the bear story (part five)

I waited, heart pounding, for what seemed like an eternity before the noises finally picked up again. For a while, it was unclear as to which direction they were going, and, after one particularly long pause, I almost breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the worst was over.

But then I heard a breaking of branches from very close indeed, followed by the unmistakable sound of entrance into the water.

They were coming through the bog.

A million voices went through my head at once, all shouting conflicting directions, and I found myself running toward the noises, into the woods where my tarp was located.

I scrambled to create shelter for myself; after all, Sparrow had told us a story about a dim-witted moose almost walking over him in the darkness. I didn’t want to chance a whole family of them coming upon me, only to startle them at the last second.

So I took a low stance beneath my tarp, crouching with bated breath, but as the noises came closer still I decided to stand between three neighboring trees, pulling my sleeping bag around me for extra protection.

Now all I could do was wait- wait as the noises got louder and louder, came closer and closer… chomping, chewing, loud breathing…

now they had reached the beaver ponds, were bathing themselves from the sound of it… chomp, chew, splash, slurp…

I couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, that I was here, out in the woods, at the farthest possible point away from everyone else on the quest, with my one path to safety being blocked by hungry and rapidly approaching wild animals.

By now they were almost on top of me. I didn’t know what to do.

Make noise? Jump around, flash my light in their eyes? Scream? Pray? Play dead?

I realized I was only 50% sure that they were moose, but right now I didn’t want to consider the other possibilities.

I decided to enact what I felt might be a kind of all-encompassing warding off tactic: I turned on my flashlight, shined it at my feet, and said in a low but firm voice; “I’m right here. Don’t come any closer!”

The chewing stopped for a moment, and I seized the opportunity to be a little more frank, “In fact, please just go away.”

I’d said it. They knew where I stood. For a second I envisioned the environment, the animals and I being in perfect symbiosis; them somehow understanding that I, a sister animal, was temporarily dwelling in this sacred spot, and I needed to be left alone to complete my rite of passage. They had paid me a visit, and now they would respectfully, and swiftly, retreat. Right?

Of course not. The chewing started up again, and moved closer, into the clearing where I had held so many of my half-hearted rituals over the past four days.

That’s about the time that I realized that if it were moose, they would be taller than the bushes that separated me from the clearing. Therefore, I would be able to see their outline in front of the moon.

But I didn’t, which led me to draw several conclusions very quickly. Whatever these things were, they were smaller than a moose, bigger than a beaver, and made as much noise as a Very Large Animal. They were nocturnal. They were feeding on berries. And they weren’t scared of my voice.

I decided to get the hell out of there.

the bear story (part six)

The plan was to creep stealthily through the forest and make a run for it once I reached the swamp, but I tripped over one of the tarp strings and crashed into a tree within the first five seconds of my getaway. Startled, the “things” scampered- SCAMPERED!- back toward the beaver ponds.

“Moose don’t scamper!!!!!” My internal voice bellowed.

I was already high-tailing it through the tall grasses toward the beach, subtlety and sleeping bag abandoned. All that remained for my protection were the hunting knife and rattles, and I was starting to doubt the effectiveness of either in fending off two bears with a case of the munchies.

Shaking, I stood on the beach, brandishing my weapons in either hand while I formulated a loose plan of defense. If it came to it, I could exchange the knife for one of the larger rocks in my purpose circle, but I had no idea whether either one would be effective.

Of course, this was PRECISELY the kind of thing I had asked about in our pre-quest meetings, only to be laughed at by everyone.

“You’ve got less of a chance of being attacked by a bear than being struck by lightning,” had been Sparrow Hart’s response. Typical!

I had a feeling we had already passed the “back away slowly, avoiding eye contact, talking in a low murmur” stage, and that if they came back, they would find me in the fetal position, with hands wrapped tightly around the head. After all, they had heard my voice, seen my light, and knew I was about twice the size of them. What kind of self-respecting bear would come back for more?

“An angry mama bear protecting her cub,” I said to myself, just as a group of branches broke anew. Oh my god. One of them really was coming back. Was this seriously happening to me? 

On auto-pilot now, I began making my way along the edge of the shoreline, moving as silently and quickly as I could toward the stepping stones. I was hoping that as the bear went deeper into the tall grasses toward the beach, I could circumvent it and have a clear path to safety.

But it seemed to sense my course of direction, and doubled back into a position midway between me and my intended destination.

I took a tentative step. It rustled forward. I stopped. It stopped.

“This is ridiculous,” I tried to tell myself, not wanting to believe that any moment now I would be forced to deal with Whatever it Was, “There is not seriously a bear in front of me right now. Why, everything sounds larger in the woods! It could be just a chipmunk… or a beaver! Why yes, a cute little buck-toothed beaver, taking a break from his hard work building dams all day, and….”

Just then, from about five feet behind me, came an incredibly well timed SLAP! from a helpful beaver. The thing in front of me snorted.

“BEAVERS DON’T SNORT!!!!!!”

Was the last thing to run screaming through my mind before I turned and leapt into the bog.

It was about seven feet deeper than I had anticipated, and roughly 100 degrees colder. However, the dangers of swimming through a swamp at midnight in the only clothes I had (and after four days without food) seemed insignificant next to the fate that would surely befall me if I stayed put.

Still clutching the hunting knife and rattles for dear life, I flailed, flopped, and floundered over submerged roots and rocks, taking the occasional face-plant when the ground disappeared from under me. I would come up spluttering and gasping for air, then, with a brief whimper, would press on, until at last my knees and belly met with sand.

Using my elbows to hoist myself upwards, I wriggled over dirt and branches and, in a grand finale, crashed heavily into a thicket.

I lay for a moment listening to the sound of my heart approaching the stages of cardiac arrest, and the increasingly faint breaking of branches as whatever-it-was fled into the underbrush.

I had a brief and overwhelming sensation of the Universe doubled over in hysterical laughter, followed by the suspicion that my sole purpose in life was to serve as entertainment for the rest of the cosmos.

Why, this was the most like myself I had felt all week!

“Thanks for my vision, Universe.” I muttered as I squelched up out of the mud. “Very funny.”

Len greatly enjoys telling his version of the story from this point on. His was a saga that began when the two moose who had been frequent guests of his sacred spot stopped by for a good-bye visit. One, exhausted by all the foraging, plunked down directly on the other side of Len’s tent, not more than a foot from where Len was trying to sleep.

(“Fucking moose. I could feel it breathing.” Len said.)

He spent the next hour frozen under his covers and silently pleading that his bedside companion would not roll over, until finally, at about 1:30 am, the moose, with a great sigh, heaved itself onto its feet and rumbled away into the underbrush.

For a while, there was calm. Len cocooned himself under every layer of blanket and clothing available and prayed for dawn. For the story’s sake, however, he maintains that he was praying for a vision, continuing to do his purpose circle within the confines of his sleeping bag.

“Now is the time, Great Spirit,” he mentally intoned, “Show me my purpose, tell me what it is you need from me!”

He did not hear the splash, nor the breaking of bushes, but suddenly, as if from a great distance, he heard a woman’s voice appeal,

“Len….. Len!”

“Yes? Spirit?” He sat up, arms outstretched. “What is my vision?!”

And then he saw it. It had sticks in its hair, rattles in its hand, and was covered from head to toe in mud from the bog.

“Lennnnnn…….” it hyperventilated, teeth chattering violently…. “Hhhhhhelp! Bbuuh-bbuuuh-buh-bear, theres a bear, I fell in muh-mud, Len, help!”