The Bear in the Woods

I have had three encounters with The Bear. If I am lucky, I may see Him again.

The first time I saw The Bear, I didn’t see Him at all. It was winter, and we had just completed our underground house. My dad was annoyed enough by the 70’s oil embargo to be one of the first to “go green” in new construction. We had moved from the magik-heavy valley of my childhood, up to a west-facing site near the top of our mountain. This change in venue had opened up a vast forested area for an eleven year old boy to roam. Specifically, the Eastern face of our property on the other side of the mountain and the old Queen Family farm.

Just to give you an idea of the geography involved, it was a short hike to the top of our hill, maybe 400 vertical feet. Then the property opened up into a gently cupped hillside that funneled down to a sharp drop off ending in a briar-rimmed plunge to the river below. It was on the edge of this final flat above the brambles, that the Queen farm squatted. Long abandoned and nearly inaccessible by truck, the dilapidated house and outbuildings were a magnet. Never mind that it was half an hour from there to home, and even farther to anyplace else.

Now for those of you who live a sheltered life, you might think an 11 year old wandering thru the winter woodlands in the backwaters of West Virginia is poor parenting. Well, you might be right, but I was the third boy and somewhat expendable. It was also a much more innocent time, so hold your judgment of my poor parents. We all lived, with no major scarring. What more do you want out of childhood?

The winter of 78-79 was just about as perfect a season as a boy could want. It snowed enough to keep the ground covered for months, but not so much that we couldn’t get out to town. We may have spent more time outside that winter than we did the rest of the year. Well, no. But it seems like it looking back.

One bright January morning, I bundled up and headed out, four-buckle Arctic’s firmly in place. I don’t remember the trek over the hill top, nor the hike down to the Queen place. All that was blotted out by the massive set of paw prints I came across between the old Queen place and a sagging out building. I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized just how alone I was so very deep in the woods. I remember how sharp every crystal of every snow flake was. I remember being truly terrified. The cold air was suddenly hot, as every sight and sound was amplified. There, on the fresh snow were tracks with at least a 7 foot gap. Only a bear of epic proportions could have made such tracks.

I made it home, somehow, breathless and wide-eyed. A welcome chastisement from the folks kept me home-bound for a few days, sulking with more relief than regret. Yes, I told the family what I had seen. No, they didn’t really believe me.

The second time I saw the Bear, I saw Him at a distance in the trees.

It was a year or two later and summer had set in, hot and humid. I was mowing our rather expansive lawn on a rusty old riding tractor, when I heard it. A CRACK like a rifle, sharp and sudden. Stabbing at the clutch and slamming the “off” button, I scanned the forest above our house. I am still not sure I can faithfully report having seen the tall oak trees tremble, nor a giant hulking shape of golden brown under the canopy amble along. But, I can report that I did manage to break Olympic sprint records getting back inside my house. After a few hours I gathered my courage and went to see what had happened.

I found a large limb cast to the ground, with huge claw prints, some 12 or 13 feet above the forest floor gouged into the gnarly oak. The Bear had marked His territory, not 200 yards away from my house. Later, I remember thinking how absurdly low 12 feet would seem.

The third time I saw the Bear, I actually did come face to face with Him. It was at my Grandpa’s house, late in the Fall. We were playing Army, with sticks for rifles and horse droppings as grenades. Jason and I had gone thru a pine grove on a flanking maneuver to bombard our cousins when he tripped over a tree root. In the fall, he smacked his noggin and fell on top of a carpet of pine needles. Jason has no recollection of what happened next, but it is indelibly etched in my mind.

The Bear was just suddenly ….. there. I could feel His hulking presence over my shoulder, the hot steam of his breath wet against my neck. Everything slowed. I turned to see the unbelievably large creature sitting on His haunches, looking at me. There was an intelligence and weight in His eyes that let me know I was being judged to a fine measure. I don’t know how long He held me in His eye, seconds, days ….. who can tell? At some point He decided not to eat me. I blinked, and He was gone. I heard Jason stir behind me and I went to help him up.

Some day, perhaps in the spring, I will see The Bear again.