It's good to find a fisherman- I haven't met many I couldn't get on with.
Imagine your staking out your crop.
you are allowed : (I am asuming you are strapped, for Bear obviously)
1 Book
12 Tunes
5 Fly patterns
1 luxury item
What would they be?
I tried to do this and by Shiva, it was difficult.
And I will happily join the queue for the DVD
that brings to mind a little story...
Animal Attraction
Turning and fleeing from a bear is a no-no because it shows signs of weakness and may prompt an attack. Well, shitting yourself on the spot is an outright declaration that he might as well just tuck a napkin under his chin and eat you.
You ain't really lived until you've had a four-hundred-pound fur ball with canines and claws chasing you. Nothing puts a chill in your spine like knowing you are fleeing, very likely, for your life, from an animal without a rational mind or the ability to be persuaded that youd make a lousy, noisy dinner with a human excrement aftertaste.
I didn't even realize he was after me until I heard a branch snap and turned to see him scrambling in my direction. Initially, he was as frightened as I was; wed startled each other. He darted up a tree and clung there, looking at me from a distance of about two meters. I was ready to forgive him and go about my business, but he wasn't having any of it. I guess he took my sneak retreat as a sign of weakness, and clawed his way down the tree after me as I turned and hurried in the opposite direction.
Gaining distance between us, and whipsawing between sheer terror and the textbook notion you arent supposed to run or show fear, I hastened my pace towards the mainline where my Ranger was parked with the drivers side door open. To compound matters, my bear spray was jammed sideways in the main pouch of my fanny pack, which it wasn't designed for, and the zipper had jammed. Continuously glancing back as I tore out of the bush, I yanked and pulled on that zipper as a black, snorting, menace flickered in the trees in full trot toward me.
Breaking out of the bush and onto the mainline logging road, I ran for my truck, still trying to work the zipper of my fanny pack. The bear snorted loudly, and I craned around to see him breaking out on the logging road, too, galloping after me with his mouth ajar and his tongue stuffed between his canines...
Gasping for breath, I sprinted as fast as I could towards my truck, that beacon of hope about 100 yards away. The bear was on my heels, his claws clicking on the gravel. The zipper on my fanny pack suddenly broke open and I peeled the spray out, popping the safety cap like a champagne cork. Wheeling around, in a continuous motion I released a plume of spray. Close enough to swat my feet out from under me, the bear showed the whites of his bloodshot eyes as the spray cloud dispersed directly in front of his snout. When it hit his nostrils, his hind legs buckled under him and he landed on his ass, just like in a cartoon, and I made it to the safety of my truck.
Acutely aware of my heaving breath and trembling hands, I leaned out the open door with the spray poised. The bear grunted and whined in agony, his mouth frothing as he pawed at his nose, trying to remove the pepper. So pissed was he, he stumbled towards me again and I discharged another plume from the safety of my truck. The spray came nowhere near him, but the mere sound of it sent him lumbering into the bush.
I collapsed into the drivers seat, stunned, listening to my heartbeat slow as visions of less favorable outcomes danced in my head. What the hell had I just averted? The woods would never be the same for me again. Or, at least, not for a long, long time.
I was at the local outfitters a few days later and overheard a man and wife amicably debating whether or not they should buy the bear spray for their camping trip. I winked and said. "Good idea. Trust me."
