A GRIZZLY END
By
Donna Champagne
For my Dad,
Gerald Champagne, Sr.
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Donna Champagne on Smashwords
A Grizzly End
Copyright © 2010 by Donna Champagne
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A Grizzly End
PROLOGUE
Tuesday, August 22
Peter Benson looked forward to the overnight moose hunt that he had planned with his hunting partner, Marty Young. His pickup truck was loaded with his hunting and camping gear and he was just about to hop into the cab and head over to Marty’s house to pick him up when his cell phone rang. “YO, this is Pete,” he barked into the Motorola flip phone. The voice at the other end sounded depressed, “Hey Pete. I have to beg off the hunt, June’s brother passed away last night and we have to go to Anchorage to make funeral arrangements.” Pete and his wife Kate were long-time friends of Marty and his wife, June. “Oh man, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll have to go on alone then, I took today and tomorrow off from work; so I have to go.” Marty replied, “Yeah I know, you go on ahead and when you get one, bring it to the store and get Jake to put it in the hanging-chest. I’ll deal with it when I get back. Good luck.” Marty was a meat cutter at the Deerfield Shop N Save and he always processed their animals at the store.
“Thanks, I’ll talk to you tomorrow night.” He thought about going back in the house to tell Kate he would be going alone, but he decided against it. She had been sleeping so peacefully when he left, he didn’t want to wake her. He decided to call her later, on his cell phone after he settled in for the night.
Peter started up the truck and headed out to the jumping off point that he and Marty had always used. They liked the place because it was isolated and even though it wasn’t that far away, no one else bothered to go there. There was some construction work going on at the other end of the road, but he didn’t go that far. When he arrived, he parked the truck at the side of the road and put on his pack. It was 50 degrees and overcast at 8 o’clock in the morning. He was dressed comfortably in a denim shirt and jeans, wool socks, Gore-Tex gloves, a lightweight jacket and Danner waterproof hunting boots. The boots had been a birthday gift from Kate last week, when he had turned thirty-three. He walked along the trail thinking about all the meat he was going to have for his freezer. The last time he and Marty went hunting, he had bagged a moose and all they had left of it were a couple of steaks and about four pounds of ground meat.
When he had hiked about a mile into the bush, he found a clearing and began setting up his camp. After his old, green tent was erected and everything was the way he liked it, he set out to locate his prey. Peter had only covered a short distance when he spotted an early opportunity to take his prize. The lone animal was slowly foraging in a small clearing among the spruce trees and had an enormous rack of antlers. Several spikes on the left side had been broken off, probably in a fight with another male. Antlers didn’t matter to Peter on this trip out; all he cared about was the meat. He raised the .30-06 rifle up to his shoulder and took careful aim. At the exact moment that he squeezed off a round, his weight-bearing foot twisted sideways and the bullet went wide, scaring the daylights out of the moose, which bounded away in a flash of brown fur. “Damn!” he exclaimed. He had been standing on a round rock that had rolled sideways under his weight at the worst possible moment.
Peter continued scouting for another hour and suddenly came upon another chance at the same moose. It was a beauty and this time, he made sure his feet were planted firmly before he fired; and the moose just dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. “Yes!” he exclaimed and went to work immediately to field dress the carcass. He took off his jacket and draped it over a nearby log, spread out a tarp and rolled the carcass over onto it. He placed several game bags on the tarp and then began to skin the moose. He worked as quickly as he could and soon, he was elbow deep in blood and entrails. Suddenly, he heard a popping sound and even as he turned to look behind him, he knew what it was; the biggest brown bear he had ever seen was coming straight for him, ears flat, guard hairs all standing out the wrong way from its neck and eyes blazing with pure hate. He didn’t have time to reach for his gun, and his pepper spray was in a holster clipped on the front of his jacket. All he could do was to drop down on his stomach and cover the back of his neck with his clasped hands. A strange thought came to him as he braced for the impact; “Wow, that bear’s been in a few fights!” Even in his adrenaline pumped state, he noticed the ugly scars on the bear’s muzzle.
The brownie plowed into him like a runaway locomotive, grabbed him by the right leg and flung him against a tree twenty feet from the carcass. He came to rest at the base of the tree lying on his side. Dazed and in pain, he realized that the whole front of his body was exposed so he rolled himself over onto his stomach again. Meanwhile the bear had begun sniffing around the moose carcass and after chewing on the meat for a few minutes, it looked back at the human and noticed that his position had changed; it let out a bloodcurdling roar and tore into him again. It bit him from head to toe and back again. Attempting to get its jaws around Peter’s head, it bit down only to have its teeth slide over his skull and rip off its victim’s scalp. When it was satisfied that Peter posed no threat to him anymore, the bear went back to the moose carcass and began to feed. Peter tried desperately to play dead but the fearful wounds the bear had opened up on his head and body were agonizing. He let out an involuntary moan and the last thing he felt was the ground shaking under him as the bear came pounding in to finish the job.
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday, August 19
When Darci opened her eyes and looked over at the glowing, blue digital numbers on the bedside clock, it was 4:29 AM. She groaned and turned over, then immediately came full awake realizing that she had to get up and get going in a hurry. She had just one hour to wash up, put on some makeup, get dressed, drink a fast cup of tea and be ready to load her luggage into the Airporter Van that was coming to pick her up at 5:30 sharp. The clock readout changed to 4:30 and the shrill alarm sounded for 3 seconds before she reached over and slammed the button down to shut it off.
She couldn’t believe that her lifelong dream was coming true; she was going to Alaska, the Last Frontier. Darci Le Blanc was born 32 years ago to Lorraine and John Le Blanc in Newton, Massachusetts. Ever since she can remember, her father had always loved animals and kept chickens, ducks, pheasants, dogs, cats and anything else that happened to wander into their yard, for they were situated along the Charles River which supported many kinds of wildlife along its banks.
National Geographic magazines came in the mail every month and Darci would eagerly read everything they had to say about animals in every country of the world. She read about gorillas, leopards, tigers, koala bears, whooping cranes, foxes, bobcats and a myriad of other denizens of the wild but her interest was piqued by an article about the giant brown bears of Alaska. The glossy pictures featured enormous furry bruins fishing from rocks in frothy water. She was amazed at the dexterity and determination of the bears in obtaining their slippery, wiggling meals. It was a world away, but she dreamed of going there someday to see the spectacle for herself.
Darci often went hiking and camping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire where she had painted many scenic landscapes. Several close encounters with the wildlife of that region bolstered her love for the natural world. She had always wanted to paint the magnificence of Alaskan lands with the Northern Lights dancing across the canvas. She loved the rich colors of nature and the beauty of living things. Her paintings were providing her a good living, being sold in art galleries up and down the East Coast. She made large donations annually to the World Wildlife Fund, National Wildlife and a host of other wildlife preservation organizations. When people called her a tree-hugger, she took it as a compliment.
It was still dark when the Airporter Van pulled up in front of her house on the quiet street. The young man who was driving hopped out and called a greeting to Darci as he grabbed her two suitcases and hoisted them into the back of the van. Perspiration glistened on his forehead; it was already warm and humid as per usual in late August New England. Darci opened the back door of the van, climbed in and buckled her seat belt. An attractive elderly gentleman in the front passenger seat turned and smiled at Darci saying, “Good morning! It’s going to be a hot one today.” Darci smiled back and replied, “Not where I’m going!”
For the next twenty minutes, on their way to Logan Airport in Boston, they engaged in friendly chitchat about the weather and destinations and then they stopped at 1024 Oak Street in Arlington to pick up Darci’s best friend and travel companion, Jean Conti. Darci and Jean were as opposite as two people could be; Darci was tall, 5 feet 9 inches with long, dark brown hair and green eyes and Jean was short, 5 feet 1 inch with short, honey blond hair and blue eyes. Darci was shy and introverted while Jean was outgoing and exuberant.
The sun was up now and Jean was bubbling over with joyous anticipation of the adventures that awaited them. “Hey Darci, are you ready to rumble?” Jean squealed as she clambered into the back seat of the van. Grinning widely, Darci answered, “I’m ready! Let’s do it!”
When they were comfortably seated in the American Airlines 767, Jean turned to Darci and asked, “Am I really ready for this? I mean, my divorce was finalized yesterday and I know I’m ready for a change of scenery but I have the feeling that I should be grieving for my dead marriage.” Darci looked up from her magazine and fixed her with an incredulous stare, “How many times are you going to beat yourself up for something that wasn’t your fault? Matt destroyed your marriage, not you. For three years the bastard was glued to you, made you feel that you couldn’t do anything right without him. He insulted you, belittled you and crushed your spirit. You got out while the getting was good. It wouldn’t have been long before he snapped and started beating you. Be happy that you’re free.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jean sighed. “It’s just that he looked so broken and pitiful yesterday in court.”
The ‘fasten seat belts’ sign blinked on and the plane began to move down the runway. They settled back in their seats and watched the in-flight movie that began shortly after takeoff. Their itinerary dictated a change of planes in Denver, Colorado to fly on to Vancouver, British Columbia where they would board the “Ocean Wind”, a Royalty Cruise ship. Darci had booked the cruise three months in advance and they had eagerly looked forward to this day.
At 3:30 in the afternoon, they finally boarded the blindingly white ship and made their way to their stateroom. This was to be a “double purpose” journey for the two women. They planned this cruise as a vacation in order to relax and visit all the tourist stops in the Southeast Alaska panhandle in the first week and then they would take two more weeks to explore Southcentral Alaska in search of a piece of property for Darci to purchase for summer work-vacations. Darci met Jean at the art supply store where Jean worked. She sold canvases, brushes and paints to Darci. They became good friends over the past three years. When Darci heard that her friend was getting out of her stifling marriage, she felt that she would need to get away for a while, hence the invitation to accompany her on this sojourn.
The stateroom was spacious and comfortable and it boasted a private balcony where Darci sat and sketched the passing scenery. As they glided north through the Inside Passage they marveled at the mountains that rose up almost vertically from the sea, like giant green ladies wearing shawls of mist around their shoulders. The vegetation was broken occasionally by thin silver ribbons of water tumbling and flowing down the mountainsides. “Isn’t this beautiful?” breathed Jean as she focused her Minolta 35mm camera and snapped yet another picture for her portfolio. She loved photography and dreamed of selling her pictures to magazines like National Geographic, National Wildlife and any other magazine devoted to nature; like Darci her favorite subjects were animals, birds and the natural world.
After a delicious dinner of filet mignon, roasted red potatoes and garlic broccoli in the dining room of the ship, Darci and Jean visited the gift shop and bought a few souvenirs. Then they retired to their room and turned in early for it was a long day and they were exhausted.
Sunday, the 20th of August dawned overcast and dreary; they spent the day exploring the ship, taking photographs and sketching pictures while the ship slowly made its way north. The two New Englanders had never seen so many mountains at such dizzying heights, many of them capped with glaciers; and the farther north they traveled, the more awesome was the view. They walked up and down the outside decks to breathe in the fresh, moist air and watch the seagulls wheeling and crying overhead.
They passed small fishing boats, occupied by smiling men who tooted their horns and waved to the ship’s passengers, who jumped when the ponderous ship blasted its startling horn in reply. At one point, they saw a small boat towing a barge that had to be forty feet long, loaded with logs headed for the mills further south. When it began to rain in earnest, the two friends went back inside to relax and have a few drinks in the Seafarer’s Lounge.
Monday, August 21
Golden sunlight streamed in through the narrow opening between the drapes that covered the sliding glass doors to the balcony and bathed the stateroom in a dim glow. Jean yawned and quietly got out of bed and went into the tiny bathroom. When she came out, Darci was getting dressed. The ship was docked in Skagway and the two travelers made ready for the day’s shore excursion. They boarded a catamaran called the Fairweather Express, which transported them down the Lynn Canal to the town of Haines. On the way, they saw humpback whales, a female with a calf the size of a city bus. Jean caught the spray on film when the leviathan surfaced to blow. All the passengers in the catamaran chattered excitedly and enjoyed the sight immensely. When they stepped onto the dock in Haines and walked to the nearby parking lot, all of the passengers, who had booked the same side trip, boarded an old blue bus that took them thirty miles into the bush to go on a ‘float trip’ on the Chilkat River. All of the participants were given life vests to put on and tall rubber boots, laughingly referred to as “Sitka sneakers”. When everyone was ready, they carefully climbed into three rubber rafts; each one rowed and guided by a member of the excursion company.
They drifted on the gray, silt-laden water through the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve where winter months found bald eagles in astronomical numbers. “They gather here because the water doesn’t freeze, due to the warm water upwelling of the river and it’s easy for the eagles to feed on the salmon in the shallow water,” said Paul, the young man who was rowing the raft that Darci and Jean occupied. Jean was busy taking pictures of the few eagles that were perched high in the evergreen trees that lined the river. The real treat came when an eagle lifted off its perch on powerful wings and flew directly over their heads emitting a high-pitched squeal as it flew. Darci was hoping they would see one of the famous brown bears but luck was not with them that day. She did notice that Paul was wearing a canister of pepper spray on his life jacket and it prompted her to ask, “How often do you see bears while on this float trip?” He answered, “You never know what you’re going to see, but bears show up once in a while, sometimes you’ll see deer or a moose. The only thing you’re pretty much guaranteed to see is the eagles. Miserable, rainy weather is the norm too; you people are really lucky that it’s a beautiful day!” Darci thought he was just trying to make her feel better about not seeing a bear.
The scenery made up for it though. In every direction, the mountains reached up with their sharp peaks to poke at the heavens. “Now I know the meaning of the word, ‘breathtaking’,” said Jean. At the end of the trip, the tourists enjoyed coffee; hot chocolate and homemade chocolate chip cookies while the guides collected the rubber rafts and piled them onto a trailer, hitched to a pickup truck that had been waiting at the spot. Darci and Jean changed back into their walking shoes, piled back into the bus with the rest of the group, and rode back to the waiting catamaran for the ride back to the ship. “That was wonderful,” said Jean, “I’m glad we did it.” “Me too,” replied Darci, “I don’t think I would have enjoyed the ‘Salmon Run’ as much.” Another side trip they had considered for the Skagway stop was a leisurely walk to a bridge to watch the salmon spawning in the river.
After being seated in the Midnight Sun Café on the ship, Darci said, “Ketchikan is really nice, but I don’t think I would want a vacation home there. It’s practically built on the side of a mountain and you can’t drive anywhere from it. It’s too isolated for my taste. I want to be able to hop into a car and drive in a dozen different directions to hike, camp, and paint and just enjoy the scenery.” “Yeah,” Jean replied, “I know what you mean. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for on the Kenai Peninsula.”
The next three days brought the two friends to Juneau where they went on a whale-watching excursion and shopped in the many retail stores across the street from the dock. They bought so many items ranging from hand carved bone statues to colorful jackets and tee shirts that they had to ask the store clerk to box them up and ship them home to Massachusetts. Their purchases would have taken up too much room in their luggage. Then, it was off to Sitka, on Baranof Island where it poured and they saw a drenched bald eagle perched on the cross at the top of St. Michael’s Cathedral, which dated back to 1848. In a Russian store across the street from the church, Darci bought a beautiful hand carved and painted Santa figurine for her Santa Claus collection.
On Tuesday, August 22nd, they got an up close and personal look at Hubbard Glacier, where the tourists needed to don jackets and gloves to ward off the cold, moist air. The ship came within a mile of the glacier’s glassy blue wall. Darci read aloud from the guidebook she bought in the North Star gift shop, “Hubbard Glacier is the largest glacier in North America. It is 6 miles wide, 300 feet high and 96 miles long.” Just then, a house-sized chunk of the glacier broke off and fell from the top of the layered ice wall into the water at its base. It threw up an enormous plume of water, accompanied by what sounded like an earsplitting crack of thunder. “Wow! That was amazing; did you get a good shot of it?” Darci asked Jean who was snapping away like the ticking of a clock. “I have taken almost a thousand pictures so far on this cruise, I’m sure I have some really good ones.” said Jean, beaming. As they sailed along, they saw large chunks of ice floating in the water all around the ship. Click, click, click went Jean’s camera. “Very large ones,” Darci read from her guidebook again, “are called ‘growlers’, and the smaller ones are called ‘bergy bits’.” They chuckled and pulled their collars up against the frigid wind.
CHAPTER TWO
Wednesday, August 23
Kate Benson was beginning to worry when Peter hadn’t come home by 10 o’clock on Wednesday night. She called Marty’s house to ask June if she had heard from the guys yet, but the phone just kept ringing. All the other times that Peter and Marty had hunted together, they had returned home before dark whether they had bagged anything or not. She dialed Peter’s cell phone at least a dozen times and it just kept giving her his voice mail. She was sitting in the kitchen wondering what to do next when the phone on the wall next to her rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Marty, just back from Anchorage, “Hi Kate, can I talk to Pete?” He was anxious to find out if Peter’s hunt was successful. She was relieved, “He’s not here yet; how long ago did he leave your house?”
“Uh, didn’t he tell you I couldn’t go with him? I’m taking care of funeral arrangements for June’s brother,” said Marty, now becoming concerned.
“Oh my God, Marty, he’s not home yet, I can’t raise him on the cell and I don’t know what to do.” She began to cry.
“Now, don’t panic, Kate. Maybe the truck broke down or something. I’ll call Jim and ask him to drive out to our spot and take a look.”
Chief of Police Jim Anderson was watching television with his feet up on his desk when the call came in. Marty Young had called and asked him to check the old Lodge Road to see if his hunting buddy, Pete Benson had broken down in his truck. Jim was bored silly anyway and welcomed the task. He backed the cruiser out of the lot and headed out towards Lodge Road. After 20 minutes of driving on the darkened road, and not passing another car going in either direction he slowed down to get a better look at what was in his headlights. A red ‘99 Chevy pickup truck was parked on the side of the road and appeared to be uninhabited. He parked behind it and got out of the cruiser with his flashlight in hand. He walked all around the truck and shone the light inside all the windows but found nothing amiss. He shouted Peter’s name three times and got no answer so he called the station and told Margie who was also working the late shift, to call Sergeant Scott and drum up a search party. In Alaska, when a hunter goes into the woods and doesn’t come out when expected, an immediate search can mean the difference between life and death.
Later that night, 14 men went into the woods from the point where the truck was found. They were armed with rifles, bear spray and flashlights. They beat the bushes and walked in a straight line until they found Peter’s camp, which was untouched from the time he set it up; and then they followed his tracks, all the while calling his name. It was slow going because the footing was uneven and they lost the trail a couple of times. Moreover, following a trail with flashlights was difficult, at best. When they finally found the body, the sun was just beginning to brighten the sky and they saw the awful evidence of what had happened to Peter Benson. “Holy God!” one of the men exclaimed. “Look over there!” another said, pointing.
The moose carcass was still there under a pile of dirt, grass and leaves. Only the antlers were visible sticking up out of the mound. Normally, a bear will hang around the kill site and protect it from would-be thieves but a bear would be reluctant to take on a group as large as this. It was very likely that the bear was just watching them from its vantage point nearby.
“Let’s get him out of here,” said Chief Anderson, unzipping the body bag he had brought with him. “Collect anything that belonged to Benson.” he said, gesturing toward the jacket and rifle a few feet away. He squatted down and measured the paw print in the soil near the body; it was the right front paw and it measured ten and a quarter inches wide.
Deerfield was abuzz with the news in a matter of hours. Three local hunters volunteered to go and put the man-killer out of business but when the ‘ANT’ people got wind of it, they claimed that Peter Benson had stumbled upon the bear’s kill and it was just protecting its food supply. It was decided that the bear would be spared.
ANT stands for “Animals Need Territory” and the people who make up its members usually argue that the humans in question must have done something to provoke the attack and the animals are only acting naturally.
The Anchorage division of ANT is located on the second floor of a building on Front Street. The sign that hangs in their window shows a line drawing of a giant ant pushing a house off a cliff. The chairman of ANT, Ernie Gibson is a man who will say or do anything to stop development in Southcentral Alaska. Gibson is a small man, five feet tall with a balding, egg shaped head and wearing rimless glasses that make his eyes look too big for his face. They give him a cartoon-like appearance. The local residents have not forgotten that he once set fire to a housing development to destroy it; but the wind changed direction that day and blew the fire into the neighboring forest. When all was said and done, the fire had destroyed 12 acres of spruce trees and the back deck of one of the houses he tried to obliterate. Gibson was charged with arson and fined $3,000, the amount of money needed to replace the deck. He also received two years of probation during which time he managed to behave himself, but just barely.
Friday, August 25
The day dawned dark and raw. Rain came down steadily as Darci and Jean walked slowly down the gangplank in single file with all the other passengers on the ship. They hated to bid adieu to the ship but they left with many lovely memories. From their stop in Seward, they boarded a bus, which transported them to Anchorage Airport whereupon they collected their luggage, and hailed a taxi to go on to their hotel. After they were settled in, they rented a Lincoln Navigator and explored the city. The vivid red SUV was equipped with a GPS mapping system and Darci planned to use it to help them find the towns she had marked off on her map. They only had three weeks to see as much as possible and didn’t want to spend half the time being lost.
“Let’s get some lunch,” said Jean. “I saw a place near the airport that looked pretty neat; there was a giant, carved wooden bear sitting near the entrance and the name of the place was, ‘Grizzly’s Grub’.” Ten minutes later, they were seated in a spacious booth in the restaurant. The interior looked like a log cabin with a huge stone fireplace at the far end of the dining room. Above the mantel, there hung an enormous moose head, complete with 50-inch antlers. Various other animals stared back at them from their mounts all over the walls. Their glass eyes reflected the dim lights mounted on tree trunk columns that ‘grew’ from the floor to the ceiling. The place reminded Darci of Bugaboo Creek Steak House in Watertown, Massachusetts where she often dined. The menu offered delicacies such as ‘moose burgers’, ‘bear chips’, ‘mountain man sirloin’ and ‘fireside chicken’. After they had eaten, Darci looked around at all the mounted trophies and remarked, “How could anyone kill such beautiful animals?” Their waitress, a cute young woman with a deep dimple in one cheek replied, “Subsistence. People who want to live close to nature can’t run down to the corner grocery to pick up their meat. If you want to live at any distance from the cities, like Anchorage, you have to get your own meat. Besides, it tastes better than beef, and it’s better for you.” With that, she handed each of the women a dessert menu and smiled, showing that fathomless dimple again and went to take someone else’s order.
A thin, balding man who was seated on a bar stool directly opposite their booth turned to face them. He said, “I’m with you, if they can get into their vehicles and drive 40 miles to go hunting, then they can damn well drive themselves to a big enough city to stock up on beef.” he peered at them with magnified eyes. “Are you two new in town?”
“Yes,” said Darci, “we’re here for two weeks to scout out a vacation property. We’re from Massachusetts.”
“Wow, you’re a long way from home!” he said, extending his hand, “I’m Ernie Gibson, originally from Colorado but I’ve been here in Anchorage for almost five years now.”
Shaking his hand, Darci said, “Nice to meet you, I’m Darci LeBlanc and this is Jean Conti.”
“I don’t mean to be nosy, but isn’t this kind of a far flung place to have a vacation home? I mean, most people only get one or two weeks of time off during the summer.”
“I’m an artist,” Darci smiled indulgently; “I plan to spend the whole summer here and paint the scenery and wildlife in this area, and maybe sell some paintings here, too.”
“Oho! A girl after my own heart!” he sat back and slapped his hand over his concave chest. “I love animals and the natural world. I run the local chapter of ANT. My office is right around the corner on Front Street. You must join us in our crusade to save the animals’ territory. You know we’re encroaching on their space all the time and just the other day a hunter blundered into a bear protecting its food source and the bear did what came naturally; it killed the guy! Bears go into hyperphagia this time of the year.” When he saw the puzzled looks on their faces, he explained, “Hyperphagia is when they fatten up before they go into hibernation; if they don’t they’ll starve in their dens or they’ll come out in the middle of winter in search of food.”
The cute waitress came back and asked if they wanted dessert. They declined and asked for the bill. Gibson grabbed the paper out of the girl’s hand and said, “My treat, ladies.” he handed Darci a business card, “Come by anytime; and enjoy your stay in Anchorage.”
“Well, thank you very much. It was nice meeting you Ernie, and keep up the good work, all those defenseless animals need our help.” said Darci as she put on her sweater and started toward the door. She took two steps and bumped into Jean who had stopped dead in her tracks and hissed, “What’s he doing here?”
“What’s who doing here?” Darci looked around her and spotted Matt coming in the doorway.
“Jean!” Matt called as he made his way toward them in the crowded dining room.
CHAPTER THREE
Charlie Baker threw a canister of pepper spray to his brother Phil and said, “Catch!” The Baker brothers ran a hunting/outfitting business out of Deerfield and were quite successful at it, following their father’s example. This day, however they had been asked by Chief Anderson to get rid of a bothersome bear that was hanging around the Deerfield Elementary School all morning. Opening day at the school wasn’t for another week but children who lived in the neighborhood often went into the schoolyard to play.
The Bakers had loaded a 12-gauge pump shotgun with plastic water-filled bullets that they intended to fire at the bear in question to drive it away from the school. The idea was that the bear would associate an unpleasant experience with humans and head out at a gallop, never to return.
Charlie and Phil were experienced guides who took their work seriously. They worked very hard to make sure that their clients got the trophies and meat they were after and they had a 100 percent safety record. They were often called upon to take care of nuisance animals around town and now they were pulling into the school parking lot.
“There he is!” said Phil, pointing towards the swing set. A subadult brownie was ambling by the swings, stopping to sniff the seats and swat them with one frying-pan sized paw. As the men watched and readied their guns, the bear slapped a seat hard and it swung away and up about six feet and when it came back down, it smacked the bear right on the nose. It let out a bawl, swapped ends, and ran around the end of the fence into the bush.
“I don’t think he’ll be coming back anytime soon.” laughed Charlie. However, just to make sure, they stayed in their truck for a half hour and watched the school grounds. The bear did not return. The brothers had expected as much.
“Let’s go home,” said Phil, “‘Curious George’ must be in Fairbanks by now.”
“Yeah, you want to stop by the Benson place and see if Kate needs anything?” asked Charlie, already heading in that direction.
“Sure, I feel bad for her. I don’t get it. Pete was a better hunter than that.”
“I guess even good hunters make mistakes,” Charlie replied. Phil and Kate dated in high school but soon after graduating, went their separate ways, and then Kate met Pete and shortly after, they were married. Phil still had a soft spot in his heart for her.
They drove into the Benson driveway and parked the truck. Kate had seen them coming and came out onto the porch. “Hi guys,” she said with a wan smile.
“Hey Kate, how are you doing?” asked Phil, walking up to the foot of the steps.
“As well as can be expected, I guess.” she said, “What brings you two out here?”
“We’re on our way home and thought we’d drop by and see if you needed anything.” Charlie replied, leaning out the truck window.
“I really appreciate that, but no, I’m okay.” Then her face darkened, “Pete didn’t stumble into that bear’s kill. He was smarter than that. He was always on the lookout for bear sign and if he had seen a lot of scat and stuff around there, he would have gone somewhere else to hunt. Something else happened, but I don’t know what.” The two brothers nodded in agreement. The talk around town lately was about how some bears have learned how to follow the sounds of rifle shots to be rewarded with a gut pile or a carcass, which was then easy to take from the hunter who owned it. If Marty had been with Pete that day, the story might have ended differently.
They would not have had time to use their guns, but pepper spray can be very effective in stopping a charging bear. They would have taken turns standing guard and cutting up the meat.
On the way home, Charlie said, “She’s probably right, you know. We’d better be extra careful when we’re dressing out carcasses from now on.”
“I heard that.” Phil agreed.
The subject came up again after dinner that night. Charlie had cleared the table and Phil loaded the dishwasher in their modern kitchen. They made themselves comfortable on dark green leather chairs in front of a crackling fire in the den.
“What do you think;” asked Phil, “did Benson stumble into a bear guarding its kill?” His question was punctuated by a loud pop in the fireplace.
“It’s possible, but not likely,” Charlie reasoned, “I think it’s more likely that Pete had shot the moose; and the bear which was in the neighborhood, decided to take advantage of the opportunity for a free meal. Maybe Pete put up an argument and the bear won.”
“From now on, when we guide our hunters, we’ll have to make sure they know that they have to work in pairs when they’re field dressing a carcass.”
“The idea that brownies can home in on a hunter’s gunshot gives me the willies.” Charlie shuddered.
“I know; they’re too smart for their own good.”
Matt strode up to Jean and grasped her arm as if she were his property. “Come back with me, we can start over.” he pleaded, “I can change, you’ll see.”
“You came all the way to Alaska to say that? Are you crazy?” she couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. His grip tightened on her arm and the three of them went out of the restaurant into the gray, drizzly day. They stopped on the sidewalk and Jean said as kindly as she could, “Matt, I’m sorry but it’s over. I don’t want to go back with you.” He began to push her toward a taxi at the curb and she cried out, “You’re hurting me! Let go!” She struggled to get free and Darci tried to pry his fingers from Jean’s arm.
Two men who were standing nearby overheard the commotion and came to their rescue, “Is everything all right, Miss?” Matt released her arm and glared at her. “This isn’t over, Jean.” he said in a menacing tone, and walked off towards the airport.
Back at their hotel, Darci and Jean began packing their belongings into their suitcases, “I don’t even want to stay here one night.” said Jean. “The faster we get out of here, the better I’ll like it. I’m sorry he ruined your vacation.”
“It’s not your fault, but I agree; let’s get the hell out of here,” said Darci as she held the hotel room door open for Jean.
They were surprised when the hotel clerk refunded the deposit they had paid for the room; he explained that they would most likely be able to rent the room for the night anyway. The tired twosome dragged their suitcases on little wheels across the parking lot behind the hotel to the waiting SUV. As they loaded up, they didn’t notice the black Jeep Cherokee parked two aisles over with its engine running. Matt was seated behind the wheel of his rental, watching them intently. He had been on his way into the hotel to have a second try with Jean, but he sprinted back to his vehicle when he saw them coming towards the door with their luggage in tow.
Darci started the engine, and then unfolded a map that she had brought from home. Three towns were circled in red ink and all were within the same vicinity on the Kenai Peninsula. The towns were Sterling, Deerfield and Kenai. She programmed the GPS system with the first town as the destination and a robotic female voice said, “Calculating route.” Then the little screen showed a map with the street in Anchorage that they were on and a small yellow triangle to symbolize their vehicle. As they turned southeast out of the parking lot, the little triangle also turned on the black line labeled Sunshine Loop/Glen Alps Rd. After a couple of turns, they merged onto the Seward Highway. They had a long drive ahead of them; the GPS estimated the time to be around five hours. They stopped to gas up and bought candy bars and sodas to enjoy on the way.
“Can you believe the nerve of him?” asked Jean, incensed. “He must be out of his mind!”
“Obviously he thinks he owns you,” Darci was irate, “there’s no way he could ever change. Speaking of change, let’s change the subject, this one’s depressing.”
“Right, let’s see if I can get a good station on the radio,” said Jean, twirling the dial on the dashboard. She tuned in KBBI radio and the announcer was talking about the volcano on Augustine Island, saying that views of the volcano this week showed light steam coming from the summit but there was no cause for alarm.
He then went on to report how many minutes of sunlight were lost this day, “We’re losing 6 minutes of sunlight every day as the days get shorter.” They listened in silence as the clouds became darker and more threatening.
It began to rain heavily and the thrum-thrum of the windshield wipers had a sedative effect on Jean. She fell asleep with her head resting against the window. Darci was trying to see the countryside as she drove but the rain made it nearly impossible to see anything besides the water streaked windows and other vehicles coming and going. Two hours slipped by and Jean stirred and sat up straight.
“Have a nice nap?” asked Darci, smiling.
“No, thanks, I just had one,” said Jean, laughing. “Do you want me to drive?”
“Soon; I want to see if we can find a place to get a cup of coffee.” She touched the GPS screen a few times and it displayed the name of a café about 5 miles ahead, so they watched for it. Presently, Darci spotted the café and they slowly rolled to a stop in the tiny parking lot in front of the establishment. They went in the front door and looked around for the restrooms. Spotting the sign on the opposite side of the room, they made their way between small tables and plastic resin chairs, none of which were occupied. The ladies room was small and cramped but it served the purpose and after washing their hands, Darci and Jean went to the counter to order some coffee. The woman standing next to the cash register looked exhausted as she stepped forward and asked, “What can I get you girls?” They each bought a cup of coffee and as they were leaving, Darci stopped near the door to look at the brochures in a rack on the wall. They were covered with dust but she took a few anyway.
CHAPTER FOUR
The scar-faced bear had seen twenty-eight summers, old by grizzly standards; his teeth were worn but still very serviceable in obtaining food. His claws were slightly curved and six inches long. He already had a rolling, rippling layer of fat under his glossy, brown fur coat but he was driven to keep eating until the urge to hibernate set in. He weighed roughly 1,500 pounds and would easily weather the winter in his den. He was very large, even for a coastal brown bear. Peter Benson had been right; he had been in many fights with other bears, plus a moose or two. However, the worst scar on his dish shaped face had been inflicted by a sow grizzly with three cubs who was enraged at the fact that he was trying to make a meal out of one of her cubs. She fiercely defended them as they cowered behind her and when he snatched one of the cubs, the sow decided it would be wise to cut her losses; she gathered up her remaining two yearlings and headed for the tall grass. The boar was twice her size and might have killed them all. The greatest threat to brown bear cubs is adult male bears; male bears account for up to 45% of young bear deaths.
Grizzlies and brown bears are highly intelligent animals. Back in 1960 when the study of grizzlies and browns was in its infancy, a man who often worked for the Fish and Wildlife Service in many capacities, Earl S. Fleming accepted the job of trapping the giant bears on Kodiak Island for research. The traps were made of sections of steel culvert about ten feet long and three and a half feet in diameter. The ends of the trap were closed by steel plates, which were removable and could be set to snap shut when an animal took the bait inside. In order to knock the bear out so he could drag it out of the trap, weigh, and measure it, he needed to block the air holes in the sides of the trap and then use one hole to pump ether in and put the animal to sleep; tranquilizer darts hadn’t been invented yet. He related the story of one female that he had trapped who had realized that he was cutting off her supply of fresh air with rags. As fast as he could stuff the holes, the bear would hook the tip of a claw into the cloth and pull it inside the trap. He gave up on the rags, cut small lengths of willow branches, and stuck them into the holes. The bear used her teeth to pull the sticks into the trap as quickly as he could jam them into the holes. He finally outsmarted her by tapering sticks that were too big for the holes and putting the small end in. All her yanking and pulling only served to tighten the sticks in the holes. She was smart enough to figure out that she needed to swat the sticks in order to knock them out the other way, but she was asleep before she had time to solve the problem.
There is evidence that bears are self-aware, a characteristic that has only been attributed to humans. They seem to be aware that they are leaving tracks that a hunter can follow, and to confuse the human, they will leave the trail and avoid placing their paws in impressionable soil.
The first few times the scar-faced bear heard gunshots; they were far away and meant nothing to him but then a day came where he was relatively close to the source of the noise; he decided to have a look to see what made the startling sound. Nose twitching furiously, picking up strange scents, ambling along slowly in the general direction of the blast, he homed in on the familiar scents of blood and moose until the delicious aroma completely enveloped him. There before him in a small clearing was a steaming pile of guts from a bull moose. Off in the distance he heard human voices, loud and boisterous fading away. At first, he shied away from the human scent, but the moose gut pile was too tempting. He helped himself to the entrails, and he learned. The last time he heard gunfire, he deliberately made for the origin of the noise, connecting that particular sound with the memory of a steaming pile of guts. However, when he arrived and saw the human bending over the dead moose, his instincts took over and he could think of nothing but eliminating the competition for the food. He charged the human and was surprised at how easily he was able to brush him aside. The creature weighed next to nothing! He was satisfied that it would not try to take the moose away from him, but after chewing on the meat for a short time, he looked back at the human and noticed that its position had changed. It was trying to sneak in like a coyote and steal a piece of the moose. The bear became enraged and stopped the sneak attack the only way he knew how. Then, when the creature began vocalizing, he made sure there would be no further threat. By then, he had a snoot-full of human scent and the taste of human blood on his tongue, but he ignored it and settled down to fill his belly with his favorite prey.
Two days had passed since he had fed on the moose and he was walking along a stream when he heard gunfire again. Following the sound through the spruce trees and alder patches, he drew closer to human territory; the scent permeated the air as he neared the source of the shots but it was no longer of any consequence to him.
“Hah! You missed by a mile!” fourteen-year-old Rory shouted at his friend Brad. The rain had let up for a spell and the boys decided to get in some target practice. Yesterday was Brad’s birthday and he had received his first hunting rifle. His parents, Greg and Denise Taylor had gone shopping in Soldotna and left him and Rory watching television in the family room. Brad’s dad had told him not to shoot the gun unless he was there to supervise, but it’s the nature of the teenaged beast to disobey.
“You can’t do any better,” grumbled Brad as he handed the rifle to his friend. “Let’s see you hit a bottle, smart mouth.” Rory brought the rifle up to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel until he thought he had a good bead on the bottle. He squeezed the trigger slowly and, “POW!” the rifle stock kicked back and bruised his shoulder while the green bottle exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. The sound echoed back to them from the trees surrounding the property.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brad caught sight of movement and turned his head to see a gigantic brownie galloping in their direction, eyes blazing and each footfall making harrumph, harrumph sounds. Brad’s immediate reaction was disbelief. “Can that brownie be after us?” he thought. “We didn’t do anything to provoke it. Hell, I didn’t even know it was there!” The old bear was still a hundred yards away but it was erasing the distance between them very quickly.
Rory panicked and dropped the rifle, and then both boys turned and ran for the house. Taking the steps two at a time, they made it up to the deck on the back of the house where Brad’s dog, Captain had been asleep under the awning. The boys ran into the house and slammed the door shut behind them. They scrambled to the window that looked out over the back of the property and watched as the bear reached the bottom of the wooden steps and looked up. Captain, a bullmastiff was standing stiff legged at the top of the stairs, teeth bared and growling ominously as it looked down at the bear from its dominant position. The old boar hesitated and in that instant of uncertainty, Captain began barking and inching forward to the edge of the steps, spittle flying from his mouth. The bear backed down, threw Captain one dirty look over its shoulder and meandered off towards the forest at the far side of the property. Captain, filled with confidence galloped down the deck stairs and harassed the bear, biting at its rear end until the huge beast spun around and let loose a stench laden roar directly into Captain’s face. The sturdy dog stood his ground and barked continuously until the bear quit the standoff and nonchalantly strolled into the woods without so much as a backward glance. Meanwhile, the two boys inside the house were giving each other high fives and hooting with glee over Captain’s prowess.
An hour later, Brad’s parents returned from their shopping trip and the two boys began talking so fast that they were unintelligible. “Hold it!” yelled Brad’s father, “One at a time, what happened?” Brad quickly glossed over the fact that he and Rory were firing the rifle when the bear appeared out of nowhere and charged them. The Taylors were furious over Brad’s disobedience, but they were thankful that neither boy was hurt by the monster bear they had described. They called Chief Anderson to report the incident.
CHAPTER FIVE
The coffee was hot. The coffee was aromatic. The coffee was stale. Nevertheless, they drank it anyway; it warmed them in the damp, chilly afternoon. “Yuck! How can they charge a buck and a half for this stuff and still sleep at night?” Jean made a face as she placed the cup into the holder in the console between the front seats.
“Where else you gonna go to get a cup?” said Darci, reasonably, coffee shops were rare on this stretch of road. “Besides, that woman looked like she hasn’t slept in a week!” They drove through the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge and were only forty-five minutes from the center of Sterling. One of the brochures Darci had picked up in the café advertised a Bed and Breakfast in Sterling. In large yellow letters, it said “Welcome to the Sterling Silver Bed and Breakfast.” The smiling face of the woman in the photo proclaimed that this was the ‘best rest’ in Southcentral Alaska.
Raindrops splashed into the puddles along the driveway leading up to the quaint log structure. A farmer’s porch stretched across the entire front of the building and several rocking chairs and small tables adorned it. Darci and Jean walked up the four wooden steps to the porch, noticing the hanging pots of pink and white impatiens gently swaying in the breeze. Inside the front door, the aroma of fresh baked apple pie hung in the air. A pleasant woman in her forties rose from her chair, smiled at them from behind the desk and said, “Hello, ladies, welcome to the Sterling Silver Bed and Breakfast. How can I help you?” They were looking at the same smiling face that appeared on the brochure. An attractive face, with sparkling blue eyes, pink tinted lips and curly, salt and pepper hair. She introduced herself as Mary MacDonald, the proprietor of the establishment.
“We’d like a room, please,” said Darci, “and can you tell us where the best place in town is to get dinner?”
“That would be the Eagle’s Nest, a little ways further down the Sterling Highway,” she said, pointing to the west. “Try the Iditarod Salmon, it’s to die for!”
Darci signed the Visa receipt and held her hand out for the key to the Blue Room, up the stairs and to the right. The room was lavishly decorated with blue flowered wallpaper, a light blue quilted comforter on the sleigh style double bed and silk forget-me-nots in a round glass vase on the bureau. The blue and white striped tab curtains were tied back to highlight the spectacular view of the mountains in the distance, beyond the picture window. Above the bed, there hung a large framed print called ‘Blue Moose’ by a Montana artist. The small bathroom had the usual equipment but also included a bidet. Everything in the bathroom was a shade of blue, from the toilet to the towels. Jean sat on the edge of the bed and just let herself flop onto her back, groaning loudly.
“Feeling blue?” asked Darci, and they both laughed. They freshened up and piled into the SUV again for the short trek to the Eagle’s Nest. It turned out to be a longer trek than anticipated and they were in another city called Deerfield, but they were happy for the inviting look of the place. The front entrance was flanked on both sides by carved wooden totem poles depicting animals and birds in the Southeast Tlingit tradition. The dining room was large and had several comfortable booths around the exterior walls as well as separate tables in the center of the room. The bar appeared to be carved out of a single, tree trunk with Alaskan animals depicted all the way around the top edge. The bartender kept glancing over and smiling at Darci. She smiled back, and then studied the menu fixedly.
With her nose buried in the menu, Jean said, “Why don’t you let me buy this round as an apology for my ex-husband’s rudeness?”