Truth be told I was hurting the whole way, but despite that and my knees and ankles getting all cut up, I powered through the hike like a tough guy, albeit complaining brutally the entire route.
Ok gents, time to set up camp.
The stars were so bright that it didn’t get dark until almost ten o’clock. Brian was right; we could practically reach out and touch them. Amazing. Our mission was to turn this camping spot into our personal home-away-from-home, appointed with our four-man pup tent, comfy sleeping bags, and a small, stone fire pit for roasting marshmallows to a crisp (Yup, I thought to bring them.) and heating up multiple cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew for a late dinner. Everything tasted so good. Better than ever. Mountain air is sooo good!
There were some other campers set up near us, but our cherry picked site was the farthest into the thick woods giving us a good deal of privacy and adequate distance between our campsite and the neighboring site, whoever they might be. We fortified our fire by placing many large stones around its perimeter. Then Brian and Eddie chopped some extra kindling with Brian’s razor-sharp ax to feed the fire, and upon completion, cracked open the six-pack of Schlitz beer Eddie had brought and chugged them down in record time. We sat around the fire until the wee hours of the morning, finally deciding to hit the sack, or sacks, as they were, at about two a.m. Each of us was way beyond tired from the long day of travel and hiking.
Crashing in our sleeping bags would be so good that night. At least that’s what we thought.
And for several hours it was. Until…
We heard a noise. Well, Patrick heard it first and then woke us up.
It sounded like heavy breathing. Along with loud rustling, right outside our tent. Our first reaction was that someone was playing a joke on us (Where’s Eddie?!), but all the would-be jokesters were present and accounted for. Then the tent shook. Gently at first perhaps attributable to the mountain winds. Then harder with increased force. Pretty soon our tent was shaking like Elvis Presley’s hips. By then we were frozen in place with our mouths dropped open!
What we heard next was the very sound no camper ever wants to hear—a deep, loud growl, quickly exploding into a ferocious R-O-A-RRR! The jarring sound was followed by a set of long sharp claws cutting through the thin tent wall, just barely (no pun intended) missing Patrick’s right ear in its path.
Holy Mother of God—IT’S. A. BEAR!!
Now, everything I’ve ever read about wild animals, or seen on TV instructs you (thank you, Marlin Perkins), if approached by said bear, to make loud noises to hopefully scare off the attacker, and for goodness sake, whatever you do, never, ever, run or antagonize the predator, ever!
We did both!
Everyone around us was freaking out; you could hear lots of shouting and someone maybe clanging pots together. The bear came in the back, carving right through the canvas tent, so we flew out the front like a scene straight out of F-Troop! Good news for me, the fast, skinny kid got out the door first, sensing the log jam behind me. I immediately recalled the old joke I once heard: “You don’t have to be the fastest person to outrun a bear, just not the slowest.” I took that to heart. Fortunately, my boys were right on my tail, speaking of which, I dared glance back just long enough to see Yogi attacking our, stupidly left-ajar cooler, momentarily slowing his attack.
What happened next was utterly surreal. The events happening in a series of super-slow-motion not-to-be-believed freeze-framed pictures and voices.
Bear Comes In – We go out – Run! Run guys!! Faster!
Patrick, Look Out For The Bear – The Bear! Eddie, Grab JR! – What’s Brian doing over there?! – What’s in his Hand? – It’s the Axe, man. It’s our freakin’ Axe!
BRIAAAAN! – GROWLLLLLLLLL!!! – BRIAAAAN!!!
That’s when Brian hurled the axe at Yogi. At a wild bear. I shit you not! It’s still debatable whether he made any contact, but it was nonetheless effective.
We ran. The bear ran. But thanks to Brian, in opposite directions!
Good news was no more bear; bad news, we were all shaking like leaves!
We decided to hike out of the campsite right there and then fearing the resident carnivore might return for the meal he missed! It was a clumsy trip down the dark mountain and we each got banged up doing so.
Our wounds? They hurt.
But, the story?
Worth every ounce of pain…
Chapter 33
Swear
The next day back at Mashnee, was gonna be another hot and hazy summer’s day and we had big plans to do some waterskiing then cruise up and down the canal, so we were up and out early, meeting, not on The Club’s stairs as we would during previous summers, but at The Hut, at precisely (or not) 8:30 a.m.
I was a few minutes late, sprinting from my house to make up time, and upon approach saw that my summer compadres had already arrived, a solid crew of Tommy, Patrick and Ken Flaherty, and Stevie Bird, all already cracking up about something that was said.
The morning was clear, the water was calm, and Tommy decided (Let’s face it, Tommy made most of the decisions, the rest of us resembled a rubber stamp.), that we should take his boat, opting for all-out speed and foregoing the extra comfort and stability mine would have provided.
So what were we planning? We were heading for the Cape Cod Canal, which would require us to tackle the ever-challenging currents and potentially treacherous rip-pools the canal was notorious for, should the presently calm waters erupt. There were also huge wakes from cargo ships passing by.
Of particular note was the fact that none of us, including Tommy, were actually allowed to take our boats through the canal, nor be caught dead in a friend’s boat doing the same, but hey, we were young and stupid, and besides, what could possibly go wrong on such a perfect day?
First we would pick up the girls at the Memorial dock. That could mean trouble. It would depend upon who, or how many guys, from Memorial Beach happened to be hanging around their beach or the pier that day, and how they might react to us casually cruising off into the proverbial sunset with their would-be girlfriends which was already a major issue..
There might be bad feelings. There might be a conflict. Truth was, we were ready for whatever.
The way we figured it, we had Tommy. They didn’t.
“Ok, so here’s the game plan,” suggested Tommy, “I’ve got about a quarter tank of gas left before we gotta hit the pier, plus we gotta meet those chicks, so let’s each take a short turn skiing, then we’ll head on over. Done deal?”
Again, it sounded much more like a directive than a discussion, but yeah, sounds good.
“Hey, Jimmyrocket,” Tommy continued, “let’s use your dinghy and tie it up at my mooring, ok? Then we can pick up these dipshits at the dock.” Considering I never once said no to Tommy in all the summers we knew each other, my answer was a foregone conclusion.
“Great plan, Tommy. Wanna race…?” He punched my arm.
With that I grabbed his boat keys from his unsuspecting hand and took off down the beach with him in hot pursuit, cursing the whole way, which definitely meant another hard strike to my arm once we reached the dinghy, and wouldn’t you know, ah shit, I was right.
“Jesus H. Christ, Tommy, that hurt!”
