ODDS’N’SODS — The Year of the Bear

In 1939, when the foliage was just starting to turn color in Timmins, Ont., Danny O’Reardon invited Lou Romauldi and me for a weekend of fishing for whitefish.

We were to drive to the destination, which was known only to Danny, in his 1932 Chevrolet, a “fishing car” modified for bush operation. It had large wheels, an oversized, front-mounted winch and a heavy-duty drive train that allowed entry into usually inaccessible areas of excellent hunting and fishing.

Danny was known as a loner, but since he was after black bear as well as whitefish, he decided he might need our assistance should he get a bear.

We left on a Friday evening and travelled a considerable distance, on an abandoned road, into the bush behind the old Coulson mine. Traversing this rugged terrain required the use of the winch and spotlights several times.

Danny’s destination was an abandoned mine and, because it was drizzling, we made camp in the blacksmith’s shop. We used the forge for a fireplace and slept like logs until Danny pounded on the anvil as a wake-up call. That is the only bedroom in which I’ve slept that had 18-inch gauge tracks running through it.

Lou and I had success while fishing, and by Saturday evening we had several powder boxes filled with whitefish. Danny, who had been hunting a large bear on a ridge across the stream, had also been successful. After clearing the undergrowth so that we could get the Chev closer to his prize, we winched that big bear out to where we could lash it to the hood of the car.

It was still raining lightly, and getting colder, but Danny didn’t appear to be in any rush to start back. After some prodding, however, we got under way.

Lou, who was jammed into the back seat with our gear and the fish, complained most of the way back.

The creek was considerably higher on the return trip and, after losing the toss, I waded across and attached the cable to a large birch tree. Later, while winching up a steep little clay hill, the car slipped off the trail, and we had to cut down trees to get the car back on track. We looked like drowned rats, and were covered with a good portion of the Cockrane clay belt before we got up that hill.

While having coffee in Matheson, we learned why Danny planned to arrive in Timmins late. “This is the Year of the Bear on the Chinese calendar,” he explained, “and my friend Egghead is very anxious to have a large bear.” Egghead owned one of the popular Chinese restaurants in town.

Danny further explained that the Chinese used only the paws and testicles when preparing the ceremonial feast they held in celebration of the Year of the Bear. Our bear came fully equipped.

Skeptical by nature, I asked whether those big shoulders and rear quarters wouldn’t wind up in some other exotic Chinese specialty. I don’t recall getting a sensible answer to my question.

Arriving in the alley behind the restaurant at 1:30 a.m., Danny contacted Egghead, who quickly appeared with several chattering kitchen workers. They lowered the bear to the basement floor and examined the paws closely, speaking in Chinese the whole time.

Egghead came to the car and gave both Lou and me a bottle of scotch. As we pulled away, Lou patted his bottle and said, “Well, so much for the Year of the Bear. Let’s get some sleep.”

Whenever I visit relatives in Timmins and someone suggests Chinese food, I usually recommend, in case it is the Year of the Bear again, that we go to the Hygrader’s Restaurant for a good steak.

— A.E. Alpine, a frequent contributor to this column, resides in Boyertown, Pa.

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