Bear with me while I grow a brain

The more I think about it, the more amazed I am my friends and I never landed in the emergency room.

OK, well, a couple of us did, but considering all of the stupid stuff we did, the ER-to-stupidity ratio is stunningly low.

Reading a story about bear sightings triggered a memory of one such act of stupidity.

I was dirt bike riding with a buddy of mine named Rob. We were 14 years old, invincible, wise beyond all human understanding and had way more testicular fortitude than brains.

The way we used to ride should have been enough to warrant several interactions with someone in the emergency medical field, but somehow we managed to escape every situation unscathed.

From clipping a cow at 50 mp/h and walking away – after I was done tumbling through the field that is – to being run over by my own motorcycle, there was no shortage of situations that should have ended badly.

So what does riding a dirt bike like an immortal have to do with a bear? I'm getting to it.

You see, one of our favourite riding activities was exploring. We would find an old trail, path or logging road and see where it went.

On this particular warm summer's day, we were several kilometres deep in the bush and had not seen another human for quite a while when we came across the wild version of Winnie the Pooh.

This was not some cuddly, loveable bear. But a wild beast, and a fairly large one at that.

We roared up on our bikes, the bear saw us and immediately took off into a tree-filled gully.

We stopped our bikes and watched the beast smash its way through the trees.

We looked at each with the same look: wow, is that ever cool.

Then one of the dumbest ideas of my life formed and was quickly spoken: Hey, let's see where he went.

I know, I know – pure stupidity.

We hopped off our bikes and began working our way up the gully. We could not hear the black beast anymore, which meant it has run far enough away we could not hear it, or it had stopped moving and was somewhere ahead of us.

Now, I have never claimed to be overly bright, as I am sure this tale is validating, but even my teen aged brain had a moment of reason.

About 50 metres into the woods, we both stopped, looked at each other and agreed this is one of the dumbest things we have ever done.

Suddenly, bravado was replaced by near panic as we made out way back to our bikes. Slowly at first, then running as fast as we could as we were positive the creature was only a few feet behind us, angry at the intrusion and thirsting for our fresh, teen age blood.

The bikes were sitting at the side of the road and we jumped on them, pulled out the kick start and prepared to make a fast getaway.

Except for one slight problem: my friend's bike would not start.

We were dead. That's it, the bear was going to come out and get us both because my buddy's Honda decided it did not want to come to life.

He jumped on the kick starter with a ferocity I had never seen before. Sweat was pouring out of his helmet as we both kept a close eye on the forest around us.

Kick after kick, the bike would not start – until he noticed the engine kill switch was engaged.

He flipped the switch, the bike started and we took off like a couple of escaped criminals.

It was years before I told my dad about the bear story, and he looked at me with the same look I am sure many of you had throughout this tale of idiocy.

Did I mention I have never claimed to be overly bright?

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

So long Junior, I will miss you. Who knew?

So my oldest child has flown the coop.

While hardly a kid anymore – he is 22 years old after all – he will always be a child because I was there when he was barely old enough to lay in a crib and wiggle.

I know many people who watched as their children spread their wings and took off, but to be perfectly honest, at the time, I really didn't understand what the big deal was.

I moved out when I was a young man, just like billions of other young people have done throughout the course of time.

As the papa bear, it was my job to raise my children to the point where they are able to move out on their own, then it was “Don't let the door hit your butt on the way out.”

I know a papa bear might not be the best example of parenting in the wild because an adult male bear will attack any other male bear that comes in his territory, even his own child.

But considering male lions eat their young, I think I will with the bruin analogy.

I have never attacked my kids, nor threatened to eat them, so I guess I am doing OK.

Anyway, Junior reached an age where he wanted to take off on his own, to explore new worlds, to live in a different city than the one he was raised.

It was a day I had been thinking about for years, but when the day came I was not doing cartwheels across the lawn – mainly because I am way to old to be doing cartwheels across the lawn - but also because I was not that thrilled with Junior jumping from the nest.

What? What is this? What is this odd feeling I have? I did my job, I raised him as best I could and now I should be able to sit back, wave goodbye and get on with getting the other two out of the house.

But instead of seeing a young man spreading his wings, all I could see was the little boy who held so many grasshoppers in one hand their guts were squishing between his fingers.

Suddenly, the big, tough papa bear was feeling more like a hormonal tween.

During the eight-hour drive to his new city – I helped him move like any papa bear would – all I could think of was the days gone by and the moments a father shares with his young son.

Was I sad Junior was all grown up, something I had worked hard to help make happen?

I surprised even myself because I was.

That can't be right. I'm the big tough papa bear. It was the mama bear who was supposed to be sad little bear is leaving the clan. Papa bear is the one who was supposed to hold the door as Junior made an exit before doing a little dance because it was one down and two to go.

But there I was, the big tough papa bear feeling very melancholy about Junior leaving the cave.

I know it is how life works: you are born, you are a baby, then a kid, then a teen, then a young man and then you move out.

I was ready for it, prepared for it, at times I was almost longing for it so imagine my surprise when I was saddened by it.

With Junior gone there would be things like left overs in the fridge, gas in my car and finally a spare room where I could put my treadmill – yes I actually use the treadmill for more than collecting dust.

Hmm, perhaps there is some good to Junior flying the coop and striking out on his own. I just wonder if his flight will imitate that of a homing pigeon.

I guess we will have to wait and see.

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

A camping we will go - with guns of course

I will say one thing about camping with my buddy, you are well protected.
My friend is what is known as a gun enthusiast. In other words he has enough fire power to repel the entire zombie apocalypse by himself.
Of course, he has all the proper permits, certificates and qualifications to be a one-man army. He is an avid hunter so the guns are more than just for show.
When life was not so busy, we used to get our families together to lounge in the wooded hills for a few days to forget about life's woes and sip upon fermented fruits, hops and barley.
Often we would go 'bush' camping, at a forestry site far from the mainstream campsites where your neighbour is two feet away.
This was real camping where the only water you had was what you brought with you and the only food is what you prepared before you left. There was no concession, no market to run to for a latte and no flushing toilets.
Yup, it was camping where men were men and you were pitted against the elements. Of course, if the elements got too bad you jumped into your trailer and cranked up the furnace, but still you were communing with nature away from the mainstream crowd.
We were still in the wilds of the province, a long way from civilization and in the backyard of woodland creatures that do not care humans are the dominant species on the planet. Once you enter the forest, you become part of the food chain, not the master of it.
We are only dominant because of our brains. When it comes to muscle, tenacity, power and ferocity we skinny, weak little humans are no match for woodland masters like a bear.
I read if you encounter a bear you are supposed to not panic (yea, right), walk away slowly (yea, right) and talk calmly to the bruin (yea, right). I wonder if urine would act as a bear repellent because there would be plenty of that around me.
They also say you are supposed to throw an item to distract the bear – like a hat or a jacket or someone from the next campsite.
No, when you are that far in the woods, you are no longer at the top of the food chain, unless you are camping with my friend.
You see my buddy, Mark, does not just bring the regular camping accessories such as folding chairs, hot dogs, marshmallows and other standard gear.
Sure he has all that stuff, but he also packs something with a little more kick – like a 12 gauge bolt action shotgun which is ideal for campsite defense.
If we went to a provincial campsite, he would leave the weaponry at home and just bring his standard load of food and booze, but if we were venturing off the beaten path, he would always be packing heat.
If an aggressive bear, wolf, squirrel or gopher did show up, Mark would dispatch it without hesitation.
But in all our years of camping, Mark only grabbed his shotgun once when a big black bear was meandering through the campsite, but despite sniffing a few things and having a look around it really did not bother anyone and Mark was not forced to go Rambo on it.
In fact, he has never had to use the boom stick to defend the campsite, but you know what they say, better heavily armed, than sorry.

Copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh