Stacy Clark “Bearventures” So listen to this one: my main squeeze and I, you know, my mister and myself, we’ve been digging on each other for a good long while. So this summer I say to him, “Hey, wanna go on an epic adventure?” “Heck yeah,” he answered, and right there is why I like him. So I took a nice long week off from work, oh to get away! from that monotonous stifling summer job that is lifeguarding, and away we go, Rod and I, up in to the mountains of upstate NY. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the Adirondacks, but the shit I’m about to tell you could only possibly go down up there. Foreboding, mystical, jagged mountaintops shooting up into heavy gray clouds, pine forests like a cloak over the landscape. The park stretches for miles, right up to the edges of Canada, a Jurassic wood forgotten above our modern Mesopotamia. The further we drove up, the more erratic the landscape became. Definitely beyond excited- a week in the woods, the most beautiful place I know, exploring the trails and well goddamn, a whole week of uncensored alone time! We finally get there, pulled in around 6. Right off onto this side street, the road getting bumpier and narrower, potholes like Swiss cheese till it switched right over to dirt and dumped into a big lot. Hikers galore, dogs panting and dirty faces, this was it all right. We strap on our packs and off we go, the trail wide and welcoming. We stay the night at Marcy Dam, a nice little pond with some rugged mountains glowering over us. Maw down some food, set up camp- that whole deal. A little trouble finding a good branch for the bear bag- you know what that is, right? Put all your food, trash and toiletries into a bag, tie a rope to it and hoist it up in a tree. Try for a branch far away from the tree. Keeps the bears from getting into your stash, and you don’t have anything to tempt ‘em into your tent. We zip our sleeping bags together and the first night passes, getting wonderfully cuddly and contented. But I had this strange dream… 3 bears, all trying to get in my house! First outside, then inside, then on me! Not scary, but certainly intense. Laughing about it, we gathered our belongings and venture onward. The path gets gnarlier, going up. This ranger going by stops us. “What are you keeping your food in?” he asks. I tell him, “A bear bag.” He’s shaking his head before I’m even done talking. “No way, not up here,” he says. “There’s a right tricky bear up here, pretty famous. Been on the Colbert report, in the NY times. Figured out the bag trick- just cuts the rope! Showed all the other bears how to do it, too.” We’re shaking our heads in disbelief. “There’s special canister, made specifically for this bear. There should be one at the outpost you’re headed toward.” Sweet, I say, and he tells me to consider this a warning. Little did Rod or I know just who would be getting me in trouble. We go through all these crazy places, Avalanche Pass next to Avalanche Lake, a dark deep trench of water with gaping cliffs on either side, impassive mountains in the distance. Along the way the leaves go broader, the trunks wider, roots sprawling. A couple of hikers say hey- you hear about the bears? Watch out! On and on still, amazing boulder fields and wooden ladders till we get to our destination- the outpost at Colden Lake.
That evening we grab the bear barrel, as I liked to call it. Rod keeps telling me “It is not a bear barrel, it’s a canister!” but I like the way bear barrel sounds, don’t you? Anyway, we’re hiking to our campsite around the lake- a little over half a mile, carrying all the food, sun dimming out but no rush. We round the bend, and there he is- the biggest black bear I have ever seen, tearing open a backpack right there on the path, snuffling real loud, standing on all four giant furry paw. My veins jump and I feel like a squirrel in front of a Mac truck. “Whoa!” “What do we do?” “Alright. Rod put your hands up- slowly Rod!” We’re whisper- screaming. The bear looks at us, beautiful fur moving over bunched muscles. He’s leaning forward now, sniffing, huffing, grunting. “What else!” “ Okay, keep your hands up, we’re going to back slowly away…” Two yellow tags are dangling from his ears. The quiver and sway as he takes a step closer. How close? I don’t know, but I could see every claw on his foot, that’s how close. He growls gently “Make noise!” and Rod growls back, like the ceaseless spastic sound generator he is. The bear stands up and growls. “Back the fuck up, keep backing up!” “holy shit holy shit”, Rod is giggle gasping and I grip his hand in the air like a power line, fingers intertwined and twisted, palms drenched. We back around the corner, and walk away as brisk as we could get without running. I’m looking over my shoulder and my feet almost slip, and we hear shouting. Some guy screams: “There’s a fucking black bear! There’s a GIANT FUCKING BLACK BEAR, coming your way!” what. the. holy bejesus mother of pearl. We hid around that corner for maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. I’m spazzing out in the biggest way, “Rod what the HELL were you doing, growling! Are you crazy! Or just a total idiot!” “Ahaha,” he says, “Yes I am.” All our food in the canister that could fit, some bread, marshmallows, peanut butter and trail mix that didn’t fit in a larger barrel back at the outpost. Finally we dare to venture back to the campsite. Along the way we talk to other campers- “That is one giant bear!” “Called double yellow-“ “That was him alright!” – our weak headlamps near useless, every bush looking like a bear head poking out. Going to bed that night, both of us are exhausted. I zip us together and not three minutes later Rod is muttering something about good night and sleeping well. I’m using his flannel as a pillow, breaths growing softer. And there he is again. The grunting, footfalls thumping all around our tent. Sniffing the tent flap and Rod and I are gripping each other as if the panic was wrenching us apart. “What do we do! Ahaha!!” “Talk!” “Well Stacy, looks like that bear is back for more!” “Sure sounds like it! Got no food in here Mister Bear, just some smelly people.” “Yep, smelly feet!” We’re jabbering as we smile with fright, eyes wide with excitement. Of course we know the bear can just rip through the tent with one swipe, but the notion of safety somehow remains. The bear wanders away, and we’re left gripping each other, alert as a two little foxes hiding from danger. Needless to say, we both needed to blow off some steam after that second ultra close bear encounter, and we go to sleep with our slippery exhausted bodies pressed tight together.
The next day we sleep in and get a late start. Rod takes forever to roll a joint, just like a perfect perfectionist, and I vote to ditch our original day hike, “Let’s just go up whatever mountain we want!” Algonquin Mountain, 3 something miles to the top? Sounds great, and up we go. “Want to check what this hike is like in your handy dandy little book?” “Sure!” We stop after about twenty minutes and I take a look. Really? The second highest peak in the range, and the consistently steepest trail…. Straight up a stream tearing down the side of the mountain. Awesomely beautiful and SO painfully steep, each step an exhausted lunge. The cold mountain stream is the best water I’ve ever tasted or felt. Rushing, rushing to beat the clock. We are slipping and gripping our way down, hikers warn us not to be cooking food too late. Don’t want the bear to get it! We know, oh do we know. Famished upon our return, we cook away from our campsite next the stream, maps and water filters sprawled and I’m only wearing socks cause my feet are aching. We smoke half of that fat joint, and that’s a lot for both of us. While the food is delicious I become a paranoid animal, eyes scanning, ears cocked, nose probably quivering. “SHH!” “What?” “Oh… thought I heard the bear again.” We eat, I twitch over every noise and finally we’re cleaning up, just trying to jam Rod’s silly bulky toothbrush into the bear barrel when “SHH!!!” I’m pointing and there is the bear, silently steaming towards us, only yards away. “Let’s go let’s go-” “I can’t get this closed-” “Just leave it come on let’s go!!“ We slip down to the river, scurrying, Rod hopping from rock to rock but my legs are shaking so hard my stockinged feet slip right into the water and I’m just plodding like a panicked horse through the water. We go until we see a little path, and campers are there, a man with a few boys and he says “The bear is back, are you guys aware?” “We just saw him-“ “He’s eating all our food right now!” “All of it! Just snuck right up on us! “The third time!” The man from Texas, whose wife is named Stacy too, he says he can feed us some breakfast in the morning. The boys guide us back to our tent and we rip off our food scented clothes far from the tent and sprint naked through the dark, jamming into the sleeping bag. I’m still shaking, but Rod is fading away, and I’m left holding his limp arm as he snores. I flinch at each movement, I jump at every noise. It’s not so much the bear that I’m scared of- I know he just wants my food- but I’m absolutely terrified of being scared again! Three bear meetings, each time getting closer, just like my dream! I’m beyond horrified at what the consequences of a fourth meeting would be. Normally tending towards slight superstition, now every twitch becomes a bad omen. I fall asleep holding my breath, head burrowed in Rod’s armpit. We eat an early breakfast with the Texan bunch, trading cooking gas for food. All our food is eaten, the packaging ripped and licked clean. The half joint is still there though, and all the water that would have saved me from the dry mouth I suffered through the night. Packing up, we begin the 5-hour journey out. Thank god for peanut butter marshmallow sandwiches, we would have been moving like slugs the last few miles. We finish the joint about an hour from the end, enjoying the calming of the scenery, a return from adventure land back into normalcy. I reflect on the bear dream, and for once congratulate myself for getting high and paranoid. A whole bunch of food, a four-hour car ride and a hot soapy shower later, the trip feels like a dream. Roaming through bear territory, omens in my sleep, dirty daring days and here I am, back in a house with my mom to cook me dinner. For once, I feel happy to be confined in a house, thankful for society and it’s ultra sheltered lifestyle. Awesome time up there, up in those wild woods with my favorite dude, making the rare smart choice about toking up. But you know, the bear can’t get in here… right?
Stacy Clark
ReplyDelete“Bearventures”
So listen to this one: my main squeeze and I, you know, my mister and myself, we’ve been digging on each other for a good long while. So this summer I say to him, “Hey, wanna go on an epic adventure?” “Heck yeah,” he answered, and right there is why I like him. So I took a nice long week off from work, oh to get away! from that monotonous stifling summer job that is lifeguarding, and away we go, Rod and I, up in to the mountains of upstate NY.
Now I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the Adirondacks, but the shit I’m about to tell you could only possibly go down up there. Foreboding, mystical, jagged mountaintops shooting up into heavy gray clouds, pine forests like a cloak over the landscape. The park stretches for miles, right up to the edges of Canada, a Jurassic wood forgotten above our modern Mesopotamia. The further we drove up, the more erratic the landscape became. Definitely beyond excited- a week in the woods, the most beautiful place I know, exploring the trails and well goddamn, a whole week of uncensored alone time!
We finally get there, pulled in around 6. Right off onto this side street, the road getting bumpier and narrower, potholes like Swiss cheese till it switched right over to dirt and dumped into a big lot. Hikers galore, dogs panting and dirty faces, this was it all right. We strap on our packs and off we go, the trail wide and welcoming.
We stay the night at Marcy Dam, a nice little pond with some rugged mountains glowering over us. Maw down some food, set up camp- that whole deal. A little trouble finding a good branch for the bear bag- you know what that is, right? Put all your food, trash and toiletries into a bag, tie a rope to it and hoist it up in a tree. Try for a branch far away from the tree. Keeps the bears from getting into your stash, and you don’t have anything to tempt ‘em into your tent.
We zip our sleeping bags together and the first night passes, getting wonderfully cuddly and contented. But I had this strange dream… 3 bears, all trying to get in my house! First outside, then inside, then on me! Not scary, but certainly intense. Laughing about it, we gathered our belongings and venture onward.
The path gets gnarlier, going up. This ranger going by stops us. “What are you keeping your food in?” he asks. I tell him, “A bear bag.” He’s shaking his head before I’m even done talking. “No way, not up here,” he says. “There’s a right tricky bear up here, pretty famous. Been on the Colbert report, in the NY times. Figured out the bag trick- just cuts the rope! Showed all the other bears how to do it, too.” We’re shaking our heads in disbelief. “There’s special canister, made specifically for this bear. There should be one at the outpost you’re headed toward.” Sweet, I say, and he tells me to consider this a warning. Little did Rod or I know just who would be getting me in trouble.
We go through all these crazy places, Avalanche Pass next to Avalanche Lake, a dark deep trench of water with gaping cliffs on either side, impassive mountains in the distance. Along the way the leaves go broader, the trunks wider, roots sprawling. A couple of hikers say hey- you hear about the bears? Watch out! On and on still, amazing boulder fields and wooden ladders till we get to our destination- the outpost at Colden Lake.
That evening we grab the bear barrel, as I liked to call it. Rod keeps telling me “It is not a bear barrel, it’s a canister!” but I like the way bear barrel sounds, don’t you? Anyway, we’re hiking to our campsite around the lake- a little over half a mile, carrying all the food, sun dimming out but no rush.
ReplyDeleteWe round the bend, and there he is- the biggest black bear I have ever seen, tearing open a backpack right there on the path, snuffling real loud, standing on all four giant furry paw. My veins jump and I feel like a squirrel in front of a Mac truck.
“Whoa!”
“What do we do?”
“Alright. Rod put your hands up- slowly Rod!”
We’re whisper- screaming. The bear looks at us, beautiful fur moving over bunched muscles. He’s leaning forward now, sniffing, huffing, grunting.
“What else!”
“ Okay, keep your hands up, we’re going to back slowly away…”
Two yellow tags are dangling from his ears. The quiver and sway as he takes a step closer. How close? I don’t know, but I could see every claw on his foot, that’s how close. He growls gently
“Make noise!”
and Rod growls back, like the ceaseless spastic sound generator he is. The bear stands up and growls.
“Back the fuck up, keep backing up!”
“holy shit holy shit”, Rod is giggle gasping and I grip his hand in the air like a power line, fingers intertwined and twisted, palms drenched. We back around the corner, and walk away as brisk as we could get without running. I’m looking over my shoulder and my feet almost slip, and we hear shouting. Some guy screams:
“There’s a fucking black bear! There’s a GIANT FUCKING BLACK BEAR, coming your way!”
what. the. holy bejesus mother of pearl.
We hid around that corner for maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. I’m spazzing out in the biggest way, “Rod what the HELL were you doing, growling! Are you crazy! Or just a total idiot!” “Ahaha,” he says, “Yes I am.” All our food in the canister that could fit, some bread, marshmallows, peanut butter and trail mix that didn’t fit in a larger barrel back at the outpost. Finally we dare to venture back to the campsite. Along the way we talk to other campers- “That is one giant bear!” “Called double yellow-“ “That was him alright!” – our weak headlamps near useless, every bush looking like a bear head poking out.
Going to bed that night, both of us are exhausted. I zip us together and not three minutes later Rod is muttering something about good night and sleeping well. I’m using his flannel as a pillow, breaths growing softer.
And there he is again. The grunting, footfalls thumping all around our tent. Sniffing the tent flap and Rod and I are gripping each other as if the panic was wrenching us apart.
“What do we do! Ahaha!!”
“Talk!”
“Well Stacy, looks like that bear is back for more!”
“Sure sounds like it! Got no food in here Mister Bear, just some smelly people.”
“Yep, smelly feet!”
We’re jabbering as we smile with fright, eyes wide with excitement. Of course we know the bear can just rip through the tent with one swipe, but the notion of safety somehow remains. The bear wanders away, and we’re left gripping each other, alert as a two little foxes hiding from danger. Needless to say, we both needed to blow off some steam after that second ultra close bear encounter, and we go to sleep with our slippery exhausted bodies pressed tight together.
The next day we sleep in and get a late start. Rod takes forever to roll a joint, just like a perfect perfectionist, and I vote to ditch our original day hike, “Let’s just go up whatever mountain we want!” Algonquin Mountain, 3 something miles to the top? Sounds great, and up we go.
ReplyDelete“Want to check what this hike is like in your handy dandy little book?”
“Sure!” We stop after about twenty minutes and I take a look. Really? The second highest peak in the range, and the consistently steepest trail…. Straight up a stream tearing down the side of the mountain. Awesomely beautiful and SO painfully steep, each step an exhausted lunge. The cold mountain stream is the best water I’ve ever tasted or felt. Rushing, rushing to beat the clock.
We are slipping and gripping our way down, hikers warn us not to be cooking food too late. Don’t want the bear to get it! We know, oh do we know.
Famished upon our return, we cook away from our campsite next the stream, maps and water filters sprawled and I’m only wearing socks cause my feet are aching. We smoke half of that fat joint, and that’s a lot for both of us. While the food is delicious I become a paranoid animal, eyes scanning, ears cocked, nose probably quivering.
“SHH!”
“What?”
“Oh… thought I heard the bear again.”
We eat, I twitch over every noise and finally we’re cleaning up, just trying to jam Rod’s silly bulky toothbrush into the bear barrel when
“SHH!!!”
I’m pointing and there is the bear, silently steaming towards us, only yards away.
“Let’s go let’s go-”
“I can’t get this closed-”
“Just leave it come on let’s go!!“
We slip down to the river, scurrying, Rod hopping from rock to rock but my legs are shaking so hard my stockinged feet slip right into the water and I’m just plodding like a panicked horse through the water. We go until we see a little path, and campers are there, a man with a few boys and he says
“The bear is back, are you guys aware?”
“We just saw him-“
“He’s eating all our food right now!”
“All of it! Just snuck right up on us!
“The third time!”
The man from Texas, whose wife is named Stacy too, he says he can feed us some breakfast in the morning. The boys guide us back to our tent and we rip off our food scented clothes far from the tent and sprint naked through the dark, jamming into the sleeping bag.
I’m still shaking, but Rod is fading away, and I’m left holding his limp arm as he snores. I flinch at each movement, I jump at every noise. It’s not so much the bear that I’m scared of- I know he just wants my food- but I’m absolutely terrified of being scared again! Three bear meetings, each time getting closer, just like my dream! I’m beyond horrified at what the consequences of a fourth meeting would be. Normally tending towards slight superstition, now every twitch becomes a bad omen. I fall asleep holding my breath, head burrowed in Rod’s armpit.
We eat an early breakfast with the Texan bunch, trading cooking gas for food. All our food is eaten, the packaging ripped and licked clean. The half joint is still there though, and all the water that would have saved me from the dry mouth I suffered through the night. Packing up, we begin the 5-hour journey out. Thank god for peanut butter marshmallow sandwiches, we would have been moving like slugs the last few miles.
We finish the joint about an hour from the end, enjoying the calming of the scenery, a return from adventure land back into normalcy. I reflect on the bear dream, and for once congratulate myself for getting high and paranoid. A whole bunch of food, a four-hour car ride and a hot soapy shower later, the trip feels like a dream. Roaming through bear territory, omens in my sleep, dirty daring days and here I am, back in a house with my mom to cook me dinner.
For once, I feel happy to be confined in a house, thankful for society and it’s ultra sheltered lifestyle. Awesome time up there, up in those wild woods with my favorite dude, making the rare smart choice about toking up. But you know, the bear can’t get in here… right?