Not Your Average Ordinary Bear

I've always felt something of a kinship to bears. We're both big, dark, and pretty damned grouchy when first waking up. In my early days in university, I had the occasional early class (yes, 8:30 is an early class!) and I wasn't much for that sort of thing. Some of my mates took to calling me the Bear. It fits.

In the time my family's had the home in cottage country, when I've been out there, I've had the occasional close encounter with bears. On one such occasion, it was being within fifteen feet or so of one in the woods. Fortunately I heard him coming, so made enough noise to let him know I was there. It's best not to alarm them, or get between them and food, or between them and cubs. That one didn't panic or cause a problem; he just went on his way.





On another occasion, a summer day, I was sitting in the gazebo, doing some reading. A white and black blur bolted past on the driveway, and I looked up. One of the cats raced up onto the porch. And what was she running from? I looked, and there he was, lumbering his way down the driveway, not a care in the world. A black bear. He didn't seem to notice me, and he didn't seem to care about the cat. He just walked past the house and out of sight. Now these are cats, mind you, that have been known, from time to time, to pick fights with foxes and stalk deer. It takes a lot to frighten them. I'd say the bear was just a little too big, in their opinion. And running for the safety of home seemed the best idea at the time.

In August, I had several sightings of what was likely the same bear. I went up one day to the Oxtongue Rapids, a swirling stretch of water on the river of the same name. It's not that far from the house, and it's a lovely spot. Lo and behold, there across the river, a big black bear was standing. He saw me, I saw him, and we had ourselves the river between us. I doubt he was all that interested in crossing; he probably knows it's a bad spot to try that. Besides, at that time of year, bears are in a great mood. They're gorging themselves on berries, getting fat for the winter, so as long as you're not doing something like, oh, walking up to a sleeping bear and kicking it on the butt, you're fine with them.





There were more sightings to come. Another day I saw one while walking on the main highway. He was coming out of the bush, looking to cross, and he decided against it, heading back into the woods. Once again, a big bear, which meant a male. You don't have to get that close to tell the difference. The boys are twice as bulky as the females.

One morning I was up letting the cats out, and I glanced out the window. There he was, in the front yard this time. Same bear, no doubt. He was huge. A neighbor walking her dog out on the road spotted him, and the bear spotted the two of them. That was enough to make him sprint. He bolted off for the woods, and trust me, those of you who think you might stand a chance of outrunning a bear? Uh uh. Not going to happen. Usain Bolt couldn't have outrun him.



And once again, he showed up in the space of a few days. Overnight, some idiot (I blame a camper who was too damned cheap to pay for garbage disposal) left a full bag of garbage out on the road. I woke up, came downstairs, and there was the bear. He'd dragged the bag away from the road, and was happily chewing on something on the property line. Well, we can't have that. As amusing an image as it is to see a bear doing that, we can't have him thinking of human homes as a food source. Very carefully, I chased him off (a bit of noise sent him on his way) and I quickly gathered the trash (meat and chicken, by the way; Yogi had himself a feast that I so rudely interrupted).

Later that day, he turned up once more, sniffing about at the scene of his earlier feast. Lo and behold, he kept sniffing around, and finally went up the outside steps at the neighbors, sniffing around their deck. No trace of the food, Yogi must have been thinking. Damn. Finally, he came back down, and sauntered off into the woods. Likely to find himself some late season berries to gorge on.


Yes, Yogi. Norma coined the name for him. Not entirely dignified, though it was either that or Winnie.

I can't use him as a character for Heaven & Hell, obviously. Unless I decide to completely shift the emphasis and bring in, oh, the creatures of Narnia as a final act. Though I'm sure the heirs of C.S. Lewis might have something to say about that.

In closing... there's another bear in a zoo in Europe. It seems she's taken to yoga as of late. Don't believe me? Here she is:

The Call Of The Wild

Well, this was originally written over a week and a half ago, but me being me, I inadvertantly clicked on a message before finishing it, and there went the blog.

And while I've been writing of late about classic movies I've disliked (and there's more to come) and while I could write today about a certain individual who doesn't know how to take a bloody hint and leave me alone.... I think I'll just finish what I started.

I took a chance to get some hiking in on a couple of occasions while back in Muskoka. The great Algonquin Park is right on the back doorstep there, so of course I'd take the opportunity. Algonquin has a number of hiking and backpacking trails in the main corridor and other areas of the park. I've taken all of the hiking trails at least once, and each of them touch on various elements of the Park. One of my favourite places in the world? Centennial Ridges trail, a ten kilometre loop that's rated as difficult. I've never found it so, but I can agree with the Park giving it that rating. The last set of ridges looks out over Whitefish Lake below, and it's just beyond gorgeous.

Anyway, on the first occasion, it was trails such as Spruce Bog, Lookout Trail, and Peck Lake that I visited. Spruce Bog follows a boardwalk and easygoing trail around a bog and the surrounding woodlands. It's so easygoing that you can get a wheelchair on it and comfortably go around the whole trail. Peck Lake winds around the lake edge for two kilometres, and is a nice, peaceful trail to take. The Lookout trail takes you up to a clifftop for a grand view of the surroundings. Nice place to take an in-law you don't like.

On the second trip in, I paid visits to two trails. Two Rivers follows a two kilometre path up to a clifftop overlooking the vicinity of Lake of Two Rivers. It's one of those trails I take at least once a year. The other trail was Bat Lake. It's been more then a year since I was on it, but well worth the trip. A five kilometre loop trail, it follows a rocky stream through a ravine, heads up through a grand grove of Hemlock that's aptly named Cathedral Grove, and winds up passing through a bog before paying a visit to Bat Lake itself. The lake's relatively small, but special: it's naturally acidic. Even in that condition, life still exists, and does quite well for itself.

A nice surprise for me on this trail: in the ravine, I came across blocks of ice. This was on the last day of April. They had fallen off the rock wall above (taking a couple pieces of rock down with them), and were still present, even with the warmth. The largest piece was the size of a couch, and still hard. I'd imagine it's still there, even as I write. The smaller pieces? Probably gone, now that a week and a half is gone. It certainly surprised me, but then it's at the bottom of a ravine, and you don't get a lot of sun down there anyway.

Of course, passing through the Park at this time of year guarantees seeing moose, and they did not disappoint. They were about, near the roadways, in marshes. People stop to take pictures, and the moose tolerates the attention. They're magnificent animals to see. And oddly dignified.

One last matter: in the last days of being home, there were wolves around the area. There's a healthy number of packs in Algonquin, the remnants of the Eastern Red Wolf being the species in question. They move in and out of the Park, and during August, on Thursday nights, wolf howls are held (assuming wolves are located by naturalists the night before). Hundreds of cars are involved in these wolf howls. People come to an outdoor theatre in the Park, where a naturalist talks about wolves and shows pictures on screen. Then everyone heads out for the location where the wolves will likely still be about. When all's quiet, a naturalist starts howling. Most times, the wolves are still around, and they howl back. It's a magical sound, and as I said, we heard them howling at night, no more then a kilometre from home. I think the howl of wolves are among the most beautiful sounds you can ever hear.

And people have demonized these animals for hundreds of years. Go figure.