I know what fear tastes like...
It is bitter, a bit salty, and has a distinct metallic quality to it. It is also dry and gummy and leaves an aftertaste for hours. Jana, Jackson, and C4/5 headed home yesterday, leaving me to a few days of bachelorhood and quiet. I left from the airport after watching them board the 727, an increasingly voluptuous pregnant lady and a kid she can barely hold in her arms, and headed right to the Buskin River. I have been repeatedly belittled and disheartened by the late season cohos that run these waters.
The late afternoon was brisk and I was hauntingly alone along my favorite hole. A couple hundred fish milled about without care that I continued to cast my line between them. I was alone and had initially brought along my iPod, but decided against it's use wanting to hear the sounds of nature (an bears) as they crept upon my senses. I had fished about an hour and was debating a retreat in disgrace when I heard...absolutely nothing. I had been quite vigilant (did I mention I was alone) watching up and down the river for that bear who lived on the other side. I had hoped to see him again and brought my camera, along with its dead batteries.
That nothing that I heard was the sound of a Kodiak Brown (maybe the same one, maybe another) crossing the slough just upstream. When I turned to look in my constant, remarkably unobservant, manner, I noticed that he was about 20 feet away and around a rock outcropping upon which I was perched. Did I mention I was alone? I quickly picked up my bag (should of had it on) and scrambled down the rocks to a small beach along the river. I was about 10 feet down an embankment and decided to creep up and see if he had meandered away as bears often do.
No such luck...worse luck...he saw me. I looked him face to face about 10-15 feet away, and he puffed like a dog tends to do when threatened. Now what do the books tell us to do in this situation? Hold your ground/back away slowly. Don't run. Don't panic. The problem was that the books didn't say what to do if he kept coming your direction. I am embarrassed to admit that I ran. Not really an "run" per say, but more of a scramble. I was trapped on that small beach and had no good place to back away, so I charged up the hill into some tall grass. A perfect place to hide from an animal that depends on smell. I squeezed myself into some dense bushes and waited. That taste, the metallic, sticky, salty one, permeated my senses. After a couple of minutes I poked my head out, knowing that he had headed off. Except he was still there, craning his head around the corner, looking for me.
Now, I doubt there was any real intention of menace or true desire to eat me (as the river overflowed with much tastier - I presume - salmon), but he was still there. Bears are supposed to run away when they encounter humans. I climbed a tree. That's what I did. I climbed a very short, stubby, stout branched Sitka Spruce. Would it have saved me? Doubtful, but at least I could see a little better. There I waited, talking loudly to said bear, trying to convince him that we had our own business, and mine was to go home as soon as he would let me. It must have worked. As I slowly crept down from my perch, he was no where to be seen (just like when he arrived) and I quickly, loudly headed the short hike back to my car past massive footprints and several piles of bear scat. I liked him much better when he was on the other side of the river.
I was a bit nervous last night, but slept well. I went back to the Buskin this morning. I still wanted to catch that fish and didn't want my experience to scar me. I dragged my feet in getting there and arrived about noon. Again I was alone on the river. I hooked a few, but brought nothing home. I stood vigilantly looking up river then down river. He didn't show himself this morning, but I know he was there. Bears are sneaky like that.
The late afternoon was brisk and I was hauntingly alone along my favorite hole. A couple hundred fish milled about without care that I continued to cast my line between them. I was alone and had initially brought along my iPod, but decided against it's use wanting to hear the sounds of nature (an bears) as they crept upon my senses. I had fished about an hour and was debating a retreat in disgrace when I heard...absolutely nothing. I had been quite vigilant (did I mention I was alone) watching up and down the river for that bear who lived on the other side. I had hoped to see him again and brought my camera, along with its dead batteries.
That nothing that I heard was the sound of a Kodiak Brown (maybe the same one, maybe another) crossing the slough just upstream. When I turned to look in my constant, remarkably unobservant, manner, I noticed that he was about 20 feet away and around a rock outcropping upon which I was perched. Did I mention I was alone? I quickly picked up my bag (should of had it on) and scrambled down the rocks to a small beach along the river. I was about 10 feet down an embankment and decided to creep up and see if he had meandered away as bears often do.
No such luck...worse luck...he saw me. I looked him face to face about 10-15 feet away, and he puffed like a dog tends to do when threatened. Now what do the books tell us to do in this situation? Hold your ground/back away slowly. Don't run. Don't panic. The problem was that the books didn't say what to do if he kept coming your direction. I am embarrassed to admit that I ran. Not really an "run" per say, but more of a scramble. I was trapped on that small beach and had no good place to back away, so I charged up the hill into some tall grass. A perfect place to hide from an animal that depends on smell. I squeezed myself into some dense bushes and waited. That taste, the metallic, sticky, salty one, permeated my senses. After a couple of minutes I poked my head out, knowing that he had headed off. Except he was still there, craning his head around the corner, looking for me.
Now, I doubt there was any real intention of menace or true desire to eat me (as the river overflowed with much tastier - I presume - salmon), but he was still there. Bears are supposed to run away when they encounter humans. I climbed a tree. That's what I did. I climbed a very short, stubby, stout branched Sitka Spruce. Would it have saved me? Doubtful, but at least I could see a little better. There I waited, talking loudly to said bear, trying to convince him that we had our own business, and mine was to go home as soon as he would let me. It must have worked. As I slowly crept down from my perch, he was no where to be seen (just like when he arrived) and I quickly, loudly headed the short hike back to my car past massive footprints and several piles of bear scat. I liked him much better when he was on the other side of the river.
I was a bit nervous last night, but slept well. I went back to the Buskin this morning. I still wanted to catch that fish and didn't want my experience to scar me. I dragged my feet in getting there and arrived about noon. Again I was alone on the river. I hooked a few, but brought nothing home. I stood vigilantly looking up river then down river. He didn't show himself this morning, but I know he was there. Bears are sneaky like that.
posted by rob at 5:18 PM
2 Comments:
Rob -
That is crazy! I am pretty sure you aren't supposed to climb a tree but it worked! You left out one part - did you soil yourself? I sure would have!! Can't wait to see you next weekend - even though it means I am sending Darin to bear country!
Jenn
Awesome story, Rob.
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