The Bear (The whole truth, and nothing but the truth)
by Tony Gwin

OK, I feel the need to set the record straight. By now many of you have heard about the bear "sighting" that Matt "the Bass Master" Thorout, Steve "Nature Boy" Clark, and I experienced on our recent trip to the great white north. But, I don't think many of you know "the real story", so here it is according to me (don't listen to Steve, he's been breathing in too much laughing gas in the O.R.). Caution: This story is not for the faint at heart.

Well, after three days of solid fishing, eating, drinking "coffee or a bubbly", we decided to try a few of the trails we had seen in the area around Sprague, Ontario, a town comprised of a car dealership, a restaurant, and the KOA. After a brief encounter on the first trail with an elderly man wielding a large axe (ok, it was a hatchet, but he could have been Hannibal Lecter), we decided to try a snowmobile trail which followed the clear-cut under the high tension wires along Route 17. This turned out to be a great trail with fairly hilly terrain, rocks, ruts, grass, and some technical descents. Two minutes into the ride Matt yells, "First one over the handlebars buys beer", three minutes into the ride I endo. That settled, off we went into the great unknown. [In the photo, from the left, Tony, Steve, Matt.] 

Well, as you all have experienced with me the last couple of years, any time you get Steve and Matt together on two wheels (or skis for that matter), the competitive juices begin to flow and all you can do is try to keep up. This day was no exception and I soon found myself alone in the wild (OK, they were only 25 yards up the trail). After about 20 minutes of riding, the sound of my own breathing was suddenly overshadowed by a rustling/scratching sound in the trees 10 yards to my left. Startled, I glanced and saw something in a large oak tree (or was it a maple . . . I'll have to ask Nature Boy). Was it a racoon? Deer? Moose? Big Foot? Another glance, and there, half way down the tree, was the biggest Black Bear I had ever seen, looking at me with a gleam in his eyes. The bear, easily 500 pounds and over 8 feet tall, did not appear to be too impressed with my Lycra MVW jersey, shorts, and my pearlized yellow ProFlex 554, and started down the tree.

In that moment I recalled all the words of wisdom and guidance I had absorbed over the last 3 days ("leave the bobber under for at least a minute", "don't let your lines get too close together when we're trolling", "bears can run 35 mph", "those are bivalves", and "you only have to be as fast as the slowest guy"). With 2 clicks of my index finger I was in the biggest gear I could find, and trying my best to top 35mph and become "the fastest guy". I could hear the bear running in the trail behind me, quickly closing the gap like a rabid Will McLaughlin in the last lap of a cat. 1_2 crit. I shot past Steve and Matt and quietly told them that I had seen a bear (OK, I was yelling with all I could muster through clinched teeth and a heart rate of 220). Matt quickly joined me in my escape but to my amazement, Steve headed back toward the bear. Not to be outdone, Matt quickly followed. "Did you hear me, I said bear, not squirrel?!", I yelled. Soon, however, they both came to their senses when the bear stopped and stood staring on it's hind legs doing it's best grizzly imitation. I was the slowest guy again.

After another 30 seconds and no sound of pursuit, we climbed atop a rock formation to survey the scene of our retreat. No sign of the bear. "What now?" I asked. "Don't worry, black bears aren't predators", Steve said. Matt quickly pointed out that the bear was probably eating berries in the trail when he heard us and headed for the tree. I added that the bear was coming down the tree when I saw him, and that the bear had given chase (OK, that could have been my heart pounding and not paws on the trail). Nature Boy chuckled and said that the bear was getting ready for winter hibernation and that it would be a lot less work to eat one mountain biker vs. all those berries.

We climbed down from the rock and headed back towards the car, me settled securely between this year's and last year's club champions, chatting nervously about the size of the monster, Black Bear mating habits and the record small mouth bass I caught the day before. Safely back at camp, the boys remarked about how brave I was to warn them about the imposing danger and how skilled a mountain biker I was to catch them and then climb a vertical rock face on a 45 pound dual suspension ProFlex. I modestly thanked them and asked if they wanted to ride the same trail the next day, offering to ride up front in case of another encounter with "our friend".

Well the rest of the trip went without incident (except for another nose wheely and the loss of an anchor due to the poor eyesight of the only eye doctor in the group). We caught all the big northern pike in Lake Huron and decided to head home with one last tangle of lines for The Bass Master to fix and one last visit to see Brenda, the beautiful owner and operator of the KOA. "Have a safe trip, eh !", she said. "Thanks, eh!", said Steve.

So that's it. You know what really happened. That's my story and I'm sticking too it!

Weed!

Last Updated 03/19/08