I sit in the heavy cedar and hemlock forest on a sunny afternoon. For a remnant of the great temperate rain forest, that once dominated most of what is northern United States, today is hot. In northwest Montana our spring starts in late June and summer spans the entire month of July and a wee bit of August. At this time of year our highs should be in the high-60s or low-70s. Unfortunately we are getting dangerously close to eighty degrees as I watch the thermometer. Much too hot and far above normal, but there are still those who would deny the reality of climate change. The giant trees, many 12 to 18 feet in diameter and 130-150 feet high, provide a protective canopy while we are washed with a gentle breeze. With our lower humidity and shade, the higher temperature is bearable. It is just upsetting because, despite those who will say and believe anything to deny what is happening, the truth is quite evident when you live in the high mountains and wilderness.
Nevertheless, it is peaceful here. A black bear ambled by just behind our trailer this morning. The tent campers next door rightly clapped and encouraged him not to hang around. That was good. Getting too close or too friendly with humans is a death sentence for a bear. We don't want anything to happen to our bears. Albert, Missy and some of the other Mule Deer come to the salad bar that grows behind us. There is a plethora of wild flowers, various types of berries and a few grasses. Albert got named because he hangs around our place a lot. We don't feed or encourage him, but that isn't easy. He was so scrawny in May. It was a miracle that he had survived the winter. He was limping, his coat was shabby and even his antlers weren't coming in even. If we were to feed him, he wouldn't survive the winter. At the same time, not feeding him he might not survive until winter. But we won't interfere. Human 'intervention' is the cause of almost all of our wildlife and environmental problems. A few campers are seen walking to or from their hikes and activities, but for the most part it is quiet.
Teddy, the name I've given to a beautiful young Black Bear with a silky black coat and classic face, does like to cut through the campground. He's probably three years old, a little over six feet tall when standing up and weighs just over two hundred pounds. Teddy could easily kill you but he's far to habituated. That means he's way too comfortable around humans. One time, before the Going-to-the-Sun Road was open to traffic, I tried to move him away from the road. Standing not fifteen yards from him, clapping, stomping, and yelling he just looked at me. I didn't want him to make a habit of being so close to the road when cars started speeding up the mountain. I was afraid that he'd get hurt. He was laying in a bed of Glacier Lilly and Corn Flowers munching down on the greens and taking his afternoon siesta. I know this is his home and we're the intruders, but the road is already there, so it is much easier to try to keep him from getting hurt on the road than it is to get the government to move the road. A crowd was beginning to gather and I was having a hard time keeping people away from him, so I made a deal with the people. I'd let them walk by, within twenty-five yards of Teddy, and take a picture if they would gather as a group and make noise, clap, etc. It's called hazing. The people agreed. After walking by and taking their pictures they gathered in a group and made the biggest ruckus you've ever heard. Teddy sat up. Cocked his head as though to say 'what in the world are you fool humans doing?' and laid back down. A Law Enforcement Ranger came to help me. He had a shotgun that shoots bean bags. Teddy evidently realized that I was bringing in reinforcements and when the LE Ranger and I got back to where Teddy had been, he was gone. A short while later we spotted him lying down behind a fallen tree. We only knew he was there because we could see his ears above the tree when he would raise his head to check on us. Fortunately Teddy went through the entire season without getting hit by a car. He did scare a bunch of my campers, but I can live with that.
We have the largest population of Grizzly and Black Bears in the lower forty-eight states. I must admit to being proud of our bears. Actually I must admit that, to large part, humans actually deserve much of the credit. Isn't that refreshing? A good fifty years or more ago Glacier learned its lesson about bears and has been very strict about feeding bears or leaving out bear attractants or rewards. As a result our bears know nothing about human food. Bears, however, are calorie machines. They need massive amounts of calories in order to achieve the 45% body fat needed to survive the winter and have cubs. As a result they will follow smells and investigate anything which might be edible. Many times a day we try to explain to visitor, whom we strongly suspect left their brains at home because they were on vacation and didn't need them, that this is why one never, ever, ever leaves food, garbage, dishes, snacks and other edibles unattended in the camp site. Over the past years our bears have been amazingly good. For example, a group of visitors surrounded a Grizzly bear who was trying to drink from a lake. Instead of just mowing down a few visitors to get away, the Grizzly walked into the water and swam away. Bears don't really like us. If they see, smell or hear us coming, they're out of there. I can't blame them.
I catch myself scanning the rocky side of Cannon Mountain looking for signs of wildlife. We are nestled at the foot of three mountains - Cannon, McPartland and Brown. We're actually up against the flank of Brown, so we can't actually see that mountain. We're just too close. McPartland is across the creek west of us. It is my morning mountain. Its peak shines with the morning sun long before we can actually see the sun above the mountains to the east. McPartland is always with me when I make rounds, and since my morning rounds are before most campers are up, I have the magnificent giant to myself. Cannon is on our north. Our water comes from a spring on Cannon. We do not have electricity so our water system is totally gravity. Cannon's water is absolutely pure, cold and delicious. The man who takes care of the water detests the law that requires that he put chemicals in such pure water. It is actually less pure after he follows the legal requirements than it was before he touched it. Cannon gets the light of the setting sun and gives us a magnificent light show. Occasionally, on a day like today, we will see an animal foraging high on the mountain. Earlier in the season I spotted a handsome Mountain Goat billy standing on the point of one of the promontories. It is so easy just to sit back and revel in the beautify of the mountains.
Sadly, as I sit here in this beautiful, serene setting I must have the park radio turned on. That is our only connection with the outside world. Not that I really want a connection to the outside world, but it is necessary. There are no telephones, cell phones, satellite phones, internet or television where we live. The two-way radio connection with park dispatch via a repeater is all we have. Dispatch and Law Enforcement (LE) were going crazy. People were flipping boats on Lake McDonald, taking thirty-foot motor homes past the sign that says "no assembly longer than 21 feet past this point", and engaging in angry shouting matches. A grizzly cub was hit by a car. The cub was fine. Can't say as much for the car. People were speeding, driving without licenses, and a host of other traffic offenses. On our personal GMRS radios Pamela was keeping me abreast of the people in the campground who were taking tags off sites (tags show that someone has paid for the site), moving in on other people's sites, leaving camp fires burning, and less egregious offenses. Chaos.
What a contrast to our surroundings.
I really wish it weren't so, but today was a good example of what I've come to know; viz. introduce homo sapiens into any setting, and no matter how calm, serene, peaceful, etc., the setting will soon be a center of chaos, mischievousness and far more ugliness than I'm willing to tolerate. It's no wonder that the bears don't like us.
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