“Is this Mrs. Bigelow?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Linda Minor.
I am a research biologist with Sequoia National Park.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I thought.
“I study human and black bear interactions. You may have heard of the challenges we face
in keeping our bears on a natural diet as opposed to stealing food from
tourists.”
“That sounds like quite a challenge.”
“Yes it is, Mrs. Bigelow.”
“Well how can I help you?”
“I am concerned about your husband, Mrs. Bigelow. He seems to be influencing our bears in a
negative way.”
“What makes you think he’s my husband?”
“Fingerprints, Mrs. Bigelow.”
“Oh..... OK, lets hear it.”
“As you may know, Mrs. Bigelow, people hiking in the park’s
backcountry are required to store their food in bear-proof canisters to prevent
our bears from developing bad habits.”
“But my husband doesn’t carry any food.”
“Your husband seems to have entered into a kind of symbiotic
relationship with the bears. The bears
gather the canisters during the night and leave them in your husband’s
vicinity. Your husband has figured out a
rather primitive although effective way to breech the canisters.”
“What do you mean primitive.”
“Instead of reading the directions, like most people, he
lifts the canister and throws it down on a sharp boulder. After he takes any Snickers bars, he leaves
the area and the bears move in for the rest.”
“Hmm.”
“You see Mrs. Bigelow, those canisters are the only thing
standing between order and complete anarchy in the back country as far as bear
and human interactions are concerned.”
“I suppose so...but there must be something you can do.”
“I really need your husband removed from the area Mrs.
Bigelow. I am concerned that the bears
will learn your husband’s technique by watching him.”
“Here we go again,” I thought. School was out, but I still had a lot to
do. “I suppose I can find time to
retrieve him next weekend, I offered.”
“It’s really quite remarkable, Mrs. Bigelow, but one of our
smarter bears, a female, seems to be infatuated with your husband.”
“WHAT? That does it! I’ll be right down Mrs. Minor. I’m not going to lose my husband to some
ursine floozy.”
“Thank you Mrs. Bigelow, maybe the situation can be salvaged
after all.”
It wasn’t long before I and my son Daniel, who graciously
offered to help, were speeding south. “Do
you really think your relationship with dad is a healthy one?” Daniel
asked. “Why, whatever do you mean?” I
replied. “It just seems like maybe you
should spend some time with him while he’s conscious” he suggested as I stuffed
some Benadryl into a Snickers bar.
“Maybe you could teach him to talk again...that might help.”
With the aid of the GPS collar, we located Jay near the Kearsarge Pass trailhead. Jay was so satiated with his spoils that he
didn’t fall for the spiked Snickers Bar routine. Imploring Daniel to be ready in case Jay
startled and ran, I cautiously approached him.
He greeted me with a big bear hug and seemed to be sobbing
with joy and relief. While I was
captured in his enthusiastic embrace, I heard what sounded like our car
starting. By the time I wiggled loose
and turned around, I was shocked and dismayed to see Daniel speeding away with
an expression of glee on his face. As
the car gained momentum, he rolled down his window and tossed a role of toilet
paper in my general direction. I should
have known....his offer to help me was merely a ploy to gain control of our car
and house for the summer. “Boy is he
going to catch it when I make it home....well...if I make it home” I thought.
Ironically, the tables seemed to have turned. I was now dependent on Jay for his homing
instincts and survival skills, crude and unethical though they might be. It seemed as if my presence rekindled Jay’s
homing instincts because he immediately took my hand and led me up the trail in
what I assumed was a homeward direction.
I could only hope that he wasn’t taking me to meet his new friends.
 |
| Daniel's parting gift. |
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