A Bear Story
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A Bear Story
Copyright 2011, 2013 by Clyde Key
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A Bear Story
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any person is purely coincidental. Because this is a work of fiction, no bears were harmed in the production of this story, although you can’t say as much for Elmo Dingle.
Elmo Dingle—usually known to his friends (both of them) as Mo—went to visit one of his friends who had just moved into a new home in the country. Mo was mightily impressed with the new digs, for good reason. The house had been built in a picturesque rural landscape. It was a rambling ranch house with a large courtyard, four bedrooms, four baths, living room, large kitchen, formal dining room, and a large den.
Mo bragged on his friend’s house but he especially liked that den. It had a picture window that looked out over the valley, polished wood floors, knotty pine paneling, and a large stone fireplace that took up most of one end of the room. But what Mo really liked best was the enormous bearskin rug that lay in front of the fireplace.
“Man, I really love that rug!” said Mo. “You got to tell me where you got it so I can buy one for my place!”
“I’m afraid you can’t buy a rug like this, but this one has been in our family for a long time,” said the friend. “Grandpa went out and shot the bear years ago. Then he took it to a taxidermist who made the rug for him.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” said Mo. “A rug like that would sure look great in my old place.”
The more Mo thought about it, he decided that it shouldn’t be too hard to shoot his own bear and have it made into a rug. After all, a bear is just a big dumb animal. How hard could it be to bag his own bear? But Mo was big on planning—even to the point of being compulsive—so he went home and researched bear hunting on the internet. He learned that the nearest bears—grizzlies—would be living in the mountains just a few hours drive away. Then he researched what kind of equipment he would need—rifle, camo clothes, etc. And he located the address of a hunting lodge right in the mountains where he intended to hunt.
First off, Mo went to the sporting goods place. The salesman there told him that he thought it wasn’t legal to hunt bears nowadays, but he wasn’t sure. So maybe Mo ought to look it up before he went hunting. But the salesman sold Mo a really wicked looking big-bore hunting rifle anyway. (Mo figured it ought to scare a bear to death even if he missed it.) Mo also got some camo coveralls and a camo hunting hat so the bears wouldn’t be able to see him. Then, at the suggestion of the sporting goods salesman, he bought a fluorescent orange vest so other hunters could see him. He finished off his list with a few other items like a canteen, a backpack, a big hunting knife, and a compass and map so he could find his way off the mountain—although downhill seemed like it ought to be easy to find. He almost forgot to get some rope to tie the bear across the hood but remembered it before he left the sporting goods store. Then when he left the sporting goods store, Mo went over to the car rental place and rented a jeep for the trip. The next morning Mo loaded all the stuff he had bought and headed off to the hunting lodge.
That hunting lodge turned out to be just as good as it looked on the website. It had a big main building with a kitchen, dining room, and office, and it was surrounded by several rustic log cabins for the hunters. Mo took a cabin in the back and drove around there and unloaded all his stuff. Then he went back to the dining room where the staff told him a meeting was going to be held. Mo was so excited he could hardly contain himself.
The meeting had started and the room was almost full when Mo got there so he took a seat at the back. The fellow sitting next to him had a nametag that said Harv. Mo introduced himself to Harv and asked if he had missed anything important. “Nah,” said Harv. “The guide is just talking about what permits are required if you’re going to hunt elk or deer.”
“Hmm. I’m not hunting either.” Mo raised his hand and asked, “What about permits for grizzly bears?”
“There are no permits for bears,” said the guide.
Mo turned to Harv and said, “Hey, that’s great. That must mean permits aren’t required for bears!”
Harv looked back at him a bit strangely but Mo didn’t pay it any attention. He was used to people looking at him that way.
Mo raised his hand again. “Can I hire a guide to help me hunt grizzlies?”
The guide gave him that strange look. “No.”
“Bummer,” said Mo. “I figured I could use some help.”
Harv nudged him and whispered. “You ought to let this go. But if you really want to hunt bears, I can tell you where to find them. And I can give you some advice too. See me after the meeting.”
The meeting was over soon and Mo sought out his new helpful friend. “How about telling me where to find the bears. And what about that advice you were talking about?”
“Number one,” said Harv, “is where you’ll find bears. I have seen several about two thirds of the way up the mountain. You can stay on the road from the camp most of the way, but there is kind of a big ledge up there that you can’t miss. Get off the road and take the ledge as far as you can with the jeep. You’ll have to go on foot after that, but it won’t be far. There are bears nesting in the caves down under the ledge. They’ve been in hibernation all winter but it’s warming up now so they should be stirring around some.”
“That’s great,” said Mo. “That’s a lot of help.”
“But my advice is don’t come back through the camp if you bag a bear.”
“Might make folks jealous, huh? But I don’t see any other way back except through the camp.”
“There is a way,” said Harv. “When you come back down the mountain, there’s a trail that leaves the main road about a half a mile from here. There’s a sign but it’s old and faded so you can’t read it. It passes behind the camp and hits the highway about two miles from here.”
“So I could just keep on going? But my stuff is in the cabin.”
“No problem,” said Harv. “The trail runs right behind your cabin. You can stop your jeep in the bushes and go back to get your stuff.”
“Okay!” said Mo. “Thanks a lot!”