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Hard Nosed Big Game Hounds

Hard Nosed Big Game Hounds
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Luwire Photographic Safaris

Luwire Photographic Safaris
Looking across the Lugenda from one of the camps

Monday, December 2, 2013

One of my Bear Stories

I was just reading Jameson Parker's post about a new book he is reading, "A Story Like the Wind"by Laurens Van Der Post. He mentioned a few dark nights he had experienced, one in particular in Africa where I have experienced some very dark nights myself. This led to a memory of a story of a dark night that was told to me way back when I worked for an outfitter in the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. My friend Willy Watsabaugh related this little diddy to myself and a few other buds as we sat at the bar in Moose Wyoming on our way home from a ten day Elk Hunt.
It seems that Willy's outfit which hunted the drainage next to us had from the start of the season been visited regularly by a grumpy old Grizzly Sow. Now tensions were high in that camp and the cook was especially on edge as he often spent the whole day in camp alone while the rest were out hunting. Things had progressed to the point that the Game Wardens had flown in by helicopter and installed an electric fence around the entire assembly of tents. Still the old girl persisted and had on this day stuck her head into the Cook Tent and gave a little low grunt at the unsuspecting cook, busy with his back turned washing the mornings dishes. Needless to say there was a few deathly silent moments until she turned and with another low huff bumbled off to parts unknown. Well when the parties of guides and hunters returned late in the day they were greeted by a heavily armed, very shaky cook. He related the days events and as darkness fell there was still a group out who arrived late in the night and upon hearing the story from the crowd who by this time was armed to the hilt all assembled in the cook tent and steadily became more and more worked up. Willy, eased out into the night to go feed the horses down by the corals. There close by was a tent set up to house the tack and feed and a fellow guide stood up at the cook tent shinning a light and holding a rifle for moral support. Willy pulled back the loose flap on the tent and reached for the fifty five gallon barrel that held the feed. As he reached forward his hand came to rest on something warm and furry and as the warm piss ran down his leg he high tailed it back to the cook tent arriving from his fifty yard sprint with out taking a breath exploding in curses that, "that damn bear was in the saddle tent and this was the last straw", he had had enough and he was going to shoot that _?___?__?__?__ bear. A quick plan of attack was devised and every hand got locked and loaded, checked flashlight batteries and began a semi circle like stalk. The darkness got darker and the lights didn't seem to be quite enough to anyone but there was strength in numbers. Rifles, Pistols and knives glistened in the light of the flashlights as the posse approached the dark quiet tent. A long dead pine sapling held by Willy waved in the air as the proper approach was followed so as to avoid possible stray bullets. A last minute survey of the hoard was made just before be eased the sapling into position to hook the loose flap and pull it aside rendering the inside seeable. At this point I have to say all that were there at the bar were shaking their heads still in disbelief that they had survived the encounter. We hung on his every word as he spoke. He said, "I moved the flap aside and the lights found their mark as our old Pack Mule turned his head into the light to look at the amassed bunch of open mouthed killers while munching blissfully on a mouth full of oats." "Well Hell," he said it's that damn mule. So everybody went back to the cook tent and proceeded to get very drunk.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

One good bar tale deserves another! This reminds me of one that I saw on the news when I lived near Aseville, in western N. C.(I now live outside AsheBORO, in mid-state N. C.--it confuses a lot of folks....). Seems a black bear had wandered into a high class urban neighborhood(which happens now and again in Asheville), and a somewhat excited and fearful lady called the wildlife people reporting that this bear was in a tree in her yard! So the wildlife folks dutifully went to try and dart the bear and transport it out of town. By the time they got there, it was very dark and windy and stormy. The tree in question was some sort of tall evergreen--a hemlock or pine of some sort, and the bear was almost invisible up near the top--hard to see through the thick branches even with a spotlight. But they could just barely see it's outline, and saw it moving a bit, so could guesstimate where the rump was, and so shot it with a tranquilizing dart. No reaction. Well, you know, that happens sometimes. They were reluctant to hit it with another, but decided they had better try. So they shot it again. Still no visible reaction. But the bear WAS moving around a little up there, they could just barely see that.....Finally, one of them volunteered to scootch up the tree and try to get a closer look, which he did. To discover they had darted perfectly(twice) a large black plastic TRASH BAG! Which had somehow gotten blown up in the tree, and seen and mistaken for a black bear by the resident lady!.....L.B.

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About Me

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I’m a Southern Boy, just 56 last November, I get around here and there, Central America, Africa, Red Bay. I’m a Father, Grandfather, Husband, Artist and general flunky of sorts. Live in a little historic town in an old building I remodeled. Just wanted to hear myself think I guess, talk about the need of simplification, show some art, express an interest or two, brag on my dogs and see where it goes. That’s it!, That’s the deal, Thanks