The return to Black Bear Bend

Mike Cast, Leader Staff

The Bear

Some weeks ago I was fishing a creek not far from U.S. Highway 93 when I came to a bend that I had never fished.

The water was deep and clear, with just enough current to keep it oxygenated … a regular paradise for retired trout worn out from the hustle and bustle of their nine to fives upstream, set on fattening in the pool in between games of bridge and episodes of Nick at Night.

The sight stopped me dead in my tracks; I had found the money hole. It was just too bad I had to leave.

The enormous black bear that was guarding Black Bear Bend had charged into the brush above the river's edge after our brief standoff, no doubt better positioning himself to jump down and eat me if I came any further.

I left - nature had won this time.

But I would be back with its worst enemy - another man.

Nutty

My friend Zach, as his mother calls him, was more than happy to join me for a second shot at the bend.

"I haven't been fly-fishing in years," he said excitedly while I got the gear ready by the car.

"Yeah. Thanks for driving all of the way out here, Nutty," I told my companion.

Nutty was a big, burly, tattooed, and really somewhat bearish fellow from Butte whom I had played hockey with back in Colorado. He was a quiet kid, a good friend, and as loony as his nickname suggests. Why else would he be willing to venture into known bear territory?

I generously let Nutty wear my good waders because my backup pair had a tiny hole.

All geared up, I led the way down a very steep grade. I was moving quickly, and it was difficult for Nutty to keep up.

"Are you ok?" asked Nutty.

"Fine," I said, up-righting myself and pulling the rocks and sticks out of my nose and ears.

The normal route to the water goes through a large clearing but due to a spattering of dangerous wildlife, I navigated us around it.

"They were just cows," Nutty said, ignorantly.

He's a nice guy but not the sharpest tool in the box.

"We're almost there," I said, forcing my way through yet another thorn bush.

Nutty had gotten himself stuck again in the meantime.

"Quit fooling around," I said.

He groaned childishly and yanked his head from the bush, leaving just a little beard and some eyebrow behind as well as some very colorful language.

We emerged from the brush and were there.

"Up on the hill above that bend is where I saw the bear. And Nutty, didn't you used to have a moustache?" I said.

"Bear? What bear?"

Fishing

The fishing was fair.

Nutty hadn't fished for years, but you could hardly tell the way he kept catching trees and bushes on the bank behind while carefully tangling his leader into elaborate knots.

"You sure you haven't done this in a while?" I asked, a little jealous that Nutty had mastered the art again so quickly.

"Fishing sure takes a lot of patience," Nutty observed.

"It sure does," I said, snagging a big tree of my own, just so Nutty would know I still had it.

It started to rain. Nutty said something about missing the 49ers game.

We continued casting until Nutty's leader was no longer salvageable and I had worn myself out fighting fish.

Somehow, fishing had failed to hold Nutty's short attention span, but he had found other ways to entertain himself.

"Wake up Nuts!" I said.

I didn't want him to choke to death on his chewing tobacco after all. It would have been sad, inconvenient and given the bear 50 percent better odds.

The slight leak in my waders had turned into a nasty gash on our romp through the thorns, and the ice-cold river water had made its way well up my thigh and wasn't stopping there.

"Let's call it a day," I said.

Nutty was more than happy to quit, a little embarrassed since I had so badly out-fished him.

"At least you got one," he said.

The Bear Hunt

Since Nutty curiously had his doubts about my bear sighting, I made a brave suggestion, confident it would make my point and that he had enough marbles to use his better judgment.

"Want to go on a bear hunt?" I asked.

"Sure. Might be fun," he responded.

We went up the hill where the bear had been.

"Look," Nutty said.

It was bear doo all right. There was no question about that. Nutty, who has a keen sense of observation but a very poor sense of humor, observed, "It's full of berries. That means it wants protein now."

It turned out Nutty was on to something after all because the next pile of scat was extremely fresh and well … meaty.

Our little bear hunt was starting to look like it might turn into a huge success.

"Let's get out of here," said Nutty.

"Huh?" I yelled, as I hastily gathered my gear back down by the river.

The Escape

The cows had cleared out so we made our way across the open field. We sauntered up to a narrow path along a canal and began the trek towards the car.

Suddenly, I slowed to a crawl, my eyes wide with fear, and my mouth open with utter astonishment.

Nutty looked back at me, just as astonished. "It's just a cow!" he said.

It was true. One of the ferocious beasts remained and stood there angrily munching grass near the path. She was gigantic, a pregnant mother with a gut like a barrel.

Nutty continued walking, the crazed maniac.

What he and I didn't know, in addition to a lot else, was that the mama cow's baby was just across the path and Nutty was strolling right smack in between them.

The cow lifted its head and sneered at Nutty. Nutty's remaining eyebrow lifted as my legs initiated a retreat.

And then it charged the udders and belly swinging from side to side as it picked up momentum! Fur, snot and grass went flying as it hurled itself in Nutty's exact direction.

As we bounding into the canal, I looked at Nutty. He looked back with wide eyes and a mouth flung open with surprise.

"Cow!" he observed as we dropped over the edge, plummeting to safety.

The cow had settled down and Nutty and I had started to as well. While we climbed out the side of the ravine, yanking on thorn branches for leverage, Nutty had just one thing to say in between "Ouch's!" and "Owe's!"

"Now you can write about a standoff with a cow," he said.

Nutty was right about that.