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- Aug 8, 2005
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Had to add this to some thread so why not here?
Casey and the River, or, anti-evolution - return to the primordial ooze. With dog.
I packed a group of about 6 people into the high country. Not all fun and games when working as pack station ramrod. On my previous trip in I had cut some log rounds for future firewood as I didn't have an axe that trip. This trip I had the axe head and a new axe handle I had to fit to the head if we were going to have campfires. The seasoned solid ash handle had apparently been originally designed to fit a 4 handed medieval war hammer from the looks of it and my knife was barely able to pare off the thinnest of shavings. I had three hours before sundown to get the thing fixed and the wood split. At 9,000 foot elevation the temperature drops like a rock when that sun goes down.
So I'm sitting there in the dirt, whittling away. The rest of the group had decided to go up to the flats while the remaining member, Casey, stayed to have lunch. Some sort of dehydrated horror trail food. Finishing up she went to toss what was left in her bowl into the river. NO FOOD LEFT OUT and NO GARBAGE! We have bears. Feed the fish.
I see out of the corner of my eye her try to flip the bowl empty and the third time was a charm as she tossed the bowl into the river. Quickly rolling up her pants she went in after it. Third step was on what I call a slither rock and she went down on her back, all but her head under water.
Well, in April that isn't water in the river. Pure snow melt. Out she comes, gasping, and dashes for her pack. I've seen worse foops, done worse foops, so I idly watch as she dashes for her pack, pulls out her towel and dries her face, the only part of her that didn't get wet. She then digs out a change of clothes and I swivel about, turning my back to give her some modesty. A few moments later I hear a loud odd sound. ONONONONONONONON!!!!!! I turn to look and she has backed into the middle of our campsite, naked and clutching her clothes to her chest. The ononon stuff didn't give me much to go by and she wasn't offering up anything else so I went and looked. Okay, rattler. Grab my gun and deal with it then get back to whittling.
Dressed once more I again see her out of the corner of my eye approaching the river. She again rolls up her pants and very carefully steps into the river. She had seen the spoon she dropped earlier. This rock was what I call a rocker I think. See saw. She felt it tip, tried to compensate, and what I saw was her diving head first into the river in a belly flop.
I decide to take a short stroll a little ways down the river. Give her some modesty and facilitate my whittling without an ongoing comedy routine in my face. Need to concentrate. A while later I stroll back to see her, now dressed in the last of her dry clothes, bikini top, heavy jacket and hiking shorts talking my dog into accompanying her for a walk. Ah, peace and quiet. For maybe five minutes. I hear in the distance her calling my dog's name over and over and over. What in heck? Down tools and walk up the river to check. She is standing there exhorting him to follow while he is circling around and around a tree making his weird Akita growl/hum/yodel/hiss sounds. Aha. I move in, time things, take careful aim and as he passes I give him a good solid kick in the butt and yell. "YO!! NUFF! LAY OFF!" It's our tried and proven communication method. He faces me down, hissing. I charge-challenge, he backs off, repeat, repeat until I get him the required distance. He finally decides I'm serious and goes off, back to his meanderings.
I walk back to Casey who appears to be royally confused about my animal abuse. I've got to get back to my whittling and am not going to get into the lengthy explanation of how to get a primal headstrong self willed Akita to cooperate. I just point out the bear cub in the tree that he had cornered. Casey goes wide eyed and gasping, takes some quick steps backwards and of course, splat on her butt in the river. I drag her out and hurry her back to the camp site to let the cub escape before my dog gets back.
I had found a nice rough rock and was making more progress grinding away at the axe handle than my knife was making. I was also extra motivated as Casey was now wearing my coat along with my change of pants and all I had to keep me warm during the night was two long sleeved shirts. The group returned to take note of all of Casey's clothes draped out on the bushes to dry. I finally got the axe put together, split enough wood for that evening, got a fire going in a quick hurry and dashed off to check on the horses.
Coming down the trail back to the river I heard a lot of excited chatter and a couple of little shrieks. Rounding a bend I see a couple of people on my side of the river across from our camp site. The rest were on the bank of the river making a lot of silly stupid noises. They had all waded the river and were wet from below the waist down. Across the river mama bear had put in an appearance, looking for her missing cub mostly likely, and her and my dog was having a face off. Oh frack. My gun is in my pack at the camp site. Not much I could do but wait until my dog trees her or chases her off. I crossed the river on the stones, cheating of course as my boots have Vibram soles and I was an old hand on those treacherous rocks, circled the camp and face off and waited.
It's fun and informative in a way to watch an Akita in action and I enjoyed having a ring side seat on that occasion. They look a little like a lumbering uncoordinated bear but that's a complete sham. Their sideways dashes are reminiscent of rattlesnakes and several dogs learned the hard way just how fast my dog was, along with the fact he was a cannibal. Feint, dodge, back, lunge... Olympic fencers should study them. Supposedly way back in time the Japanese used Akita's to hunt bears as a sport.
It might seem that this match was one sided with the bear several times stronger and 150 pounds heavier. One swipe of those claws and it's meat time. But that isn't taking into account the Akita. An apex predator with hundreds of generations dating back to a primal wolf that has honed it's fighting skills into a fine art while the bear is just a shambling omnivore with very minimal combat skill.
I knew what the outcome would be and circled, waiting for my chance to get to my pack. My dog finally had the bear backed far enough away and I was able to get my gun. Now came the tricky part, when I fired the dog would probably think wounded bear and move in for the kill. So I started my yelling again to get it to back down. When he did, starting a wide circle, I started firing into the dirt at the bears feet. She had enough and blitzed. I got the dog to not give chase and he was hyped. Hadn't had so much fun in months. He went into his romp mode, bouncing happy, and celebrated with a quick swim in the river.
As I was getting the fire built up I missed when Casey almost went down in the river again as the group came back across. She was soaked from the waist down this time and borrowed a pair of pants from someone. I suggested on her next trip she bring a wet suit.
Peace and quiet set in and all was right with the world. Scents of pines and sagebrush, the gurgles from the river and the desperate anguished moan from Casey as she discovered my dog had sacked out on her sleeping bag.
Casey and the River, or, anti-evolution - return to the primordial ooze. With dog.
I packed a group of about 6 people into the high country. Not all fun and games when working as pack station ramrod. On my previous trip in I had cut some log rounds for future firewood as I didn't have an axe that trip. This trip I had the axe head and a new axe handle I had to fit to the head if we were going to have campfires. The seasoned solid ash handle had apparently been originally designed to fit a 4 handed medieval war hammer from the looks of it and my knife was barely able to pare off the thinnest of shavings. I had three hours before sundown to get the thing fixed and the wood split. At 9,000 foot elevation the temperature drops like a rock when that sun goes down.
So I'm sitting there in the dirt, whittling away. The rest of the group had decided to go up to the flats while the remaining member, Casey, stayed to have lunch. Some sort of dehydrated horror trail food. Finishing up she went to toss what was left in her bowl into the river. NO FOOD LEFT OUT and NO GARBAGE! We have bears. Feed the fish.
I see out of the corner of my eye her try to flip the bowl empty and the third time was a charm as she tossed the bowl into the river. Quickly rolling up her pants she went in after it. Third step was on what I call a slither rock and she went down on her back, all but her head under water.
Well, in April that isn't water in the river. Pure snow melt. Out she comes, gasping, and dashes for her pack. I've seen worse foops, done worse foops, so I idly watch as she dashes for her pack, pulls out her towel and dries her face, the only part of her that didn't get wet. She then digs out a change of clothes and I swivel about, turning my back to give her some modesty. A few moments later I hear a loud odd sound. ONONONONONONONON!!!!!! I turn to look and she has backed into the middle of our campsite, naked and clutching her clothes to her chest. The ononon stuff didn't give me much to go by and she wasn't offering up anything else so I went and looked. Okay, rattler. Grab my gun and deal with it then get back to whittling.
Dressed once more I again see her out of the corner of my eye approaching the river. She again rolls up her pants and very carefully steps into the river. She had seen the spoon she dropped earlier. This rock was what I call a rocker I think. See saw. She felt it tip, tried to compensate, and what I saw was her diving head first into the river in a belly flop.
I decide to take a short stroll a little ways down the river. Give her some modesty and facilitate my whittling without an ongoing comedy routine in my face. Need to concentrate. A while later I stroll back to see her, now dressed in the last of her dry clothes, bikini top, heavy jacket and hiking shorts talking my dog into accompanying her for a walk. Ah, peace and quiet. For maybe five minutes. I hear in the distance her calling my dog's name over and over and over. What in heck? Down tools and walk up the river to check. She is standing there exhorting him to follow while he is circling around and around a tree making his weird Akita growl/hum/yodel/hiss sounds. Aha. I move in, time things, take careful aim and as he passes I give him a good solid kick in the butt and yell. "YO!! NUFF! LAY OFF!" It's our tried and proven communication method. He faces me down, hissing. I charge-challenge, he backs off, repeat, repeat until I get him the required distance. He finally decides I'm serious and goes off, back to his meanderings.
I walk back to Casey who appears to be royally confused about my animal abuse. I've got to get back to my whittling and am not going to get into the lengthy explanation of how to get a primal headstrong self willed Akita to cooperate. I just point out the bear cub in the tree that he had cornered. Casey goes wide eyed and gasping, takes some quick steps backwards and of course, splat on her butt in the river. I drag her out and hurry her back to the camp site to let the cub escape before my dog gets back.
I had found a nice rough rock and was making more progress grinding away at the axe handle than my knife was making. I was also extra motivated as Casey was now wearing my coat along with my change of pants and all I had to keep me warm during the night was two long sleeved shirts. The group returned to take note of all of Casey's clothes draped out on the bushes to dry. I finally got the axe put together, split enough wood for that evening, got a fire going in a quick hurry and dashed off to check on the horses.
Coming down the trail back to the river I heard a lot of excited chatter and a couple of little shrieks. Rounding a bend I see a couple of people on my side of the river across from our camp site. The rest were on the bank of the river making a lot of silly stupid noises. They had all waded the river and were wet from below the waist down. Across the river mama bear had put in an appearance, looking for her missing cub mostly likely, and her and my dog was having a face off. Oh frack. My gun is in my pack at the camp site. Not much I could do but wait until my dog trees her or chases her off. I crossed the river on the stones, cheating of course as my boots have Vibram soles and I was an old hand on those treacherous rocks, circled the camp and face off and waited.
It's fun and informative in a way to watch an Akita in action and I enjoyed having a ring side seat on that occasion. They look a little like a lumbering uncoordinated bear but that's a complete sham. Their sideways dashes are reminiscent of rattlesnakes and several dogs learned the hard way just how fast my dog was, along with the fact he was a cannibal. Feint, dodge, back, lunge... Olympic fencers should study them. Supposedly way back in time the Japanese used Akita's to hunt bears as a sport.
It might seem that this match was one sided with the bear several times stronger and 150 pounds heavier. One swipe of those claws and it's meat time. But that isn't taking into account the Akita. An apex predator with hundreds of generations dating back to a primal wolf that has honed it's fighting skills into a fine art while the bear is just a shambling omnivore with very minimal combat skill.
I knew what the outcome would be and circled, waiting for my chance to get to my pack. My dog finally had the bear backed far enough away and I was able to get my gun. Now came the tricky part, when I fired the dog would probably think wounded bear and move in for the kill. So I started my yelling again to get it to back down. When he did, starting a wide circle, I started firing into the dirt at the bears feet. She had enough and blitzed. I got the dog to not give chase and he was hyped. Hadn't had so much fun in months. He went into his romp mode, bouncing happy, and celebrated with a quick swim in the river.
As I was getting the fire built up I missed when Casey almost went down in the river again as the group came back across. She was soaked from the waist down this time and borrowed a pair of pants from someone. I suggested on her next trip she bring a wet suit.
Peace and quiet set in and all was right with the world. Scents of pines and sagebrush, the gurgles from the river and the desperate anguished moan from Casey as she discovered my dog had sacked out on her sleeping bag.