Benign or Bothersome, It's Your Choice

I've certainly stumbled on more than my share of black bear this year. And I've written about quite a few of them. Here's yet one more muse with bear as the subject. So please “bear” with me. I don't make ‘em up, I just write ‘em as they happen.

You know about the Law of Attraction, Universal Law, Spiritual Law, Quantum Physics; that, what we focus on we create. With fear thoughts, we can manifest disasters right into existence and with energizing, exciting and playful thoughts we can also create that which we most desire.

On my September fishing trip to Northern Ontario, we had driven as far as we could and were standing by the train tracks in Hawk Junction, gear piled high, waiting for the train to take us farther north. Now Hawk Junction is not much of a town. There's the train station, a small convenience store and the very old Big Bear Hotel and Bar. The rest of the town is residential. So I was not surprised to see a small bear wandering back and forth across the tracks to the south of us and a much bigger bear doing the same to the north. There's not much in Hawk Junction to disturb them.

We were a party of four from Northern Michigan and somewhat used to bear. The other party of six waiting to catch the train and be dropped off at the same camp were, however, much more uncomfortable with these bear. Two men in that group were overly concerned and could not stop expressing their fearful thoughts about bear encounters. Even on the train ride up they were having disturbing conversations about bear attacks. The rest of us had pretty much a live and let live attitude about black bear.

And sure enough, as soon as we got to camp we were told by the owners that there had been two bear in and around camp all summer. That we just needed to look where we were going when walking around. Mike, one of the owners, said he saw them every day and enjoyed them. His wife, Hanna, said she did not mind knowing that the bear were there but she didn't care to see them. Consequently, she had not seen one all summer. ChiChi, the camp cat, wasn't talking. So we were 10 guests, two camp owners, one black cat and two black bear in camp all week.

Now here's what we each manifested. It was the last week of camp and Hanna never did see a bear. That made three full months without a sighting, even though these two black bear were practically living at camp. Her husband, Mike, continued to see them every day. Those of us who had little concern, got plenty of opportunity to see the bear and were not bothered by them. And what about the two guests who were fearful? They got their fish and gear messed with and had some frightful outhouse experiences. They blamed it on rogue black bear. I'm thinking it was much more about rogue, black thoughts.

"That the birds of worry and care fly over your head, this you cannot change, but that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent." ~Chinese Proverb

It's Your Thing

Summer is waning and we're heading fast into my very favorite time of year. Oh my, September has arrived in Northern Michigan and I'm excited. Fall in the northwoods is outstanding and September has to be the absolutely best month of all!!

Many of you know that I see more than my share of wildlife close to home. The south side of my property borders thousands of acres of State Forest. I live in these woods and have a good five acres between me and any neighbors to the north. But occasionally I’m reminded they are there, usually on holidays when the neighborhood comes alive with the sounds of music, children, and the occasional piece of power equipment. As the crow flies, my neighbors are pretty close. As the dog wanders, it’s not such a short path. So on this Labor Day, when I discovered my dogs had decided to go on a little outing, I headed north, not expecting to see much wildlife. But I knew the dogs would head towards people, activity and, most importantly, food.

As I marched up the road and came within earshot of yapping dogs and the smell of BBQ, I was sure I would find my runaways. This first stop was a Labor Day family reunion that looked more like a blend of Johnny Cash and Elvis convention goers. Everyone was dressed in black, complete with either biker boots or cowboy boots and big belt buckles. And just what bottle did all that black wavy hair come from? There were a lot of little dogs I could not identify. But you know the kind. The ones that can easily sit on your lap and discriminately snack right off the plate of picnic food you’re balancing on your knees. I politely accepted some potato salad as I was told my dogs had just come through heading north. As I moved on in my search, the karaoke machine was being turned up to full volume and one of the senior members of the group was at the microphone belting out his rendition of “I Walk the Line.”

One more house to the north found me in the middle of a big truck Labor Day party. In fact that’s exactly what the sign said, “Big Ass Truck Crossing.” It appeared everyone came to this event in trucks you could only access with a step ladder. I’m guessing that’s not how they really get in those trucks. Pulling out your little ladder does not quite seem manly enough for this group. But I was too shy to ask these beefy, beer-embolden guys for details. If anyone knows the real secret to getting into one of these “bad” machines, please email me. Besides, I had dogs to hunt down and the smell of grilled meat wafting through the neighborhood woods suggested I had my work cut out for me. These jumbo men were, however, incredibly friendly as they offered me a beer and jovially informed me my dogs had just moved through and headed across the creek.

So I rolled up my pants and made my way to stop number three. These dogs on the other side of the creek were all hounds and this appeared to be some sort of Labor Day, pre-hunting season gathering. I can’t report much about the food at this event except that it was most likely wild game that had been simmering for some time in a gravy sauce. I accepted an offered piece of venison jerky and moved on. Hound dogs baying as I exited.

Next door were more pickup trucks. But this time the trucks were not quite so high off the ground or laden with dog boxes and spot lights. Instead each truck had a ladder rack and a tool box in the bed. This group was building a log cabin. Grilled kielbasa and hot dogs was the fare. I opted for a handful of chips and kept moving as I was told my dogs had last been seen heading back across the creek.

I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland as I watched the farmer who lives down the road and his buddies fly over the tree tops of my neighborhood in their ultra lights. Ah, if only I had that advantage on my dog search. Alas, that was not the way I was traveling. I rolled up my pant legs and waded back into the creek.

I finally caught up with the delinquent pooches at the most famous of all Labor Day traditions, the annual yard sale/picnic. Chicken was on the grill. I opted for a piece of chocolate cake as I made my purchase of a wooden-handled spatula.

With my runaways in tow, a new spatula and a full belly, I hoofed it home while wondering how, in a world of such diversity, we’re able to find those we will most connect with. Our choice of pets, food, and transportation seem to be some common factors. I’ll keep you posted as I figure it out. I can suggest that if you want to experience some wildlife and diversity in your own neighborhood, you might start by owning a couple of dogs. Or is it that they own you?


"While the spirit of neighborliness was important on the frontier because neighbors were so few, it is even more important now because our neighbors are so many." ~Lady Bird Johnson

Defenseless

I rarely need to be defensive. And I'm never on the offense. Generally, people, things and events come and go through my life without any altercations.

I went back to one of my favorite fish camps the last week of July. It's a wonderful place just south of Hearst, Ontario where, as always, the Walleye and Northern Pike fishing is outstanding.

About day three, Sam, the camp owner, and I decided to fish a small lake that had a reputation for BIG pike. We beached our boat and motor and walked the short portage over the dried creek bed to this lake. Someone had left a small 12-foot fishing boat on the other side. Great! All we had to do was go back and grab oars, tackle and rods. There would be no hard work dragging boat and motor over the portage this day. There was only one dilemma. We quickly discovered we did not have oars but paddles instead. Now paddling a fishing boat is doable, if the winds are not too strong, but it's not nearly as easy as rowing. We decided to go anyway.

Although the wind was not strong, we laughed hard at ourselves as we tried to figure out how to paddle a fishing boat. Mostly we went in circles with Sam paddling in the front of the boat and me in the back. I'm too embarrassed to tell you how long it took us to figure out we could move forward, and even backward, when we both sat on the middle seat, each paddling on a side. We brought ourselves to tears laughing at our incompetence and how long it took us to discover such a simple system.

About 4:00 p.m. we decided to head back to the portage, hike to our boat and motor, and get back to camp in plenty of time for a nice fish diner. About 75 feet from the portage, I spotted something dark moving in the water and pointed it out to Sam. It looked like it could be a very large beaver. Or,……the head of a bear! As the bear emerged from the water, we were surprised to see a 350-400 pound black bear with water shining and dripping off his dark, black coat.

But the awe turned to confusion when he plopped down right on the edge of our portage trail. We knew he had seen and scented us. But he just didn't seem to care. So we yelled and banged our now trusty paddles on the side of the boat. This didn't seem to discourage him one bit. What to do?

Our first line of defense was to enjoy the sight while eating all the trail mix. No sense in tempting Smokey with peanuts, sunflower seeds, raisins and M & M’s. We finished the trial mix but he was still there. Our second line of defense was to throw back the fish we had caught. Yes, they survived. Dinner was looking more and more like beans and rice and the bear looked like he was thinking about a nap. Our third Line of defense was to wash off that sweet smelling Banana Boat sunscreen. I just didn't want to smell that good once my feet hit dry ground.

And then we approached ever so cautiously with our new and improved paddling system. About 25 feet from the portage, just when we were thinking we might practice backing up, Mr. Bear decided he'd had enough and ambled into the bush.

Adrenaline got us back to our boat and motor in record time. Beans and rice was actually starting to sound good.

What would have happened to our fishing expedition if we'd had foresight and thought about the possibility of a bear blocking our path? At the extreme, we would not have portaged into this lovely lake at all. We would have missed the beauty, the outstanding fishing and our chance to be silly with paddles. At the least, our fishing day would have been clouded with thoughts of looming peril.

So was this something we should have prepared for? Maybe. But a life full of preparation for situations that are yet only imagined is not much of a life at all. I'm choosing to keep my guard down, come what may.

" Everything of value is defenseless." ~Lucebert

Another Lesson From The Creek

By mid summer, you can often find me plopped in a chair in the creek with a good book. In July the mosquitoes seem to back off. Perhaps that's because they are ending their breeding season. More likely it's because the air at the creek is a swarm of dragonflies and damselflies, iridescent creatures fluttering around my head and occasionally landing on me. They seem to appreciate me as much as I enjoy them. I've learned to love these voracious meat eaters not only for their beauty, but their ability to spot their favorite prey, mosquitoes, from as far away as 40 yards and fly in for the kill at speeds up to 30 miles an hour. They appreciate me, I believe, for my ability to attract their quarry.

My attention is frequently drawn from the book to the water swirling around my legs and what lies beneath. There are treasures at my feet. Beautiful stones in various shades of red, green yellow, brown and white. Like gems, they sit on the creek bed tempting me. So clear, so vibrant, magnified in both size and color by the water that flows over them.

Styx, my big lab, joins me to roam the banks and lay in the deep pools when his black coat has soaked up more heat then he can stand. Jersey, my chocolate lab, has become a frog dog. Several years ago she discovered that by walking the edge of the creek, she could stir up frogs that would make a mad dash for the safety of deeper water. A few times, only a few, she has caught a frog. I'm always startled when she returns to me and spits a confused frog into my lap. Probably not more startled than the frog. There it sits, often for as much as 10 seconds, Jersey and I watching intently, knowing any moment it will figure out which way is up and take a wild, long leap back to the creek. Then I resume my reading and Jersey resumes the hunt.

On Sunday, my friends Don and Maggie joined me in the creek. It was Maggie who observed another lesson from the creek. She marveled at the beautiful stones on the creek bottom, wanting to see each one more closely. And yet each time she reached for a particularly beautiful stone, her hand would cause the flowing creek water to blur her visibility, coming up with not the stone she was seeking but another in its stead. Those times that she was lucky to find her target, the beauty of the gem she had sought often faded when it left the water. So as we prepared to climb the bank and return to the campfire that had softened to embers, ready to roast our dinner, Maggie gave back to the creek all but one of the stones she had successfully collected, pointing out that they belonged there. Pointing out that our beauty is very much about the environment in which we are seen.

Choose your environment well. Make it a reflection of you. Create the environment that nurtures you. The dragonflies and damselflies will tell you that life can be too short when you settle for less than that environment that reflects you at your best.

"A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can let alone."  ~ Henry David Thoreau

Bush Cut

I just returned from my annual May fishing frenzy in the Northern Ontario bush. These 10 days kicked off the 2005 fishing season for me. And I'm headed back up for a long weekend next Thursday through Monday. Yikes! I've got to start packing!

On this trip, we did an incredible amount of cutting. We cut brush on overgrown trails to lakes we had not yet fished. We cut up fish for dinner. We cut wood for evening campfires. We cut through weeds in shallow water to get to deeper fishing holes. We cut through the clouds of black flies on the portages to each lake. We cut cards to see who was cooking and who was cleaning. And on day five, after much whining and moaning about no longer being able to get a brush through my dirty hair, we cut that too. It took about 2 minutes. “Don't worry, I’ll take care of it” was the last thing I heard before I saw about 6 inches of my hair fly over my shoulder and into the campfire. That will teach me to keep my grousing to myself when everyone else at fish camp is looking for a good time.

It was really a very simple 10 days. Nothing was rushed. I read a couple of books and fished, ate and slept. I laughed a lot.

And, besides the obvious new hair cut, I cut a few other things out of my life. There was no T.V., of course, at camp. And I've not had the urge to turn it on since I've been home. It wasn't really the T.V. itself that I cut out of my life. It was the trivia and inferior debris that vibrates through it. Time didn't really exist either. Oh, on some level I was aware that it was morning, afternoon or evening. I was aware that it was time to eat or sleep. But I cut out caring about what hour it was. This is so very different from my routine at home where I have clients scheduled by the hour. I think that's one of the reasons I go to the bush to fish? Time stands still and I stop being bothered by the multiple tiny thoughts that an awareness of each hour creates. There's no urge to interfere or do something about or with them.

And the one little thing I was bothered by got handled in 2 minutes flat. How simple is that? Open my mouth and let the Universe handle the details. And thanks to my friend Jim for being such a straight cutter, stepping up to the task quickly and handling the matter before I got too obsessed!

“In wilderness is the preservation of the world.” ~ Henry David Thoreau