In no time at all we were skipping across
the cool, calm waters of Lake Serenity and we
arrived at base camp. Luke and Manitou Joe
were there. The tent looked as if it had been
torn in half (which it had been) and they had
it nailed to a sheet of 4 X 8 foot plywood in
order to make a rather strange looking
shelter, with the stove pipe sticking out
the top, reminiscent of hobo town. The
place suited me perfectly.
“It’s no bed of roses up here,” Joe
said. Then he proceeded to explain to
me what had happened.
“I know it’s not, Joe,” said I,
“But what is? What is?”
“We were across the lake
getting logs when the bears
attacked the camp,” said Joe.
“They left in two different directions
leaving trails right over the hill.
We found one tent up there.
Also, five cans of engine oil.
They drank the oil.”
Not being able to resist it,
I said, “Jesus, that’s all we need
around here – a couple of
well-oiled bears. We need guns!
Guns with major stopping power.
Where is the artillery box? What
we need is a cannon!” I insisted.
I was informed that there
were no guns up there (since
the last accident), and that we’d
have to fight off the furry monsters
with pikes and axes.
what they had done to the tent
when they were just frolicking.
(They walked in one end and
out the other, making two new
doors, tossing debris over their
shoulders, laughing their big
bear laughs and thinking their
black bear thoughts.)