ODDS’N’SODS — Bear-anoid

Not many field geologists who have worked in Northern Canada are unfamiliar with black bears. Although these animals are generally curious and occasionally a nuisance, it is well-known that they can be downright dangerous if not treated with respect.

Six days into my first stint as manager of a 5-man exploration crew near the Renabie gold mine in northern Ontario, I noted that one of our new axes was missing. Assuming that it would eventually turn up, I went back to recording the geology east of the mine. A couple of weeks and one camp move later, it had failed to materialize, and I casually mentioned its loss to one of the assistants.

“It’s not lost,” he replied. “Joe has it stashed under his bed because he’s afraid of bears. He sleeps with a hunting knife under his pillow for the same reason.”

Joe was an interesting lad; no matter what the subject, he had been there and done that. I remember suggesting to him one day that it might be less dangerous if he took his foot off of the wood he was chopping. He always cut wood this way, he replied. No sooner had I turned around, but he cut his ankle and had to be flown out for medical attention.

Our third base camp was in an idyllic spot on the southern shore of a large lake. There was an esker behind the camp and a small, clear stream that flowed out of a cluster of cedar trees on the eastern side of a sandy beach.

After about a week at this location, Joe came back from the garbage pit one day and announced that we had a bear problem. Because of his paranoid attitude toward the animals, we didn’t attach much credibility to his observation. We didn’t take him seriously, but I checked things out anyway.

All I found was some scattered paper, which I attributed to a combination of wind and ravens.

We stayed at this camp for about three weeks. On our last full day, Joe was left to look after camp chores while the rest of us went out to map areas we had missed. I had to go past the camp in order to get to one of those last-minute locations.

It was then that I observed Joe was in the office tent doing whatever it was he was assigned to do. What he did not know, however, was that a bear was sitting near the firepit searching for last night’s porkchop bones. By the time Joe heard us and came out of the tent, the bear had retreated to the bushes. He was not amused when we told him what had happened.

When we returned at about 7 p.m., the camp looked as though it was ready for battle. A large bonfire was going in the firepit; cans of camp fuel, ready to be ignited, were positioned strategically; and several sharpened poles were close at hand. Joe had apparently encountered the bear later that day as it was taking milk from a cache we had in the stream. The bear took six quarts, and Joe managed to save an equal number.

Although we had overheard the creature smashing stumps behind the camp as he searched for grubs, there was no sign of him for the rest of the evening.

At 2 a.m., however, I was awakened by a loud clanging coming from the beach.

Joe was banging a geological hammer against a garbage can and shouting, “Go away, bear!” After 15 minutes of this ruckus, I realized Joe wasn’t going to stop, and I went down to the beach to quiet him down. In order to show Joe that bears were nothing to be frightened of, I lit a lantern and sat down with him. We didn’t hear or see the bear, but I sensed it lingering just beyond the glow of the lantern. After a half an hour or so, Joe was calm enough to go back to bed.

In the morning, we discovered fresh bear tracks in the sand near the camp.

The tracks indicated that the bear had wandered out of the bush and surveyed our clean firepit. He then circled Joe’s tent three times before sauntering down to the beach, past the other tents, and on to the esker.

Joe requested that we pitch our next camp on an island.

— The author, a consulting geologist, resides in Thunder Bay, Ont.