This article originally appeared in Canoeroots and Family Camping magazine.
Mike Kipp saw it first. Thankfully, he’s an early riser. I was second up, and spot- ted Mike motioning me excitedly from the shore of our island campsite. He pointed out the black bear swimming off another nearby island.
At first, it was cool to see the bear—we had seen little wildlife on our trip. Then I realized he was bee-lining it straight for us. Mike was ecstatic. He hurried over to his tent and woke his family, inviting them to come out and share the experience.
I’d rather not.
I’m bear phobic—a condition acquired through incidents involving trivial things like tubes of toothpaste or Thermoses of coffee, just to name a couple. I sprinted to my family’s tent and woke my wife and daughter Kyla, telling them to prep for a hasty retreat. In her morning haze, Kyla was distraught—it was her sixth birthday and she was anticipating a breakfast of chocolate cake and the mountain of presents she knew Mom had been lugging in her pack the entire trip.
By the time everyone shook the morning cobwebs, the bear was close enough to look us in the eye. Mike was enjoying the magic with his family. I was freaking out about impending doom. We came to a com- promise on the urgency of the situation and agreed to scare the bear off when it reached midway between the two islands.
At the halfway mark, with the hair on my neck standing upright, I yelled at the bear to turn tail. I shot off a round of bear bangers. Still, it remained determined to make landfall on our island. Mike fired his starter’s pistol. It sounded more like an air gun than the elephant gun I had hoped for. The bear didn’t even blink.
I had an entire arsenal—air horn, bear spray, flares—but, a canoeist to the core, I instinctively reached for my paddle. I beat the paddle against the granite shore and yelled obscenities that I hope Kyla will for- get before she is seven. The bear retreated.
The bad news was the paddle I used was the one Mike had hand carved for me a few years back. My abuse had split it right down the middle. Mike didn’t say much (Mike never really says much). He just solemnly stated, “I guess I’ll have to make you a new paddle.”
My daughter was none to pleased with my actions either. In an attempt to calm her, my wife told her that I had invited the bear over for cake. With a look of disgust she said, “Dad, I can’t believe you scared the bear away from my birthday party!”
Kevin Callan is inviting Winnie the Pooh to his daughter’s next birthday party.
This article appeared in Canoeroots & Family Camping, Late Summer 2011.
