Bear Story 3 (Part One)

Dear Grandkids – Here’s another story:

Bear Story 3: or I Should Never Have Gotten in the VW Bug with Those Nameless Girls. (Part One)

You will remember that in story 2, two nameless girls, Goldman and I narrowly escaped from the great bear invasion of the summer of 1970. (You should try to find the newspaper coverage. Google ‘strange but true events that happened to Grandpa before he met Grandma.’) The real truth is, I rescued those girls and Goldman but was too modest to say so in story 2. Of course, Goldman would have helped if only he was wearing pants.

That morning, after the bears left, I had to decide whether to get back on my bicycle and carry on for the west coast or to stick around. It was a beautiful campground and the park rangers hadn’t kicked me out, so I decided to stay one more night. Besides, I didn’t know where the bears went. For example, if they were heading for the west coast as well, would I bump into them along the way? And is a five speed bicycle faster than a four legged bear? (There are no three or five legged bears, by the way). I did know that a five speed is faster than a pack of coyotes, something I discovered back when I was on my way through the prairies.

So, having decided to stay one more night, I actually pitched my tent at a campsite because I deduced that the picnic shelter was actually a bear club house in disguise. But, what to do with my day, I wondered. That was when the two girls with no names came up with an idea. “We’re going to take a drive to Banff. Want to come along?” One of them winked at me.

Interesting side note - Today, Banff is a tourist town. Back then, it was home to ten million hippies. I was not a hippie. Even though some people accused me of that. Okay, I had long hair and a scruffy beard. But, I wasn’t wearing bell-bottomed jeans. Or love beads either. (I lost them when I fell down a cliff earlier that week.)

Back to the story… “What about Goldman?” I said.

“We’d ask him,” they said. “But what if he didn’t wear pants?” One of the girls made a gagging noise. It was hard to question their reasoning. Besides I believe they thought I was cute whereas Goldman had that bad habit of his – you know, not wearing pants. Anyhow, I climbed into the backseat of their VW beetle (aka VW Bug.)

Another interesting side note - Back home in Windsor, your Great Uncle Ian and I had a red VW Bug and a black one just in case the red one wasn’t working. (Ask Grandma about why it was a good idea to wear Wellingtons in the passenger seat of the red one, especially when it was raining.)

Back to the story - The day was sunny and the mountains were brown and green and mauve and blue with snow caps. They were beautiful. And the day started out beautifully too. Cruising along the Trans Canada.  But then, up ahead one of the girls with no name spied a traffic jam.

“What’s wrong?” asked the other girl with no name.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” said the first girl with no name. She was the one who winked at me, earlier that morning.

We came to a stop at the end of a long line-up of cars. I got out, even though it’s a struggle getting out of the back seat of a VW Bug when the front seats are occupied. The first girl with no name helped by giving me a push. I think she pinched me too. But I can’t be sure. This was almost 50 years ago.

I walked ahead a ways and soon learned what the hold-up was. A bear was in the middle of the road. Just standing there, defying the world. The world-defying bear started walking toward me. I thought, ‘Oh no, is this what my life is going to be like from now on? Bears bumping into me, day and day out, until I’m an old man?’ As you may know, that is not how my life turned out. Other than, I am an old man.

Even though early that morning, I scared away the bear that came into the picnic shelter, I wasn’t sure I could pull off such a feat a second time. So I retreated to the car. And I squeezed into the back again. This time, I was sure the first girl with no name pinched me.

“Turn the car around,” I said.

The first girl with no name looked over her shoulder. “We’re stuck here. Everybody’s stuck.” Then she winked at me.

The bear was still coming. And his brothers and sisters and maybe his first and second cousins had joined him. It was like a whole army of bears. And they were coming straight for us. The captain of the bears, the first one I saw, was now at the front bumper. He slowed down. He spotted me. I would have crouched down but it was too late.

I learned then that some bears are bullies. Out of all the cars and trucks in the traffic jam, this bear decided to pick on our VW Bug. It’s so little. Not much bigger than the bear himself. This bear (I’ll call him ‘Bruno.’) stood on his back legs (not that I’ve ever seen a bear do a hand stand) and plunked his front paws on the roof. The little Bug shook all over (worse than Elvis Presley).

Luckily, the first girl with no name had already rolled up the window because bears are known for having bad breath. Bruno pushed. The VW leaned. Bruno jounced, which is something your Great Grandpa used to do to the bed to wake up Grandma Jane in the morning, (she was a little girl at the time) though this kind of jouncing wasn’t nearly as much fun for us.

Bruno shifted two steps over and looked through the back window. I couldn’t scootch over because the girls’ gear was in the way. He licked the window. I deduced it didn’t taste very good because he only licked it once. I tried to stare Bruno down. Bruno stared back and jounced. While Bruno and I were busy in a stare-down contest, the girls screamed their heads off.

Whether it was the screaming or my staring, Bruno eventually got back to all four legs and sauntered away, strutting along like the king of the castle. He stopped at the next car, to make the man behind the wheel turn prematurely grey.

In the end, the bears left the scene. Likely there was another party to attend. And so, we made it to Banff and spent the day, returning to the Lake Louise campground after sunset.

The End…. But just for today. This saga wasn’t over. Well, it was over for the girls with no name. But not for me. So, watch for Part Two. ‘Bears Can be Dastardly.’ (By the way, the PEI critter pictured is not a bear.)

Bear Story 2 for the Grands

Dear Grandkids

Here is… Bear Story 2. Or How I Escaped the Great Bear Invasion of 1971

In the summer of 1971, your Great Step Uncle Terry and I planned to bicycle across Canada, agreeing to meet up with our friend Mike on the way in Calgary.

Well, Terry chose to play baseball over riding a two wheeler to the west coast. So, I hitched a ride with my friend Nelson who was moving to Saskatoon and shipped my 5 speed by train. And that’s where I started. (Fifty years ago, travel in the west was mostly by wagon train and the buffalo often chased me into the ditch.) Quite bravely, and even though my route was uphill all the way, I arrived in Calgary ahead of schedule to find that my friend Mike had sent me a letter. He changed his mind.  He fell in love or something dumb like that back home, in Windsor. Mike was a farm boy. There’s no accounting for their behaviour.

Undaunted (being quite brave and all that) I set out for the Rockies. I could see these mountains up ahead. They were so high they’d interfered with the satellites (had satellites been invented by that time.)

The road was so steep and the headwind was so strong that sometimes I went backwards even while peddling like a crazy person. (It’s hard to keep your balance on a bicycle that’s going backwards.)

Eventually, I arrived at the Lake Louise campground. Because it was so cold, that night I decided to sleep in a picnic shelter where there was a wood stove. Two girls who drove a Bug thought that was a good idea as did a weirdo in buckskins who when asked his name said, ‘Goldman’ something he made up on the spot. (He gave himself a new name everyday.) The girls didn’t have names. Their parents forgot to do that. (Unless I just forgot – 50 years is a long time.)

Anyhow, we cooked hotdogs and beans on the woodstove and stayed warm around it, drinking tea (using the good china) and telling jokes. Mostly the knock-knock kind. Later we unrolled our sleeping bags in the far corners of the shelter.

My sleeping bag was as warm as a grocery bag, so I got up at six in the morning to feed the woodstove. Sitting on a piece of firewood and blowing into the stove, to get it going, I thought I heard something. Something inside the picnic shelter. 

Spooky. But, as already noted, I was quite brave.

It sounded like a 500 pound WWF wrestler with asthma. I figured Goldman was congested. (And thought I should check for a throat lozenge in my knapsack)

Then along with the heavy breathing I heard something else. You know what a dog sounds like walking on cement, nails clip clopping. That’s what I heard, only louder. Much louder. Maybe, I thought, Goldman was getting up to go to the bathroom and he didn’t remember to pack toenail clippers.

I looked around the corner of the stove to say ‘good morning to Goldman’ but instead of Goldman, there, looking me in the eye, a little arrogantly as I remember, was a ten million pound black bear.

Being nose to nose with a black bear is an unusual thing to happen to a city boy who didn’t pack enough socks for the trip. But never mind that. The point is – have you ever been so surprised that you can’t talk? That’s how surprised I was. Otherwise I would have asked the bear to leave. Even though the shelter wasn’t private property, I was there first.

As we looked at each other, I was thinking, ‘How hungry is he?’ The bear was thinking, ‘Skinny runt, no spare meat on his bones.’ At least, that’s what I hoped he was thinking. After a time, I concluded, ‘This can’t go on, staring at each other. You have to do something.’

What I decided was to say, ‘Shoo,’ and ‘go away,’ but not too loudly because bears are easily annoyed if they are shouted at.

The bear shrugged (It was like he was bored with the conversation) and turned, clip-clopping to the door. (Bears don’t use toe-nail clippers either.)

I jumped up and warned the girls. ‘Bear,’ I yelled. They screamed. Though perhaps they thought I said, ‘Bare’ because it turned out Goldman didn’t own pajamas.

Anyhow, in response to my warning, Goldman had jumped out of his sleeping bag, wearing not a stitch of clothing, not even a hat.

I said, ‘No, really, there’s a bear.’ That’s when Goldman and the girls caught a glimpse of the rear quarters of Pooh’s  third cousin once removed, leaving the shelter. More screaming ensued.

We gathered at the window openings and looked outside. (Goldman now wore a pair of pants, which was the polite thing to do. The girls were fully dressed. As was I. Even though this was the early ‘70s.)

Here comes the scary part - a bear raid was now in full swing. Bears were everywhere, tearing apart ice boxes, jumping on picnic tables, stealing romance novels and peeking in tent doors, asking if anyone had spare change or something like that. After a while, the bears finished scaring the campers, happy to eat most everyone’s breakfast.

Calm now, the girls, Goldman and I cooked up another feast of hotdogs and beans… food always tastes good whenever bears have paid a visit.

And that’s how I escaped the great invasion of black bears circa June 1971.

The end

By Grandpa Hundey… to the best of my recollection.

Survival of the Smartest (A yarn for my five granddaughters and two grandsons)

Bears have always fascinated me. They are big and beautiful and a little bit scary. You don’t see them in the wild often because in general they live deep in the bush. Besides, they are shy – it’s said that if you are walking in the forest, a bear might be nearby. You won’t see her, simply because she is not interested in socializing.

I’ve been lucky enough to come face to face with bears many times, which is something that makes the heart speed up. I have seen them from a distance or from a car too, which is easier on the heart. Still other times I’ve nearly stepped in their smelly droppings. Today I will tell you about my very first face to face encounter.

In 1968 (which may be before you were born), I was walking on a trail near Parry Sound with a friend (my friend was a girl – don’t tell Grandma). The forest was wonderful, full of majestic maples, birch, beech and fir trees. The trail was narrow and twisty and so we couldn’t see far ahead as we made our way to the small lake we’d visited earlier.

Our hike was very quiet and peaceful. We heard no cars or trucks, being so far from anything like roads or houses or stores. 

At the point we first spied the sparkle of lake water through the trees, the trail took one of its sharp bends, this one to the right. That’s when we saw it. A full-grown black bear! Heading straight for us! (Maybe he thought it was his trail.)

We stopped dead (well, at least, I knew for sure that I stopped dead) and I said to myself. ‘Don’t panic. No point in upsetting my friend.’ So I said, “Let’s just back away slowly,” in a voice loud enough for her to hear but not so loud as to tip the bear off about our plans.

Keeping my eye on the bear, I back-peddled, slowly (following my own advice). The bear kept coming

As it turned out, my friend had other ideas that had nothing to do with ‘backing away slowly,’ the clue being there was no answer to my question, “Are you okay?” Puzzled, I took my eyes off the bear and looked over my shoulder. There was my friend in full retreat, way faster than I would have believed possible.

Though a little unsure, I stuck with my original plan and kept backing away. Once around the bend, I could no longer see the bear for trees and so didn’t know whether she had now decided to back away as I had been doing. Or if she ran off like a scaredy cat (much like the plan my friend adopted).

So, not seeing the bear any longer, I turned and walked quickly (my friend was still running). I felt that if I ran too, the bear might think we were in a race and would try to catch up to me.

Eventually, I got back to the car, safe and sound. My friend was already there, sitting in the passenger seat. She explained that “I probably have a stronger survival instinct than you.” Which is another way of saying, “I didn’t have to be faster than the bear I just had to be faster than you.”  

I have more bear stories if you’d like to hear them.

Love you all Grandpa

(That’s a Kananaskis grizzly with cubs, one of them camera shy.)

Getting close

I’m on my umpteenth rewrite. Getting very close. Set in Grand Bend–Exeter, however ‘The Devil’s Elbow’ starts out in Mexico. The character below isn’t in my book. Still, Howlers have big personalities. This guy was offended that someone occupied this room.  Photo credit – Tim Hundey.

Retreat

Five very pretty women, the year about 1927. On the left end sits my grandmother. Second from the right is my very young aunt. The identities of the rest remain unknown though I suspect Grandma’s sister was sitting beside her. Anyhow, I love the joy in their faces. And there are the questions and mysteries. Are they on an all-girls weekend adventure? Did my aunt meet her future husband (my wonderful Uncle Dan) that weekend? What tomfoolery did they stir up? After all, along with joy, the looks betray a good measure of mischief.

Jack Beer's Origins

Photographs stir the imagination, right? Some years ago, I used pictures of my father’s WWII Platoon to help me develop a character for my first mystery. For starters I stole the last name of one of his comrades, Beer, and gave it to my protagonist. Then I rounded out Jack Beer’s family background by borrowing from my own family’s history… taking some truths but fabricating most of it.

Real Books

I know that many readers prefer to actually hold a book in their hands. If that’s you, my mysteries are available at Gregarious Cravings on Main Street, Exeter, The Village Bookshop, Main Street, Bayfield and Fincher’s on the Square in Goderich. Due to Covid the stores are no longer taking on new orders for me. So, go to ‘Contact’ and I’ll make arrangements to get a book to you, if you’d like. Thanks.

Or, if I can swing it, I will deliver your book in person. Just get in touch and we’ll see if that’s possible.

I used to offer a mail service but the costs have risen so high, I found most people took a pass. But, if you insist, contact me and we’ll get ‘er done.  

Hitchcock

As a Hitchcock fan, I like to think he would have used ‘The Interview’ to create one of his creepier episodes. Go to ‘Buy Now’ if you would like to read this short story (at no cost). I retrieved a Bruce Peninsula memory to draw the farmhouse in which the interview took place.

Vancouver Island Bound

This pic from the winter edition of Boomers’ Magazine (Huron-Perth). My fellow-traveller (on a 3400 km bicycle ride. Uphill and into the wind all the way) inspired one of my characters from Things Left Behind. By the way, there were no barber shops in Western Canada in the early ‘70s.

Inspiration

Sometimes my writing needs a creative jump-start but for every day inspiration, I look at a forest scene painted by my daughter Beth… like this one, hanging above my computer screen.