Beavers and Bears and Bogs! Oh, my!

Last Saturday, I asked The Cowboy if he'd like some company as he went to the north-west corner of the ranch to check fences. You know what he said.

I got an old pair of his Wranglers. Faded and worn thin, they were too long for me, so I rolled them up three or four inches. Got my muck boots. (Good thing I did!) A couple of t-shirts and an old snap shirt of The Cowboy's and I was set to go. Oh, and my camera.

The fences hadn't been checked for a while, so we anticipated plenty of mending to keep the cows and calves from wandering out onto Crown Land. We had wire, staples, pliers, a hammer, a chainsaw, and the rifle. We loaded up the quad in the horse trailer and we were off. Sunny and warm, it was a lovely day.

I refused to ride down this hill -- and many others -- on the quad. This picture doesn't do justice to the steepness, although The Cowboy would say, "That?? It's just a tacky little hill."

We covered miles, stapling up wire and cutting out trees that had blown down over the fence. Eventually, we came to the Beaver Ponds.

The grass under our feet was matted down where a bear sow and two cubs had bedded down. 

A snipe in the reeds.

We'd left the quad behind, on the other side of a beaver channel, to look at the ponds, but The Cowboy went back to get the quad, so we could continue following the fence. He left me with the gun and the camera. I saw flora I hadn't seen for years: wild columbine in bloom. Solomon's seal. Huge alders, birch, and bam cottonwood. And of course, the wild roses were in bloom.

I couldn't stop thinking of the fresh bear sign, though, and a she-bear with cubs, at that. I sang "The Song that Never Ends," knowing that would keep any wild beast away, but after singing it about thirty times, I was still spooked. I went back to where the The Cowboy had devised a way to get the quad over the beaver channel linking two ponds. 

A "corduroy" bridge made of rotten, water-saturated logs. 

Mile after mile, we walked or rode, pushing through the brush and timber and circling around a mudslide, until the fence proved too damaged to repair. We'd had days of rain, and there was plenty of mud to challenge the quad. We came to a boggy section, and I thought I could walk through it, since the quad had had no problems. It was not to be. I was sucked down into the quagmire. Cold, dirty water overflowed into my boots. I was in mud up to my ankles. Then, to add insult to humiliation, I fell  into the sticky gumbo. 

Fortunately for me, the camera was firmly in my pocket, not with The Cowboy, who was over on dry ground roaring with laughter at my struggle to keep my boots on and escape the mire. 

After that, I drove the quad for a while, while The Cowboy sawed through downed trees and brush, until the trail became too steep for my (very) limited abilities and confidence level. The Cowboy took over, climbing a nearly perpendicular hill, looking for an ancient and overgrown logging road. I walked behind, looking for things to photograph, trying to ignore the "squish squish" of my boots. I came to the deserted quad. He was out of sight, looking for a way through the timber. 

I looked around for something to photograph. In a tree, not 30 feet away, was a black BEAR!

Think, think. What did we learn in our Wildlife Safety Course? Make noise. Put the quad between me and the bear, but he didn't appear predatory or defensive, just curious. So, I reached for my camera, but my hands, inside my muddy work gloves wouldn't cooperate. Okay, maybe I should get the rifle instead. No, the camera. Finally, I chose the only option left. I screamed.

"There's a bear! Come back! Come back!"

The Cowboy did, hollering and waving his arms, and the bear slid down the tree and ambled off into the trees. 

The cow/calf pairs in the field east of our adventure.

We were mud to the eyebrows. My jeans were caked to my boots, my gloves to my hands. Leaves, sticks, mud in my hair. We were both filthy, sweaty, and hungry, but happily full of good memories of hard, dirty, honest work, enjoying creation, and being together. 

I can't wait to go again.