I awoke to the steady patter of rain on my tent in the black velvet darkness of our cozy mountain camp. Wrapped in my sleeping bag, I sat up and listened, there it was again, some strange sound. Anxiously, I reached for my watch and clicked the Indiglo light. It was just after 1:00 a.m. and sleep eluded me.
What was that sound? Was it a Bear?
The skies were ominous that night. The steady rain began at dusk, we had retired early camped near Chickenfoot Lake, in the Inyo National Forest, elevation 10,789 feet, in the Sierra Mountains just northwest of Bishop, California. This was the second night of our annual wilderness backpacking trek. Our evening conversation always centered on BIG, ferocious bears. It wasn’t that long ago campers simply hung their food in trees. Not anymore, the bears had wised up to that old trick. Proper precaution requires every scrap of paper, food, trash, toothpaste - anything that has a smell gets packed into the bear proof canister for the night. No exceptions!
“What does a man-eating bear sound like outside your tent?” Your imagination tends to run wild, fidgeting and speculating over unusual noises. I convinced myself the sound that was now keeping me awake was buds from the trees above my tent dropping. Later that day all would become unmistakably clear . . .
This year's trip begins at East Fork Campground in Rock Creek, with my friends Brendan Laurs and Robert Weldon, to acclimate to the high altitude. A convenient site about three miles from the trailhead at Little Lakes Valley. Without a reserved campsite in midsummer you need not make the trip. The campground was full. As we parked in our designated spot the camp hosts drove up in their converted golf cart to warn us, “Bears had been seen just last night in the area.”
“Be sure to use the bear boxes, do not leave anything out if you stray from your campsite,” they said. “Enjoy your stay.”
“Absolutely, we are prepared - we’re headed for the wilderness and are carrying bear boxes in our packs.”
With a crackling fire blazing in the fire-pit, under a starlit sky, we organized our gear, had dinner, and reviewed the topographic map to plan our route. The night was filled with the chatter of children running about and parents huddled around their campfires talking amongst themselves. The illusive, sweet, aroma of ganja drifting on the light breeze lulled us to sleep.
Eager to get to the trail we were up at dawn the next morning. During breakfast, seated at our picnic table, I caught some movement out the corner of my eye.
“Look over your shoulder,” I whispered. “There’s a bear padding quietly into that campsite."
A large brown bear, about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle was calmly making his way through the campsite of snoring campers. We watched silently, unable to speak. The bear climbed on the picnic table covered with a red-checkered plastic tablecloth sniffing the surface for scraps. When erect he must have stood over six feet tall. With nothing available he quietly climbed down and trundled away.
You’ve heard it said, “time is relative” well, it was as if time stood still. Admittedly, this entire episode lasted less than three minutes. The bear had come and gone so quickly and quietly that we sat and watched amazed at the sight of such a large creature able to move with such stealth.
“Can you believe it - we just saw a bear. That thing was huge!” said Brendan. That’s the first time I’ve seen a bear after all these trips to the mountains.”
“He was so quiet, not a sound really,” said Robert. “We should have taken a photo.”
Later that morning as we packed our gear the residents of that campsite emerged from their tents. Evidently, we were the only ones who had seen the bear. We broke the news to the startled campers. They had been sound asleep. With absolutely no idea the bear had come and gone they began to chatter like scared mice running hither and thither alerting everyone in camp.
Our adventure had begun . . . Part two.
Comments