2 weeks Ago
Back in 2007, Teresa and I stuffed what we’d need (tent, stove, sleeping bags, etc.) into backpacks and hiked a rough trail into the Adirondack High Peaks. We set up camp at a small spot overlooking a verdant wetland.
We were miles from any road, home or business. Peter Corrigan, of Buffalo, has met a few bears in his time. That evening we’d polished off our tasty freeze-dried dinner and cleaned up.
We were about to enjoy some decent Merlot from wee plastic bottles. The site was neat. Only the tent and water bottles were evident.
Slight sprinkles of rain sent us under the boughs of a nearby hemlock. Dusk had slowly begun to descend. Sheltered, we enjoyed the wine and reviewed our day.
And then the black bear appeared. I looked over at our site and there was “Nosy” (a nickname Teresa assigns to all inquisitive bruins). Hoarsely I stage-whispered “bear in camp!” Teresa nodded, noted our guest’s presence and gulped wine.
The bear was simply beautiful, its black coat shimmering in the fading light. It sported a bulky red collar around its neck, indicating it had been caught and fitted with a radio transmitter by Environmental Conservation Officers (ECOs). They could thus keep track of certain “bears of interest.
” As one bear might huff to another: “Ya get too nosy, ya get a collar.” Nosy sniffed our campsite thoroughly. Per High Peaks regulations, our food was stashed in a locked, black canister hidden some distance away.
We were confident the bear would get no free snacks here. I took a small step and landed on a dry twig that snapped loudly. The bear jumped at the sound, realizing it wasn’t alone.
It sniffed the air once or twice. Then it raced off down a shallow embankment and was gone in seconds. Hearts pounding, we said in unison, “Good bear!” This bear was “good” because it still feared humans and had left in a hurry.
Nightfall wrapped itself around us. We climbed into the tent and lay in our bags, still mightily jazzed by Nosy’s sudden appearance and departure. An ECO passing by the next morning was very interested in our experience.
We’ve encountered black bears about a half-dozen times during our hiking and camping forays. In most cases, the bears were good — i.e.
they satisfied their curiosity and moved on. There was, however, one regrettable instance when things got a little dicey. In 1999 we invited another couple to share our state campground site in the western Adirondacks.
We assured them that the woods and friendly campground vibe would make for safe, wonderful fun. Though definitely not campers, these folks overcame their hesitation and gamely joined us. They had messed up: they trusted us.
First night in camp we enjoyed a nice dinner and cleaned up. Then, after pleasant conversation around a crackling campfire, we’d tucked our guests into their tent for a glorious night in the woods. Unfortunately we had not gotten the memo that a large, obnoxious female bear had been visiting campsites nightly, seeking food.
Sure enough, that she-bear came into our site and wreaked some havoc. It tossed plates and pots around, and even chewed on some camp cutlery. We were all suddenly on high alert (i.
e. scared witless). At one point the bear, just outside our tent, emitted snorts and snarls as it searched for stray tasty morsels.
Yikes! After what seemed like forever, she moved on to other sites. Thoroughly spooked, we cautiously emerged from our respective tents. Our friends promptly transferred their bedding to their vehicle and hunkered down.
They departed at dawn, and haven’t asked to go camping with us again. Catch the latest in Opinion Get opinion pieces, letters and editorials sent directly to your inbox weekly!.
