Tribute to Bear dog

   

Testimony of a Gaddabout

   After driving two days straight, it felt great to get out of my father’s van. My dog, Mr. Bear, was even more elated than I, and showed his appreciation by relieving himself on the nearest available tree trunk. I gave him a few more minutes to investigate the new surroundings, as I am sure he was picking up on a myriad of unfamiliar and delightful smells. My less than spectacular nose also picked up an easily discernible odor, breakfast, which came wafting out of the small diner each time a customer opened the door.

   I put Mr. Bear back into my dad’s work-van, a white ford which he dubbed ‘’Vanna White’’.  It was a fitting name, just as his previous
van, ‘’Vincent Van Gogh’, which was an unseemly and not quite red color, pockmarked with rust spots to show it’s age and experience. Walking into the small diner I felt alien-like, as all eyes seemed to follow me just like in the old black and white movies where a painting of the Mona Lisa or some other portrait had its eyes cut out so some creepy guy could spy on the unfortunate parties in the next room. After my long and awkward walk to the back of the diner, I took a seat with my dad and his gang of compadres, a motley assortment of childhood buddies that get together every year or so to explore national parks. I found it amazing that even though they reside in different parts of the country; Florida, Arizona, Michigan and Washington, they all met up at this greasy spoon in Salmon, Idaho within just two hours of each other.  After the re-introductions and our bellies full, we set off for our destination, the “Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness Area” in the Northern Rocky mountains of Idaho. As our caravan started up the long and winding route to where vehicles could no longer ascend, the feeling was ominous yet exciting. I wasn’t sure of what I had gotten myself into, but I was pretty sure I’d remember it for the rest of my days.

   The Bold Mountain tops seemed to glower down at me, like they knew I was about to tramp all over them for my own pleasure. They then decided to send me a warning signal in the form of a giant grizzly bear standing at the side of the road doing its best to give off a forbidding atmosphere, which quickly evaporated when we showed no signs of slowing and it scurried off up the side of the mountain. As mighty as that bear was, it was not stupid, and knew it was no match for our rolling contraptions of metal, whose engines growled and echoed through the mountain range. We pulled over to get a more personal look at the majestic mountain beast and take a few snapshots, when a bear of a different sort, Mr. Bear, hopped out of the van to see what all the fuss was about. I panicked at the thought of him running up after the big grizz, like it was just another neighborhood dog for him to sniff about on. I quickly grabbed Mr. Bear and locked him in my own human-to-canine version of a full-nelson, assuring he would not act on his instincts. The photography my father did was a futile performance since he left the lens cap on the camera, and any attempt at capturing our first encounter with a  wild grizzly bear in a picture quickly vanished as surely as that bear had. But before he disappeared into the woodland, he turned around and gave one last brief glance at our herd of onlookers, and I swear that bear looked right at me and winked like he knew we would meet up again eventually.

   Once we made it to the graveled parking area, with the sun blazing overhead in its essential frenzy, we unloaded our packs and said our farewells to the chariots that carried us thus far, and made our way to the trail that would lead us to our target deep in the wilderness. I realized quickly the toll 50 extra pounds takes a person, especially one as out of shape as I was. Mr. Bear also carried his own backpack, but it didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much, as since he was grinning from ear to floppy ear and swiftly made his way to the front as the leader of the pack. He guided us through the meandering path; occasionally looking back to make sure we were following his direction. He is a big dog, in the realm of one hundred and fifteen pounds. As I watched him bounce in his graceful stride, only hampered by the bulky backpack, which was actually more like saddlebags than any backpack I’d ever seen, I couldn’t help but think of him as some elegant and regal donkey. Every once in a while he’d catch a scent that interested him, and he would stop to inspect the peculiar smell. After noticing that our group just kept on without him, Mr. Bear would shove right past nearly bumping some of us off the thin pathway to regain his position as pack master.

   Hiking over 12 miles through the wondrously captivating mountainous terrain, with incredible views and vistas around every bend, we finally reached the spot that would become our home for the next five days, “Welcome Lake”, and what a welcoming it was! I tore off my pack, and helped Mr. Bear with his, and together we scoped the vicinity for the best ground to put up our tent. After staking our claim, we explored the nearby landscape and came across a beautiful stream filled with the coldest, most pristine water ever. It was better than you could ever imagine, better than the most expensive store-bought water available, a gift from our planet gushing right out of the mountainside, absolutely free. Mr. Bear didn’t hesitate to accept this offering to quench his hard-earned thirst and happily lapped at the conceivably infinite water supply. After filling up our water bottles we made our way to the lake. Had I not seen the sporadic ripples on its surface, I may have perceived it to be a humongous pane of glass, the way it reflected the habitat that encompassed, yet still showcasing the contents within.

   We spent the next several days executing numerous jaunts near the campsite. These day-hikes comprised of only a few miles distance to and fro, which meant we were able to leave the cumbersome packs back at our post. Though all of the hikes were pleasant, the most memorable was our trek to a saddle between two mountain peaks. En route to our objective we passed “Heart Lake”. Astonishing as that body of flawless water was, it wasn’t until we reached the saddle above that I realized how aptly named it was. It really was shaped like a giant blue heart, pulsing with the life it fed and streams branching off like arteries sustaining the local wildlife. I turned around to see what treasures laid behind me and seen a series of four lakes known as the “Terrace Lakes” way down below. From that heavenly vantage point I bet a keen eye could see more than fifty miles into the distance, and surely my eyes grasped at least forty of them. Littered with mountaintops and splotches of perfect blue the panorama was breathtaking, if not a bit overwhelming. I sat on the craggy surface of the saddle, taking in as much as I could until I was almost completely hypnotized by the beauty of it all. The mesmerizing spell that the landscape had cast upon me was suddenly severed by the clinks and clanks of falling rocks. To the left of me, a swift yet extremely nimble mountain goat was traversing the sheer, almost cliff like mountainside as effortlessly as if it were a flat city street.

    Perhaps my fondest moments of the trip came during nighttime, when I would lie down and gaze up at the black ocean above, with stars bobbing like a thousand sparkly fish feeding off some type of unseen cosmic plankton. The tranquil cracks and pops of the fire served as an agreeable and fitting background noise as my eyelids became too heavy to uphold. Within reach was a dozing Mr. Bear, possibly dreaming of the strange creature we happened upon earlier that day, that massive grizzly bear, which never did turn up again.