Fishing with a Bear

The November wind was whipping through the leafless trees almost hard enough to drown out the gurgle of the stream. I had been at a fly show that morning, got the itch, and realized I was a short drive from a good stream. My tackle was in the truck so, subconsciously or on purpose, perhaps I’d been planning a trip anyway. That’s how I ended up on the stream.

In the low water, my fly looked twice its actual size.

The sun shone brightly if not warmly through the canopy, sparkled on the water, and magnified the shadow of my line. My fly looked twice its actual size in the low water, and as I was getting no bites, I kept going smaller. By late afternoon, I had two rainbows to my credit, twins in fact. Each one was just long enough to extend less than an inch on each side of my hand. I was proud of both.

Two trout like this one were all that kept the skunks at bay.

When you are fishing without the cooperation of the fish, anything that swims keeps the skunks at bay. Had I caught a hornyhead or sucker, I would have counted it on this afternoon.

Settling into a relaxed rhythm of flip and drift through any promising water, I began to pay as much attention to my surroundings as to my line. The beginning of winter felt close by. The chill notched higher as the sun dipped behind the ridge and I figured it was almost time to head to the truck.

That was when I heard it.

A low bawl, like a three-year-old youngster forced to hike against its will on a cold afternoon. A trail ran parallel to the stream just out of sight, so I supposed that was the most logical explanation. But the more I listened, I realized I heard no voices to go with the bawling and it didn’t move.

I almost forgot about my line as it swung downstream from me and I spent all my attention on that sound. After hearing it better during a lull in the breeze, I concluded it must be a bear.

I had never heard a bear up close, but suspected that was the source of the bawling.

I’d never heard bears up close before, but if a bear bawled I believed it would sound like this one. Probably it was complaining about having to turn over rocks and claw through logs for nothing more sustaining than a few grubs. Hunger has a way of making the best of us grumpy.

In any event, the complaining critter kept at it. I continued to fish upstream and the sound stayed just far enough in the woods that I couldn’t see its cause. Finally, it came time to head home. I considered inspecting the woods where the noise originated, but figured walking up on a bear in bad spirits might not be the best idea.

Reeling up and securing my fly, I had a few hundred yards to walk up a winding trail to get to the road that would take me back to my truck. Hiking with purpose and the pace of old age, I made it to the road and turned toward my ride home when something caught my eye. Looking downhill, I saw the bear step into the road the same time I did, stop, and look uphill at me.

The bear and I stepped into the road at the same time.

We watched each other momentarily, neither of us moving. After a few seconds, I slowly reached for my pocket camera, turned it on, and snapped a quick shot. The bear, having posed, continued across the road and went up the mountain.

The route the bear took up the mountain led towards a popular hiking trail that ended in the parking lot where my truck was parked. I walked on down to my truck, and as I arrived, a young couple exited the trail. They were in good spirits and spoke to me as I considered that their timing was perfect for intercepting the bear.

“Catch any fish?”

I always expect this line when I’m in waders so my reply came out without needing to think.

“A few small ones. Did you see any bears on your hike?” I asked in return.

“Oh no,” replied the young lady. “I’m deathly afraid of bears. Are there any around here?”

I gave this question more thought than the first one and pretended to be studying the laces on my wading boots. After a half day on the water, the laces seem farther away and harder to reach. But this observation gave me time to craft an answer.

“A few, but they are likely more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I doubt that,” she laughed as they got in their car and drove off.

I wondered how they could have missed the bear and concluded that their trail conversation probably alerted it to change course. Otherwise, I would have heard her scream.

Jim Mize doesn’t mind fishing with bears, though not as bait. You can purchase Jim’s new book, The Jon Boat Years, at https://uscpress.com/The-Jon-Boat-Years or buy autographed copies at www.acreektricklesthroughit.com.