/smelled in the cars.:angry:

 

 

 

Injun, that reminds me SO much of YMCA Indian Guides camp at Lake Sequoia... cars broken into, cabin windows broken, cabin doorknobs slobbered on... :lol:

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I had a friend, Jean, that I met in the late 60s at UNH. She got her first job in fundraising for the university. She moved on from there to Alfred U. In New York then to Tacoma for UW, then to her own consulting business. In this latter role she did volunteer work for the Tacoma Zoo.

 

The committee was discussing projects and assigning priorities. One of the projects being considered was “bear bathrooms”.  After bear bathrooms was said a few times, Jean spoke up and said, “I thought bears did it in the woods.”

 

The explanation came. The Zoo had one set of bathrooms near the entrance,  if they were to build another set it would be next to the exhibit which was farthest from the entrance, the bear exhibit.

 

 

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13 minutes ago, Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967 said:

 

Injun, that reminds me SO much of YMCA Indian Guides camp at Lake Sequoia... cars broken into, cabin windows broken, cabin doorknobs slobbered on... :lol:

 

 

 ....... ok, YMCA Indian Guides are no longer on my list of "nice folks" to invite over .............   :mellow:

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We had a lot of visitors when we lived in CO. Keep an 870 loaded with rubber buckshot at the front door. This one is coming to our driveway just below 2ed story balcony. Was surprised a couple times when out walking around the yard61DA7E86-6662-4D82-9E35-7D7981252C3A.thumb.jpeg.c336dcc394cca9040ce8bd02b7428c7b.jpeg

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Bear CPR --an absolutely true story!

 

Fifteen years ago, prior to retiring, I worked for the Ca Department of Fish and Game.   One of our wildlife biologists, Kevin O'Connor, was called to the Hume Lake Christian Camp near Sequoia Nat. Park, where a bear was wreaking havoc breaking into cabins.  Kevin  located the bear, with help from a female Forest Service employee and darted the errant animal with a big dose of sedative.  The plan was to mark the animal, fit him with a radio collar, then winch the drugged bear into a transport trap-cage on a trailer,  and haul him to a remote area for release. 

 

When bears are darted and drugged, they often immediately seek water to cool off.  This one was no exception. But as it was cooling itself in a pool in Ten Mile Creek, the drug took its effect and the animal's head went down below water.  The pretty Ranger teared up and begged Kevin to help the poor thing.  Kevin ran into the pool, where with help from the young Ranger, he  dragged the 300+ pound animal over beside the stream bank, laying its head amid the rocks.  It was not breathing.  The Ranger began to sob. 

 

Being the gentleman he was, Kevin grabbed the bear, closed and sealed around its mouth with both hands and proceeded to puff air into the big animal through its nostrils.  He did that for about ten minutes before the bear began to gasp, then vomited all over Kevin.  As it began to metabolize the drug and regain consciousness,  Kevin, backed away and watched the bear stand up, brace itself on all four legs for a minute, then wobble away. 

 

Kevin realized that he had not captured and transported the bear, as planned, but it apparently remembered its bad experience and left the Christian Camp area, never returning.  So all was well.   

 

On the wall of our Regional Office, ever since, hangs a picture of Kevin with the bears nose in his mouth, taken by the pretty Ranger.   He never lived it down!  The perrennial joke was that his breath had caused the poor animal to vomit, which was literally true.   Folks who have administered  CPR know that often, a part of the blown-in air ends up partially inflating the stomach.  

 

Tragically, Kevin died in 2011, at the young age of 36, in a helicopter accident, while counting deer on their winter range.  The chopper with the pilot and three DFG biologists aboard, contacted a 50,000 volt power transmission line in dense fog.  There were no survivors.  Kevin died doing what he loved..  He is fondly remembered and will remain  immortalized by his bear CPR portrait, which (now framed) permanently adorns the Department's Regional Office wall.   

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I've had a reoccurring dream about a bear since mid teen.  I go into a cave on a hillside, and when leaving hear something behind me.  Turning, I see a bear charging me, and I wake up.  Usually to a cold sweat, and more than once yelling.  As I've gotten older, I have it way less frequently.  

 

I recently watched the bear attack from "The Revenant", and am surprised I haven't had my bear dream since.  

 

The hillside is on the Tennessee farm I grew up on.  I've been all over that hill hundreds of times, hunting and herding cattle.  There is no cave there, except in my dream.  

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Another true story.....

 

My parents wanted the three of us to experience the outdoors so each summer they would rent a motorhome or trailer and take us camping for a week.  This particular summer, we went to Yosemite.  I was about 13, my sister was 10 and my brother was 8.  We were in this small tag trailer pulled behind my mom's big Pontiac Grand Ville.  

 

The folks got up early and dad was hungry so mom started to fry up some bacon.  Us kids got up soon after to the wonderful scent of bacon wafting in the air.  Well, a nearby brown bear smelled the bacon also.  He ambled out of the woods and made his way to our trailer.  Mom saw him pass by the window, circling the trailer looking for a way to get to that tasty treat.  Mom screamed.  My sister climbed up on the top bunk and tried to make herself very small.  My brother, who had come down with the flu the night before, was sitting on a bucket in the middle of the trailer getting sick, from both ends.........  Mom screamed again, "Frank do something".  Dad grabbed his camera.  By then, the bear had circled around the trailer and was now around back.  He climbed on the three foot high rock dad used as a parking stop.  He put both paws on the side of the trailer and peered in the back window.  Mom nearly fainted.  Dad is taking pictures.  Brother is throwing up and sister is up in the bunk screaming.  I'm sitting at the dining table thinking what the heck.......

 

The bear decided he couldn't get in, climbed down off the rock and thought the tent campers next to us would be an easier target.  He was right.  The three of us kids gathered at the side window, with our parents standing behind us, and watched as the bear took the tent down with one swipe.  The couple who occupied the tent managed to bolt out the back of the tent and to the bathrooms across the road while the bear was at the front of the tent searching for the cooler.  He found it.  He ripped the lid off the steel cooler as if it was made of paper.  He stuck his nose inside and found a carton of milk.  Clenching the carton in his jaws, he tilted his head back, milk pouring down his throat and body.  As soon as the carton had been emptied, he shook his head, tossing the carton away.  He decided there wasn't anything else he wanted in the cooler so he ambled back to the woods.  

 

Mom decided that was all the wilderness she wanted and implored my dad to return home.  My brother wasn't getting any better so dad agreed and we headed back home.  

 

Upon our arrival home, the neighbors came over, surprised about our early return.  Dad couldn't wait to tell them about the bear.  As he was recounting the story, mom stomped off in a huff, upset that was the only part of the trip that was important to him.  Later that day, he hurried to one of those 24 hour film development places to have the pictures processed to show the neighbors the pictures from our bear adventure.  

 

Alas, that was our last family camping trip.  It certainly was one for the record books.

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5 hours ago, LawMan Mark, SASS #57095L said:

I've had a reoccurring dream about a bear since mid teen.  I go into a cave on a hillside, and when leaving hear something behind me.  Turning, I see a bear charging me, and I wake up.  Usually to a cold sweat, and more than once yelling.  As I've gotten older, I have it way less frequently.  

 

I recently watched the bear attack from "The Revenant", and am surprised I haven't had my bear dream since.  

 

The hillside is on the Tennessee farm I grew up on.  I've been all over that hill hundreds of times, hunting and herding cattle.  There is no cave there, except in my dream.  

Usually, if you tell or write about the substance of a dream, it never occurs again.   

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A Bear in the Backyard

In the 1990’s I began building a Garden Railroad in the side yard of our house. One day as I was working on the track I saw a flash of black fur through the Forsythia lining the property line with my next door neighbor’s yard. Their property was at a slightly higher elevation than ours so the fur was at eye level. I immediately thought it was the rather nasty dog of my neighbors on the other side. This dog had been getting loose and wandering the local area, often growling at people when encountered. He was a bit of a coward as all you had to do was stand up and make a loud noise to chase him home.

 

So I stood still waiting for him to appear beyond the bank of bushes. Then I would yell at him chasing him home. After all I was armed with a garden rake, if he did turn on me I’d be able to fend him off. Imagine my surprise when the “dog” appeared beyond the bushes as a large Black Bear ambling down the hill towards my neighbor with the offensive dog. I stood very still barely breathing. The Bear proceeded about halfway across my backyard, stopped and looked over it’s shoulder at me. As if to say, “I knew you were there, if I wanted to I could have eaten you.” The fact is he could have. I was facing away from where the Bear approached and I never heard a thing. I only saw that flash of black fur through the bushes as a first indication of anything being there. Phew, that was exciting.
 

CJ

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Bears, I killed one during the bear hunting season in 1989 in Maine. I have had my bird feeders that are in my front yard taken down at least 3 times since I have lived in my current home. I have woken up to my feeder that was on a shepherd's hook like pole that was affixed to 3/4 pipe. The pipe was bent like it took no effort. Now I take my feeders in at night except during the winter. 

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