Our Country Squire was packed, the Apache trailer was attached to the station wagon and Ol' Joe the canoe was strapped on top of the trailer. It was time for summer vacation and we were headed to our favorite place, Pog lake in Algonquin park. The park has a chain of camp grounds along the southern fringe, a jumping off point to the lakes and forests of the Canadian shield. The only access to this beautiful land is by canoe. After a couple of days polishing our canoeing skills and we would be off into the wild.
We arrived, checked in with the ranger, paid for our camping sight, and were eager to get our camp pitched, when the ranger added one more thing.
"We closed the dump this year to stop the bears from eating garbage but instead of t going back to the woods and eating nuts and berries the bears decided to forage in the camp grounds, I guess they just have a taste for people food."
WOW, now this was going to be a real camping trip!
"So," the ranger said, "that means no food in the tents and keep your coolers in your car."
The short drive to our camp site was a little more subdued as we scanned the tents, trailers and trees for hungry bears. How close would they actual come to our camp?
All concern was forgotten as we jumped out of the car and started pitching the tent, cranking up the camper, unrolling the sleeping bags and starting our fire. It didn't take long for our old chipmunk friends come and renew our aquaintance while stuffing their cheeks on anything we would give them, while we stuffed our selves on fire roasted hot dogs. With the dishes washed and the sun setting, the sweet smell of the pines began to lull us to sleep but before we drifted to our sleeping bag mom called us back to reality. "Now, if a bear shows up..." she handed each of us a metal plate and spoon "bang on the plate and yell as loud as you can to scare the bear away." Far from being afraid now all I could think about was driving away a wild animal with a wilder whoop and a mighty pounding on my plate. Dad must have felt confident too because he didnt put the cooler in the car, after all it was made of steel and likely bear proof. Laying the plate by my pillow I could not have felt more secure than if I had a great army surrounding me and I soon fell fast asleep.
Later that night my mother heard some rattling and thumping coming from outside the camper, with out hesitation she elbowed dad in the side and whispered whats that noise. Together, with plates and spoons in hand, they creped to the window and peeked out. There in the light of the moon was a bear, not three feet from our tent, laying on his back holding our cooler and rolling it over and over with his feet trying to get it opened. It was just like a circus bear rolling a big ball. They threw the door opened and started yelling and beating on their plates and off that bear flew.
The next morning my brother and woke up with a great feeling of disappointment, no bears, no banging and no whooping but when we told our parents all they could do was laugh. "You had a bear three feet from your tent and you didn't even wake up."
"What?" we were stunned, how could we have missed our opportunity?
"At least the bear didn't get into the cooler." Dad said as he opened it up but fell quiet as he surveyed the damage. The bear would have made a great cement mixer because all that food was mixed beyond use, spilled milk, mushy hot dog buns, over turned potato salad with broken eggs spread through out.
"Looks like our first stop will be the camp store."
No comments:
Post a Comment