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The Weekly Shriek -- Bear With Me
12-Sep-2006
Written by: Joyce Faulkner
Getting My Bearings and so forth
There’s nothing like camping to make you appreciate a Holiday Inn. Even the funky lamps glued to the nightstands seem the height of luxury after dealing with Coleman lanterns and key chain flashlights. Oh, the joy of Denny’s chili cheese omelets at two o’clock in the morning -- but I digress. I wanted to tell you the story of our trip to a KOA campground back in the early 1980s when Johnny and I were young and everything seemed to be a marvelous adventure.
We packed our Volvo station wagon to the roof with a two-room tent, camping equipment, several cases of champagne, two coolers of frozen food and boxes of plastic cups and paper plates. Our friends Grace and Jim Donnelly followed in their tiny Pontiac Sunbird, the hatch filled with a two burner camp stove, cartons of cooking utensils and bag after bag of groceries. We were loaded for bear.
The sun was setting as we pulled into the campsite. It was in a shady glade not too far from a babbling brook. Everyone went to work unloading the cars. Within 15 minutes, Johnny was pounding tent stakes into the ground and Jim was building a fire inside a ring of painted rocks. Grace and I unpacked our guitars and a case of champagne before declaring ourselves off duty and popping the first cork. It was almost dark when the bear came over the ridge.
“Honey, look. There’s a bear.” Grace was sitting in a lawn chair with her feet up on the picnic table bench.
“What?” Jim was on his hands and knees, holding a Zippo against the edge of an artificial log he’d bought at the Giant Eagle.
“A bear!”
We all followed her quivering pointed index finger. It was a huge black beast with a silver tag in his ear. He stared at us for a moment before lumbering across the campsite toward where Grace and I sat. “A BEAR!” She screamed and fell over backward in the lawn chair. Startled, the bear changed directions, waded across the babbling brook and disappeared into the woods.
Jim, Johnny and I found Grace cringing behind the Sunbird. “More than you could bear?” Jim didn’t smile.
“I wish I had my Kodiak camera.” Johnny elbowed me.
The alarm on Grace’s face melted into annoyance. “Oh you, guys!” Grimacing over a broken fingernail, she poured herself another Asti Spumante.
“He was as tame as a pussy cat, didn’t even bear his teeth.” Jim stripped the leaves off of a small branch with a penknife.
“Ha, ha!” Grace sipped her drink.
“Why did he have that thing on his ear?” I asked.
“There are a lot of bears in the area. They all look alike. The rangers probably tag them so they know which is which.” Johnny gave a quick tug on a line and the pop-up tent popped up.
“That one bears a strong resemblance to my boss.” Jim ducked as Grace tossed a marshmallow at him. “I’d recognize him a mile away.”
“You think it’ll come back?” It was dark now and the campfire didn’t make much light. Grace moved her lawn chair out of the shadows.
Johnny threw our sleeping rolls into the tent. “That was a pretty big bear. Probably got claws like straight razors. The only thing between him and us is aluminum and nylon.”
Grace glanced over her shoulder into the woods. She wasn’t sure if Johnny was kidding or not.
“Ahck! Bu-bu-bu-bahk!” Jim put his hands under his armpits and flapped his elbows like a chicken.
“Uh huh. I see how it is. Well, I’m sleeping with the car keys around my finger just in case I have to make a quick exit.”
The plan called for each couple to take turns cooking. Johnny and I provided hotdogs, macaroni salad and s’mores the first night along with a strange concoction of cranberry juice, triple sec and champagne. Grace scrambled eggs for breakfast the next morning and Jim served us Grand Mimosas. I made tuna salad sandwiches for our trip to a small island in the middle of the lake. We ate it on the beach with strawberries and champagne.
Jim was a gourmet cook and dinner was on him. He’d planned this meal since we first decided to go camping -- filet mignon wrapped in bacon, Caesar salad, baked potatoes with sour cream and chives, chocolate cake -- more champagne. The rest of us would have been happy with onion dip and Fritos, but Jim was determined and set to work right away.
“You want help?” My offer was half-hearted.
“No, you go play guitar with Grace.” He shooed me away.
“Fine.” My fingers were too rubbery to play so I staggered into the tent and stretched out.
The smell of roasting potatoes awoke me about an hour later. I crawled out of the tent with a pounding headache. Johnny was sprawled across the picnic table holding a can of beer on his forehead. Grace was in her lawn chair, her head thrown back -- an empty bottle of sparkling chardonnay in the grass beside her.
Jim on the other hand was in a great mood. He’d set the Coleman stove on a large rock and was humming as he whipped up some kind of sauce. The smell was wonderful -- and nauseating.
I staggered up to him. “Aspirin.”
“What?” He was as sober as a judge and as happy a camper as I’d ever seen.
“Aspirin?”
“In the medicine box. Johnny put it in the back of the Volvo.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
I found the precious white tablets and tossed them down with the only liquid available -- the dregs of Johnny’s beer.
“What’s going on,” Johnny grunted at me without taking his hand from over his eyes.
“Dinner in the works.” I whispered as the aspirin and beer mixed with the champagne in my belly.
“OH, NO.”
“Oh, yes.” I sat down on the bench beside him.
“I better go to the head then.” He rolled off the table and belched.
“I think it’s called a john in the KOA by-laws.” I called after him.
He wandered over to where Jim was slicing anchovies on his natural sandstone counter. He swayed and hiccupped as Jim elaborated about the delightful menu to be. Always polite, Johnny clapped Jim on the back before stumbling off to find the bathroom -- or whatever you call it in the woods.
Grace sat up. “Honey, the bear’s back.” Her voice quivered but after all the teasing, she wasn’t about to show her fear. “Why don’t you get out the camera and take its picture?”
Jim continued cooking, unaware of our visitor.
The bear ambled toward us, following the exact same path as the night before.
“Jim, get the camera.” Her voice was louder.
“What?” He wrapped raw bacon around our two-inch filets.
The bear observed us with bored eyes before heading toward the babbling brook.
“He’s getting away.” Grace stamped her foot.
Jim was absorbed in securing the bacon with toothpicks. “What’s getting away?”
“JIM! Get the camera!”
“The what?” Jim turned around as the bear splashed across the stream.
“He’s gone now,” I said as though the issue was resolved.
“NO!” Grace put her fingers in her mouth. “WHEEEEEWWWWWWW!” The whistle was shrill and loud. Birds lifted into the air over their roosts and crickets stopped chirping.
The bear’s ears perked. As it turned to check out the source of that horrendous sound, it caught the smell of filet mignon sizzling in the hot skillet. Snorting, it put its head down and headed back into camp -- fast.
Jim’s eyes widened. “Grace, get in the car.”
The bear was between Grace and me sitting at the picnic table and Jim standing by the big rock. We stood up. It made a snuffling sound and kept coming. Jim ducked one way, then the other before bolting for a young oak. Grace and I waited another beat before we turned and ran. The back of the Volvo was open. I’d neglected to close it after my aspirin quest. We piled in and closed the hatch behind us. Fighting through the boxes, we climbed over the back seat so we could see out through the windshield.
Jim cowered behind the sapling. The bear ignored him and made straight for the food. Jim dodged from tree to tree bellowing in frustration as the beast found his long planned and carefully executed gourmet dinner spread on top the rock. It rose up on its hind legs and put one paw on either side of the Coleman stove. The four filets wrapped in bacon went down first. While the bear leaned back its head and pumped its massive jaws, Jim hurried to the Sunbird and crawled inside. We waved to him from the Volvo. He frowned and we turned back to watch the bear as it found the Caesar salad with fresh-grated cheese, raw eggs and thinly sliced anchovies mixed with tender romaine lettuce. A dish of sour cream didn’t last beyond one long lick from its enormous tongue. He batted the baked potatoes in their tin foil jackets around until they broke open.
That’s when Johnny came back from the bathroom.
Unsteady on his feet as he crossed the small white bridge over the babbling brook, he found his way to the rock and stood beside the bear as it rolled hot potatoes under its paws. It took Johnny a minute to realize that the big furry form beside him wasn’t Jim. Slowly he turned his head and looked up at the bear towering over him.
I screamed, “Get out of there, Johnny,” but we’d rolled up all the windows on the Volvo and my words were muffled.
Johnny waved both arms in an abrupt half circle. “SHOO!”
The bear staggered backward on its hind legs before dropping to all fours and galloping off into the woods, whimpering.
I crawled out of the Volvo and ran to Johnny. “Are you crazy? He could have killed you.” I threw my arms around him, sobbing with relief.
“Aw, he wasn’t going to hurt me. He’d had dinner.” Johnny peeled my fingers from around his neck and reached down to pick up tiny bits of tin foil from the shredded potatoes.
Jim and Grace approached hand in hand. Everything was gone or ruined. A bottle of cooking wine lay shattered at our feet. The oily skillet was smoking.
“He even ate the jimmies off the chocolate cake.” Jim was crestfallen.
“It smelled wonderful, honey.” Grace tried to console him.
“Sure did, buddy.” Johnny gathered up the aluminum salad bowl. It was empty save for the lick-marks in the bottom.
“What are we going to do now?” I flicked a piece of bacon fat off the side of the rock. All that were left of the steaks were the broken bits of toothpick.
“There’s nothing but day-old macaroni salad.” Jim held up a torn bag of crushed potato chips.
My stomach rolled. “I’m not eating THAT again.”
“I’m not spending the night in a tent with that thing wandering around out there.” Grace crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her lower lip.
The four of us turned and gazed into the woods on the other side of the babbling brook. A loud crack! Something moved deep in the brush.
We left them at the crossroads. They turned toward Pittsburgh. We chose the Holiday Inn and Denny’s. And that’s the story. It’s all perfectly true. Well, except for the part about the Jimmies – I sneaked them myself when Jim’s back was turned. I swear.
Talk to other readers about this story.
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