The afternoon began as every afternoon. I got done with work, walked home, ate a snack, put on my boots, told the dog to "truck up" and headed up the shore. Five minutes later the truck is parked at the end of the dirt road. From there Amy and I grabbed our tools and began the hike up the hill to the property. The task for the day: build a platform for our backpacking tent.
The walk was the same old hike that I have become very accustomed to. The dog trees a couple of squirrels, chases a rabbit and on a good day flushes a grouse. Amy and I talk about the day. I like to observe the slow phenological changes of the great north woods.
When we arrived at the garage site my stomach dropped! All I saw was my beloved tent flapping in the soft early May breeze; the rain fly was destroyed. The tent door has two 4 inch bear claw puncture marks! I just had to walk away. At first I wanted to take a picture. As much as that picture would be a great visual for you fine folks reading this, I'm glad I didn't. You don't take photos at funerals, do you?
I know, the tent can be sewn. But, the tent will never be as tight as it once was. I remember the day I rolled that tent up in the gear store and bought it with my high school graduation money. I walked out of the store and drove to Vermont to hike the Long Trail. That's were it all began.
That tent has logged hundreds of nights pitched on the remote lakes of the Lake Superior Border Country of Northern Minnesota; it has been set up in every state west of the Mississippi and has endured freak mountain blizzards in the Sierra Nevada, Uinta, Cascade, Sawtooth, Olympic, Teton and Big Horn Mountain Ranges. This tent has provided shelter to travel companions and me from white-outs in conditions 12,000 feet above sea level to 50 below zero. I've lived out of this tent. I've grown into the person that I am in this tent.
I was pretty bummed as I worked the rest of the evening. At this point I'm happy to report that the story gets better. On our way out we stopped to chat with our neighbor and warn him of our unwelcomed guest. He has a tent pitched on his land as well. He felt my anguish. However, there was a faint smile to his response. It turns out that he had left a fresh case of Pabst Beer outside of his tent. The bear decided to help himself and polished off 13 beers! The punctured, mangled beer cans are all that remain of his visit.
Now my mind conjures a slightly different scenario. Picture this: the bear comes out of hibernation ravished in the nearby woods. He stumbles down the hill towards the lake when he wanders onto my neighbors property. Smelling a good time he helps himself to a half case. After that, the bear is a little turned around and needs to find a den to rest one off. He wanders over Osier Creek to our land were he sniffs out our tent and crashes through the rain fly of my favorite tent! At least we weren't in there sleeping!
Another adventure for my tent! It didn't fair very well. However, it probably faired better than that poor Black Bear felt in the morning! Me, I need to learn how to sew...
The walk was the same old hike that I have become very accustomed to. The dog trees a couple of squirrels, chases a rabbit and on a good day flushes a grouse. Amy and I talk about the day. I like to observe the slow phenological changes of the great north woods.
When we arrived at the garage site my stomach dropped! All I saw was my beloved tent flapping in the soft early May breeze; the rain fly was destroyed. The tent door has two 4 inch bear claw puncture marks! I just had to walk away. At first I wanted to take a picture. As much as that picture would be a great visual for you fine folks reading this, I'm glad I didn't. You don't take photos at funerals, do you?
I know, the tent can be sewn. But, the tent will never be as tight as it once was. I remember the day I rolled that tent up in the gear store and bought it with my high school graduation money. I walked out of the store and drove to Vermont to hike the Long Trail. That's were it all began.
That tent has logged hundreds of nights pitched on the remote lakes of the Lake Superior Border Country of Northern Minnesota; it has been set up in every state west of the Mississippi and has endured freak mountain blizzards in the Sierra Nevada, Uinta, Cascade, Sawtooth, Olympic, Teton and Big Horn Mountain Ranges. This tent has provided shelter to travel companions and me from white-outs in conditions 12,000 feet above sea level to 50 below zero. I've lived out of this tent. I've grown into the person that I am in this tent.
I was pretty bummed as I worked the rest of the evening. At this point I'm happy to report that the story gets better. On our way out we stopped to chat with our neighbor and warn him of our unwelcomed guest. He has a tent pitched on his land as well. He felt my anguish. However, there was a faint smile to his response. It turns out that he had left a fresh case of Pabst Beer outside of his tent. The bear decided to help himself and polished off 13 beers! The punctured, mangled beer cans are all that remain of his visit.
Now my mind conjures a slightly different scenario. Picture this: the bear comes out of hibernation ravished in the nearby woods. He stumbles down the hill towards the lake when he wanders onto my neighbors property. Smelling a good time he helps himself to a half case. After that, the bear is a little turned around and needs to find a den to rest one off. He wanders over Osier Creek to our land were he sniffs out our tent and crashes through the rain fly of my favorite tent! At least we weren't in there sleeping!
Another adventure for my tent! It didn't fair very well. However, it probably faired better than that poor Black Bear felt in the morning! Me, I need to learn how to sew...
