**

 

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.

After seeing

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.)