Well it was bound to happen one day!~!~!~!~

“Twas the 3rd of June, another sleeping dusty Delta day.” Opps, wrong story I do believe that was Bobby Gentry in the Ode to Billy Joe. By right it was actually June 19th and still cold as heck up here in the lost land of Northern Vancouver Island. Another dismal day off, threats of more rain and wind stopped my house painting project in its tracks. But Gas has dropped to $1.16, whoppee I can go for a drive says I.

Out came the picnic basket, fishing tackle and camera. On with the LL Bean boots, sweaters and rain gear. Spend 30 bucks for a quarter tank of gas and to the back roads we go. Unfortunately, all our favorite spots are filled with hundred thousand dollar RV’s. So much for the unserviced sites being a secret for long, note to self; You have to move further or closer, not sure which.

In order to find a spot where I can let the mighty (pain in the butt) off his leash for a run, we drive a considerable ways. But finally find a lovely spot, a long rounded stone river bed leading into Rupert Arm.

Carrying my kit bag and rod, we head in from the tidal flats along the river bed. It’s quiet as I watch a King Fisher studying us from his perch in the pines. Lager is happy to be free at last, splashing in the shallow water as we make our way down stream.

And then in a flash, he catches a scent and is gone. I see him enter the forest a hundred feet away running flat out. As he has never once strayed I give him a minute before I call. And nothing, call again, still nothing then I hear him bark. Lager has a very loud and sharp bark for a small dog, (extremely loud) but I can barely hear him, he’s deep in the woods!

Panic sets in for a moment as I call again. OK girl, you are in bear and cougar country. You love your dog, but going into the forest is not a smart move. Your truck is a mile away, and no one knows you are here. Stand still, focus your voice, firmly and loudly call the dog.

At that very moment flying out of the trees bounds a 400 lb bear. He had cleared the bank of brush so high I saw his belly, landed as graceful as a deer and looked me right in the eyes. Now I swear this is true. His eyes popped open the size of dinner plates, I have never seen a more startled look on an animal. And with that he turned and was gone back the way he came before the words (Oh Shit) were out of my mouth.

A minute later, Lager shows up not 15 feet from where the bear vanished. He is panting, winded and, could it be, yep he looks a little shell shocked!

As he takes a drink from the river he gives me a look as if to say;

“Don’t think I’ll try that again anytime soon!”

“No S–T Sherlock, just wait till we get to Ontario and you find Porcupines, oh and Skunks!”