As a young lad I used to practically live in the outdoors, you know the kind; always gone, trekking through the forest carrying a machete or an axe and daydreaming of adventures and wars with goblins or dragons or something. I was 16 years old and bored with the usual summer fun of heading across the road to the lake and spending the day frolicking in the water or crossing the highway and hiking up to lost lake to plan where to build a castle or secret hideout or to search for sign in case some day I’d learn to hunt (something I only dreamed of as a kid) so after a phone call or two I hooked up with my buddy Doug and we began planning an adventure. Which we always did anyway.
After gathering together some supplies and hoisting my bright orange pack on my back, with machete strapped to my side, Doug and I headed off to do some adventuring and hopefully survive this latest attempt at staving off boredom that comes with a long summer, which is clearly more dangerous than a dragon.
After a few miles of trekking down old logging roads and sweating off a few pounds in the sweltering Canadian sun (hey it must have been 80 degrees!) we found ourselves on a rocky beach at the south end of Sproat lake. Here we gathered wood for the evening chill that would surely arrive and then took to swimming in the glacier fed waters of one of the finest swimming lakes I have ever known.
Soon we were worn out and after a decent lunch of berries, fruit and sandwiches from home, we took to making our campsite homier by making a refrigerator in the lake (you use rocks to corral whatever you want to keep cool) and arranging our sleeping area. Of course there was no tent for us, we were after all 16 and very adventurous (or dumb as the case may be) so we just tossed a sleeping bag open on the ground near the fire cowboy style as our ‘sleeping area’. As the evening approached we found ourselves striking up a fire (with paper and matches of course) and lolling around telling stories of past adventures we had shared and both knew all to well.
Then the noise began, it was a simple noise, just rocks moving somewhere outside the light given off by our small fire, then maybe a bush rustling.
Ever the bravest of the two (or so I thought anyway) I assured Doug there was nothing to worry about and demonstrated my bravery by unsheathing my sword, well actually machete I’d carried for years, and trekking off into the dark outside the fire -- well at least into the dim light some 10 feet away and looking fierce as if that might do something.
After assessing the situation carefully I advised Doug to pack up the gear and stow it some distance away, after all bears aren't interested in us, just our rations. Then with gear stowed a safe distance away and perishables sunk in water a few feet offshore (this is done by piling rocks in a circle as mentioned earlier, in the water to make a pool for things you wish to preserve (and prevent bears from smelling)), I rather nonchalantly laid myself down on an open sleeping bag and worked hard at acting brave. "Doug don’t worry, if the bear is hungry enough to get our stuff he will, but I am certain we are not his choice of a main course! Besides, if you are worried, keep the fire going and stay near it, he won’t bother you." With that I actually fell asleep though not intentionally I think, I was just tired and trying to show there was nothing to fear (and I hear stress has a way of making people tired) so while laying there hoping that I would not be bear breakfast I fell asleep and that is where I lay all night while an adventure of its own began to unfold around my sleeping form. Doug you have an awful lot of whiskers for a 16 year old and smell kinda funny.
As the morning sun began to break through the evening darkness, I awoke with a kink in my neck, “hmmm, something smells like garbage I thought”.
There was Doug’s form, slumped slightly by a dying fire and my pack was nowhere to be seen.
"Morning Doug!" I muttered while trying to move a bit.
"Shhhhh, dammit Erik, shut up I don’t want that damn bear to come back, you son of a, dammit, I haven't slept all night and here you were snoring away like a damn bear yourself! Damn good thing I was here or you may have been bear food!"
"What's the matter Doug? And where is my pack?" I responded someone curiously as I thought Doug was kidding me.
"Your pack? Oh the bear has it I think, Jesus! I fell asleep sometime around midnight and that bear came into the camp! Erik you have no idea! I stayed up all night after that, I had to lay so still while the bear fumbled around here looking for our food! He actually sniffed us both and you just rolled over and mumbled something! I thought you were dead for sure but I think the bear was more shocked then I was and I was frozen solid! I couldn't move and you were just sleeping like a baby!"
“Ya right Doug, man am I hungry, so what did you do with the pack?" As I looked around I saw something that made me sit straight up! There in the soft sand near my sleeping bag was a print, a foot print, well not a foot really, but a PAW!
"Oh crap! I was just kidding last night man I, I....I...man oh man!"
We found my pack several yards away near some bushes but intact. There wasn’t any food in it so the bear must have given up. There were tracks everywhere and some other campers not too far from us (the only other people within miles) had seen the bear and worried about us camping in the open the way we were. But bears don’t usually mess with people unless those people have food with them that the bear wants. I guess people don’t taste too good to a bear?
But we survived and had a great story to tell and Doug proved once and for all that he was indeed a brave young man! After all, if it weren’t for his bravery I might not be able to tell this story and laugh about it today.
Thanks Doug.