MCA HUT! Archive

There are lots of advantages to bein’ at the top of the food chain. But it doesn’t necessarily keep you on your toes. Let’s face it, we animals that don’t have to contend with the daily threat of bein’ eaten by some larger, fiercer, faster animal get a little complacent as we move through life. We tend to lose that natural caution native to smaller, more vulnerable creatures. You don’t often see, for example, a brash, arrogant rabbit-at least, not for very long. They all know that far too many of their fellow fauna view them as just another item on the menu, so they know how to keep a low profile.

We humans, on the other hand, have lost that laudable wariness that keeps small rodents in their skins. Too many generations of living together in cities without any outside competition have left us with the delusion that we are inviolable by the forces of nature. We forget that, out in the wild, there may still be one or two animals larger, fiercer, and faster than we are that could still view us, one way or another, as a food source. We aren’t cautious, humble, or careful. And we definitely don’t keep a low profile. That’s probably why campers sometimes run afoul of bears.

Now, I kinda hate to admit this, but I did once accept the invitation to join some of my buddies from work on their annual Memorial Day trip to Voyageurs National Park. I hate to admit it ‘cause this doesn’t quite come up to my usual high standards for outdoor adventure, bein’, as it was, a weekend of motorized fishin’ from the base "camp" of a houseboat. Usually, the largest form of watercraft I’m willing to frequent is a tandem sea kayak. But I figured, what the heck! Why not see how the other half recreates? And there, I guess, goes my reputation for discretion and good taste... if I ever had one.

I hafta allow that it was pretty relaxin’. Chugging along in the houseboat with two 14-foot aluminum fishing boats in tow barely elevated us into the motorized category. I wouldn’ta been too far offa the pace if I’d been paddling alongside in my kayak. Of course, it was noisier than paddlecraft, even allowin’ for the way I sometimes grunt and grumble to myself. But once we beached that big old boat on Kabetogama Lake, put down the anchors, and cut the engine, it was peaceful enough.

Now a houseboat is a pretty amazing contraption. It’s sorta the Winnebago of the waterways with all the comforts of home in miniature. If a houseboat’s too rustic for you, you might as well stay at home. Of course, outdoor adventurers’ concepts of posh and primitive are acutely biased toward their favored mode of transportation. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Anyway, backpackers and canoeists are on one end of the scale regarding how many creature comforts they’re willing to leave behind in order to commune with Nature. Folks who drive RVs and houseboats are on the other.

It’s kinda interesting to note that the less stuff people take into the woods with ‘em, the more careful they are with it. And the thinner the walls between them and the night, the more respectful they are of the opportunistic appetites of the indigenous animals. A backpacker snoozin’ in his bivvy sack with his slender means of support dangling from a nearby tree is much more likely to be cautious and keep a clean camp than the guy snorin’ complacently in his bed on a houseboat with a couple of coolers, a fully stocked kitchen, and all the trappings of domesticity to give him the illusion of safety.

This is all a convoluted way of sayin’ that we weren’t terribly tidy. But, come on, what would expect from six guys tryin’ to keep house while completely cut off from the thin veneer of civilization? Is it any real surprise that we didn’t wash the dirty dishes until we ran outta clean ones? Or that we left open bags of chips and pretzels out where they’d be handy the next time we passed through? Or that some of our empties were inadvertently left under the lawn chairs around our beach bonfire when we retired for the night? Well, I didn’t think so.

We didn’t think anything of it either. It didn’t look particularly dangerous to us. It just looked like a guy’s natural habitat. So we weren’t in the least bit concerned about motoring off to fish the next morning and leaving our castle undefended.

Now, just workin’ with a guy doesn’t tell you all that much about what kind of fisherman he’s gonna be. Up ‘til now, the only successful fishin’ I’d seen these guys do was fishin’ around in the bottom of the cooler for a really cold beer. So I was impressed when they started reelin’ in the walleye. Ernie and Joe each had their limit by the middle of the afternoon and beguiled the rest of the time annoyin’ the rest of us with unsolicited advice.
Still, we were a pretty jovial crew that came motorin’ back to our home sweet home away from home that evening. We were all of us in rare, good spirits and all fired up to fry fish and feast. But our mood changed abruptly when we came troopin’ onto the houseboat and found somebody else already hard at work in our kitchen.

A big old sow bear had taken it upon herself, in our absence, to tidy up after us. I don’t know what it is about women that doesn’t give ‘em the patience to wait and let a fella clean up after himself. We’d get around to it eventually if they’d just let the mess get ugly enough for us to notice. But they don’t. And here the trait seemed to be cutting across species.

Our furry kitchen maid had already licked clean the dishes in the sink and the pots on the stove and was workin’ on a tub of chip dip that had been left out on the counter. Well, I guess we weren’t gonna be needin’ it anymore, seein’ as how she had already cleaned us out of all three ValuBoxes of ripple chips. She’d polished off the last of the doughnuts from breakfast and half a box of HoHos, wrappers and all, into the bargain.

Well, the element of surprise-hers as well as ours- seemed to be workin’ in our favor. Caught in the act like that, with six loud, disgruntled fishermen on one side and a guilty conscience on the other, the bear fled the scene. She didn’t even put up a fuss or pause to snag an extra bag of pretzels for later on her way out. She just turned tail and disappeared into the woods. And we figured we were happily rid of our uninvited houseboat guest.

But we were wrong. Turns out mama bear had just ducked out briefly to run home and bring back the rest of the family to enjoy the new neighborhood diner. As we sat around the fire that evening, selectively suspending disbelief as we gave credulous ear to each others’ fish stories, who should come lumbering up to try and crash the party but our furry visitor from the afternoon... this time with two cubs in tow.

Seems to me mama bear coulda gotten herself into some seriously deep hot water if there’da been an ursine version of child protection. I mean, there she was, leadin’ her tykes into harm’s way, puttin’ the love of larceny into their furry little hearts at a very tender age, and teachin’ ‘em any number of breaches of etiquette that were not likely to keep them in good favor with their human neighbors. They should know better than to try to cross us. We humans may be a puny lot, at least compared to bears. But we definitely outnumber them with lawyers, judges, and wildlife managers with opposable thumbs who can get off a shot from a high-powered rifle from a good, safe distance. But that seems to be one of the few lessons bears don’t pass on to their kids.

Well, bears not bein’ adequately bureaucratized to settle this in a civilized fashion, it was up to us to protect those cubs from a future of juvenile delinquency, the deleterious effects of a diet rich in HoHos and plastic wrap, and possibly an untimely and undignified demise. We were already between the three of them and the boat. So we just lengthened our lines and went on the offensive. We made a heckuva racket, threw things, and generally raged along the beach in the most agitated state we could contrive. If you think a mother bear is fierce in the defense of her young, you should see what fishermen will do in defense of their bratwurst and beer.

Mama bear just sat back on her haunches, licked her chops in memory of the sweet taste of custard-filled Bismarcks, and wondered how to get around these madmen. The cubs, however, lacking mom’s experience and incentive, shied and balked and eventually skittered off, howling plaintively, into the woods. Mom hesitated a moment, torn between her lust for more French onion dip and her maternal instinct for her offspring. In the end, the cubs won. Mama bear dropped onto all fours with a disgruntled comment of her own and waddled off into the woods after her children.

That very night we washed the dishes... all of ‘em. And next morning we weighed anchor and motored off to distant shores. ‘Cause it’s no fun bein’ at the top of the food chain when you’ve got competition.

Well, ‘til next time, keep your paddle wet. And keep in touch. Drop me a line c/o Rich Furman and Morgan MacBain, 901 East Geranium Ave., St. Paul MN 55106 or editor@canoe-kayak.org. Let me know if you’ve ever had to compete for your spot as alpha consumer. Remember, Uncle Wally promises to 1) tell the truth so no one would ever believe it anyway and 2) never reveal your true identity to anyone, not even Yogi and Boo Boo.