This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2014, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Sonny and I just got back from genuine bear country. We saw bears, smelled bears, heard bears and even shot a cannon at a bear.
Note: Calm down. Nobody important — especially us, but also the bear — got hurt.
One of the reasons for our successful return is that we strictly adhered to Rule No. 17 of "Sonny & Kirby's List of [Stuff] Not to Do When More Than 100 Miles From a Hospital."
Like the title, the list is a long one. I won't get into all the rules but No. 17 specifically states, "Upon seeing, hearing and smelling bears, it's past time to go the hell somewhere else."
Unfortunately, this was bear country. Wherever we went we saw bears. There was a bear scratching a tree, a bear crossing the road, a bear eating something delightfully gory, and a bear in a stand of trees studying us with obvious caloric interest.
It is possible that all of these sightings were of the same bear. Our bear identification skills are relatively limited to "Holy [stuff]! That's a bear!"
Sonny, who is somewhat better at identifying bears (I once incorrectly identified a large beaver as such) was of the relative certainty that what we saw wasn't a polar bear, which he claims are white and doubly scary.
Anyway, the bear. We saw the first one while driving along through high-country aspens. We came around a corner, and the bear was crossing the road like he owned the place, a matter we were perfectly willing to concede.
Us: "Holy [stuff], a bear!"
Bear: "Cool. Meat on wheels."
We kept going. Autumn is no time to fool around with bears. Generally moody at best, bears are much easier to provoke while storing fat on which to hibernate for the winter.
The list of things bears consider edible triples in length during the fall, and for all we knew could include tires, windshield wipers, floor mats and a couple of old guys.
The next bear we saw had already secured its meal for the foreseeable future — a dead cow. Exactly what caused the cow to be dead was unclear, but my money was on sheer fright at being cornered by a bear.
Later (meaning after we hadn't seen a bear for at least two hours), we had the cannons out and were conducting important scientific research.
Another note: On this particular afternoon, science was in dire need of knowing whether a Sprite can filled with concrete would go clear through a filing cabinet.
Answer: Yes, as well as the old television, wood pallet and paint bucket behind it.
Back to the bear. The last one (or the same one later) we spotted was on a ridge 500 yards away. We noticed him only because we started looking around for the reason why the hair on the back of our necks was standing up.
At this distance it was hard to tell if the bear was already full but we weren't taking any chances. We set up on him and fired a pink bowling ball for self-defense.
Final note: Since a bowling ball mortar is no more accurate than a legislative body, the odds of hitting the bear were exactly zero.
Whether it was the enormous blast of the cannon, or the hole the ball gouged out of the ground nearby, the bear decided it had enough for the day. It waddled away in search of a meal less well-armed.
If you plan to hike the high country this fall, watch out for bears. Carry bear repellent, make noise, don't travel alone, and take a bowling ball cannon with you. It will be a short hike, but you'll be glad you did.
Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.