Nov 16, 2019 5 min read

There are a lot of things that can happen to a person when he spends his time in an unfamiliar atmosphere. It might be little more than a slight admitted fear when the shadows get long, or a strange animal calls for a mate, but it does occur. Everyone has something that sets them off.

We were camped in a remote part of Elk County, waiting for the morning so that this group of four brave men could hunt for bear. It was the night before the opening of the season and I didn’t know how the others felt but I wasn’t afraid I would see a bear, instead I feared not seeing one. Back then, the normal bear hunt numbered in the hundreds not the high numbers taken today.

After a few bear stories, it was time for bed but one of us had to take a trip out of the camper to go to the bathroom. It was one of those nights when you couldn’t see but a few feet as clouds covered the moon. Of course, out there, one didn’t hear the familiar sound of cars passing by, or for that matter even a rustling of leaves would seem out of place. The excitement and expectation of tomorrow’s hunt kept us from falling right to sleep and we chattered mostly about bears. Suddenly, the door of the camper flew open and our partner hurried in. He was in a sweat. Seems he had heard something moving a few feet from him on the dirt road and went to investigate. After all, he was a brave sort and feared no one, including bears. At 6-feet tall and 230 pounds of muscle, he really had little to fear, or at least it seemed that way in the familiar area of his home. Here is the story he related to us that cold dark night in the mountains:

As he approached the roadside cover, he actually saw movement. He stopped moving to search for a bear or some other predatory critter. Out hopped a gigantic rabbit. Now, he claims that it moved toward him at a high rate of speed and that he headed for the camper for help. To me, it sounded like he watched Monty Python too many times, but I must say the next morning there where disturbances in the roadside mud. Not tracks, though. We did search but scuffed up dirt. Just think, our north woods are not home to Sasquatch but instead there roams a gigantic rabbit. Oh the fun we had with that one.

Of course, there are other encounters that occur in the woods of Northern Pennsylvania. It wasn’t far from this same area that found Eileen and me hunting for bear. Bears seem elusive critters and avoid old hawk-eye Block, but here we were, ever trying. The day before this, while on a walk, we discovered bear sign and decided to sit in this spot just before dark. There was a gas line through the woods that allowed easy entrance to the place. We were about 100 yards apart, feeling that we could hear each other this way. I had been on this stand no more than 20 minutes when here she came running up the hill to me. Now, that woman never broke a stand and she stayed in one place better than me, so I wondered what had gone amiss. When she reached me, she was still shaking. She told me this story:

There she was, sitting on the perfect stand. A large rocky point up above the well-traveled trail gave her a sense of safety and control. She had only been there a short while when she heard a noise behind her and turned slowly for a peek. There, on the same rock, was a gigantic black bear, or at least that’s the story I heard. Well, not wanting to share any kind of dinner or resting place with the bear, she decided to depart. Oh, and I should mention, before she left the bear’s company she tossed a candy bar she was eating at it. Bit of Honey, maybe not the best idea to eat this in bear country. That was a true Eileen story. She always shared her last piece of candy with others.

One last bear story and set in the same mountain area. Three of us had parked the truck along a seldom-traveled road and went in separate directions in search of Mr. Bruin. When we returned to the truck, we noticed a green puddle under the motor. Yikes, truck troubles. The raising of the hood revealed why the antifreeze was on the ground instead of in the radiator where it belonged. A groundhog had eaten part of the radiator, or at least he had chewed on part of it. How did we know it was a groundhog? Well, maybe the fact that he was sitting on the hose glaring at us for interrupting his banquet. Luckily, we had a mechanic among us and found a scrapyard that happened to have a Dodge radiator. Strange things occur in bear season, I always say. Oh, wait, one last story. I just remembered, and it is weird.

Long before the blaze orange laws, I saw a fellow in bear season wearing a woman’s fur coat while hunting. I guess it kept him warm, and back then no one had any money. After that, I quit hunting early and drove to Kinzua Dam to fish the tailrace for Walleye. The shock of meeting a fellow in a fur coat in the woods during bear season was too much for me. Bear hunters are a strange lot.