Nowadays, thanks to television and advertising, we tend to think of the outdoors as made exclusively for Subaru-driving youngsters and their perfectly made hair, sporting the latest gadgets. French-press coffee makers, mosquito netting, queen-size plush air beds, have all become the norm. It was not always so. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when real men (and women) braved the elements with cast-iron skillets and a side of bacon, sleeping on the ground in old canvas tents. Ah, the good ol’ days.

My father and I were such men, or so we thought. Intrepid, old-school men of the outdoors, we always kept a hand-made wooden box in the truck bed full of all the true necessities we would need to set out of a weekend after work. Our campsite of choice was located on Rattlesnake Mountain. Made of hard granite, with numerous rocky outcrops and covered with scrub pine, the mountain was aptly named. Rattlesnakes, mountain lions, coyotes, and yes, bears, inhabited the land. We were never the top predators, and it was exhilarating. Bourbon, bullets, and bacon made up the bulk of the stores, in addition to the tents and groundcloths. Every time we set out, we were convinced that we were heirs to Jeremiah Johnson, legends in our own minds.

One particular night our arrogance, lack of common sense, and a little too-much bourbon almost cost us more than our pride. Finishing our usual supper of bacon and potatoes cooked over the campfire, and a fifth of a fifth, we began to get settled in for the night. We kicked the dirt over the still-warm coals, and casually placed the cast-iron skillet on the rock fire ring. In doing so, we had neglected the skills of our forefathers and failed to properly clean and hang the still-greasy skillet. As it was a hot and muggy night, and given our present state, we crawled into our separate woolen army army blankets wearing only our Sears bulk-buy pearly-white underwear. The smell of wood-smoked, hickory bacon permeated the canvas tent like incense for our souls. Life was as good as it gets.

As always, our trusty dog, Heidi, came along. A labrador/border collie mix, she was a good dog, brave and true in all weathers. Until that night, she liked nothing better than jumping into the back of the truck and heading to the woods. She would look at us with reverence, proud to serve such great masters of the woods, we believed. We never before gave her reason to doubt that she was in the service of good and strong men, and she was the envy of other dogs. That was about to change.

About half-way through the night, Heidi began barking. I don’t mean the usual “I see a squirrel and I’m so excited” type of barking. I mean a “life or death, get your damn butts out of that damn blanket and get out here and help me” bark. She was frantic.

At first, because I was a little light-headed from the evening’s indulgence, I just shouted at her to be quiet. Due to her apparent lack of English-language comprehension, I did what seemed reasonable at the time and, from the comfort of my cozy blanket, yelled louder. She would not stop.

And then I heard it.

The deep, low, rumble of what sounded like thunder shook the very ground. I jumped up, poked my head outside the tent, and saw a very large, very upset, black bear. Waking my Pop up, he and I piled out of the tent. The bear, glancing back for only a brief moment, continued turning the cast-iron skillet over and over, licking and biting it, trying to get whatever last taste of bacon and potatoes he could out of that pan. He was quite distraught at his lack of progress, not to mention my dog interrupting his food quest. A credit to her position as man’s best friend, Heidi was standing between our tent and that big bear, proud and true. She would do her duty, as befits her service of such two-legged masters of the universe. That is, until she turned around. We must have been quite a sight.

There we were. Bare-skinned from the waist up, with bright, shiny, glow-in-the-dark girths from that brand-new Sears underwear. You could just see the fight leave that dog. If Pop and I were the brave new world she was hoping to save by her valiant and faithful duty, she decided we could fight for it ourselves. She laid right down after seeing the two of us, and if dogs could giggle, I swear I heard a sound I had never heard from her or any other dog, before or since.

Thankfully, the bear appeared just as amused and nonplussed. As a general rule, this bear might have had some fear of humans. However, it was clear after seeing us that this bear did not fear these humans. Without success at getting any more flavor out of that old iron pan, he wandered back off into the woods. I swear it had a skip in its gait.

Heidi, again to her credit, decided to sleep outside the tent the rest of the night. I guess there are some things even a dog doesn’t want to see twice.

D.James Clark

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