trocar

Eaten by a Bear (but not really though)

It was a warm summer morning in the northern region of Vancouver Island as my dog and I trasped down a now defunct logging road, I indeterminately chucking stones at tree both for improving my accuracy and watching predictable canine hunting reactions to fast moving objects. The sun had begun to cap the mountain that mere minutes before had kept the valley shaded, causing the air to shimmer somewhat as ambient moisture was exposed to ultraviolet radiation and nature took her course. Although several igneous rocks had been thrown in the act of applying Newton's laws of thermodynamics solely for my own enjoyment, had failed to lose its luster even after half an hour. As I strained for another viable target my scanning brought to my attention the oddest tree stump I've ever seen (now growing-up on in the Canadian Rockies I consider myself somewhat of an expert on trees and their normal behavior patterns), it was very tall, it had a white diamond pattern on the upper portion between two extremity like branches, and was staring right at me. This is of course very aberrant actions for a stump which tend to loll about all day and not make eye contact, however for a large bear these were perfectly expected cues of their limited social graces. My eyes snapped back to the stump-bear as the realization dawned that this was in fact no hybrid of technology gone awry, but a normal quadripedial omnivore that at this very moment in time stood slightly higher on the food chain that I at that point. My tree stump experience counted for very little at this point, however having bears as constant annoying neighbors in my childhood I had picked-up a trick or two. Give we were on flat ground, he was standing not 10 meters (roughly 30 feet for all you yanks), and really standing on his hind legs at about 2 meters tall, definitely an adult. In the present state I was aware of two things I could not outrun him/her and I could not out climb him/her, however fucked I was not. There just so happened to be several large pointed spear-size shafts of timber about ( if you've ever seen that movie "the Edge" with Anthony Hopkins you'll know what I was shooting for), so without breaking eye-contact I slowly reached down and felt for the thickest branch I could find. Grace was with me on that fateful AM as I found an ass-kicker of a stick, meter and a half long with a nasty sharp point, I could have taken down that bitch Paris Hilton with that pig-sticker. Mental inventory: Bear with unknown disposition, me, large pointy stickwhat am I forgettingoh yes the dog. Goddamn lab retriever was so engrossed in finding small rocks he was completely oblivious to the mortal coil I was enmeshed in, so with a voice pained in urgency yet schooled to look outwardly as if nothing was amiss I hissed "get over here!" Now what do you feel a typical dog reaction would be when plunged into a situation such as this? Place himself between his master and harm? Give chase to the bear? Make a fierce display of his noise making prowess? All wrong. Instead he bounded out of the brush and tried to yank my stick away as he though it was his next intended plaything, the entire time with the bear just watching as if in some old west showdown, waiting for me to make the first move. And so I did and it was a step backwards. I knew this was what could be considered a foolish gamble, but I had no other options open to me, so I maintained perfect eye-contact with my furred antagonist and took a step back measured with every five heartbeats (that was the only thing I could hear so I figured falling into a rhythmic pattern may be helpful). Finally after several hundred cardiac flutters and an equal amount of steps the bear was finally a distant speck on the treed horizon, although still starring right at me and in the same upward gait as I found him/her. I don't think the dog ever had any idea what was happening as several times during my slow retreat he again tried to steal my stick.