He wiped his plate with a bit of toast and shook off the suggestion.
“No. Now that Sylvia is no longer in residence, I think you ought to start putting the man stamp on Morning Rock. Always seemed a little too feminine for a house built of stone. A moose head over the fireplace in the main room would be just the thing.”
The banter felt good. Morgan and the McCaslins were still in the back of my mind, but that’s where I left them. Haywood had put in a lot of his own time, money, and effort to give me this summer in the bush. He deserved my full attention and companionship for the next few days, and I resolved that he should have them.
He finished the last of his bacon and stood up. “You cooked, I’ll wash up.”
“Fair enough.” I went up the path to the privy leaving the dishes to him.
By seven-thirty that morning we had walked up to the crossing and built Haywood a suitable blind. We’d situated it in a clump of young willows midway up the bar from the water’s edge. Its position allowed for a good view back up the bank and into the woods, while providing a three-sixty field of fire. If the bull followed his normal route he’d pass within forty yards of the blind and offer an excellent broadside shot. If he smelled trouble and bolted up or downstream Haywood would still have a good chance of dropping him. Of course, there was the off chance that the big fellow would double back into the cover, but since he’d be on his way to cross the river we doubted he’d do that.
It was a good blind. We rigged a small horizontal frame of dead branches to some of the standing willow trunks and then draped it with cut branches. Haywood had thought to bring along a folding campstool and a thermos of coffee. When he was comfortably settled in, I added a few more branches to the screen, then walked up to where the moose’s path left the trees and looked back at the blind. It was just about perfect. It looked natural and Haywood was wearing camo that matched the cover. I could just barely make out his outline, but then, I knew he was there, the moose wouldn’t.
Satisfied, I walked back downstream to the cabin, and took my usual trail back in to the beaver meadow. I had told Haywood it would take me forty-five minutes to get back behind the pond and another fifteen or so to push the woods on that side of the meadow. I’d make plenty of noise coming through the bush and if the big bull was on his normal stomping grounds, he’d hear me coming and head for the river.
It was always advisable to make lots of noise when traveling through bear country anyway. Usually bears will do everything they can to avoid encounters with humans.
If you make a lot of racket you will rarely see a bear.
However, I didn’t want to spook the bull while I was getting in position. So, at least for the first leg, I’d have to go quiet. I was wearing my live-oak pattern, soft fleece pants and parka, so I could move through the woods silently as long as I didn’t fall over logs or snap dead limbs. The only leather I wore was my gun belt and the sling of my rifle, and neither creaked as I kept them supple with goose grease.
At the thought of the goose grease my mind, naturally, turned to Morgan. I thought of her long, lean body, taught and slick under my hands in the candlelight. She had been real; I knew it. Where had she gone? Why had she gone? I realized then that I had been looking for sign of her all morning. Even now I was sweeping the ground with my eyes for tracks. Not just moose or bear, but her tracks too. I was halfway to the pond when I crossed the big bear’s trail. There was no doubt it was him. The size and depth were evidence enough, but the missing claws on the right forepaw removed any doubt. The tracks were very fresh. There was still some frost on the ground, but there was none in his footprints. He had been through here sometime that morning.
This presented a few problems. Not insurmountable, but problems nonetheless. First among them, of course, was the possibility that his mere presence would be enough to make the big bull move on. Bears didn’t usually mess with a full-grown moose, but even a giant bull like this one would be uneasy with a bear around. He’d take his lady friends and leave. Another problem Trilogy presented was personal danger to myself. I didn’t like sneaking through the woods when there was a chance I might surprise him in the bush. That could turn ugly.
I stayed there for a few minutes studying his tracks and weighing my options. I could, without shame, simply abort the drive, go back and collect Haywood and take him downstream to the slough where I’d seen the other bull. But, I wanted him to get the big one. Trilogy appeared to be heading in the general direction of the pond. I considered this for a moment, and decided to just continue on my own course. I was circling wide around the meadow, and not going directly to the pond, so odds were good I wouldn’t bump into him. I checked the rifle to make sure I had a round in the chamber, and continued the way I had been going.
The day had warmed a good deal by the time I reached the point in the woods where I would begin my push. I set my rifle against a tree and unzipped my jacket. I already had my right arm out of the sleeve and was just beginning to remove the left when I heard him coming.
A full grown grizzly crashes a lot of brush when he charges.
I had just enough time to clear the .44 from its holster and bring it up as I turned – and he was on me. His head was enormous, and his mouth was open in a terrifying roar. I literally stuck the barrel in his mouth and squeezed the trigger as I fell backward. Then his monstrous weight hit me and we went down in a heap. He landed on top of me and crushed all the air from my lungs. I thought my ribcage would collapse and my heart would explode. Then he shifted slightly and rolled. I squirmed free and crawled toward my rifle, gasping for breath. The .44 was no longer in my hand, so I knew I had to reach the rifle. I never did. The effort was too great and I had no oxygen to sustain me. I blacked out.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Certainly, not more than a few minutes. When I came around I was face down in the muskeg, my hand stretched out in the direction of my rifle. I lifted my head and looked to my left. The huge, dead bear lay not more than ten feet away. I knew he was dead. If he weren’t, I would be; he would have torn me to ribbons. I struggled to my feet and some primal imperative drove me to get to that rifle. I had to hold it in my hands before I felt safe. I sagged against the tree, gripped its stock and slid to a sitting position facing the bear. He seemed even bigger dead than he had alive. From my new position, I could see the back of his gigantic head. I’d blown a sizable hole in it. I’d probably blown most of his brain out through it. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but there was a lot of gore.
As I sat there gathering my wits and gulping air, I realized there was a burning pain in my left shoulder. I looked down. My shirt was torn and covered with blood. My jacket hung in tatters from my left arm. It too was blood soaked. It appeared he’d gotten his hooks into me. This complicated things. I didn’t know how deep my wounds were but I knew I had to get back to The Varmitage before I passed out again from loss of blood. Haywood would be able to put me back together if I could just reach the cabin. It was almost too much, but I managed to get to my feet using the tree for support. I dropped the jacket off my left wrist and let the rifle slip from my grasp. Then I started off through the meadow.
I kept my feet moving, one ahead of the other. After what seemed an eternity I found myself at the beaver pond. I looked across it and knew it presented too great an obstacle to negotiate. I didn’t have the strength to skirt it and I’d drown if I tried to cross. I sat down in the mud of the dike to rest. That’s where Haywood said he found me.
When I came to, I was laying on my bed in the cabin
. My left shoulder was bandaged and stiff, but wasn’t giving me much pain.
Haywood had been sitting at the table and stood up when he noticed I was awake.
“Some people will go to great lengths to avoid helping butcher a moose.”
“You got him then.”
“I did. How are you feeling?”
“Stiff. Tired. How bad is it?”
“Nowhere near as bad as it might have been. Man, you were lucky. Three parallel lacerations about half an inch deep. You might have a couple of cracked ribs but nothing major is broken, as far as I can tell. No significant muscle damage. Lost a bit of blood, but not as much as you should have. I’m not too concerned about the injuries. I got them sterilized and stitched up. They’ll heal. I was more worried about shock.”
“What did you give me? I feel pretty groggy.”
“Nothing special. An unpronounceable painkiller I keep in my bag. It’ll wear off in a couple hours. Then you’ll feel the pain. I’ll give you another dose before you go to sleep.”
“Did you see the bear?”
“Yeah. I heard your shot and then, a couple of minutes later the moose of all mooses came barreling out of the woods, right where you said he would. He came a little way out on the bar and stopped. I put one right through his motor box and he went down like a ton of shit. I started gutting him while I waited for you to come out after him. When you didn’t show I went downstream and picked up your trail where you went into the woods. I suspected trouble as soon as I crossed the bear tracks. Then I found the bear. Amazing. Biggest fucking grizzly I’ve ever seen. Your pistol was still in his mouth and your rifle and your jacket were lying on the ground. The jacket was bloody and torn up so I knew you were hurt and probably making for the cabin. I found you on the beaver dike at the backside of the pond. Dragged and carried you’re miserable ass back here. You gotta lose some weight, Pal.”
The most I could manage was a weak smile.
“What about your moose?”
Haywood flashed his big grin.
“Well, now that you’re out of danger and know the score, I’ll go back up and bone him out as best I can. There are still a few hours of light left and I can get the hams and shoulders off the carcass and into the canoe. Might even be able to get the backstrap and tenderloin. I can leave the rest for morning. I’ll cut off the antlers before we fly out.”
“Fly out?” I was still a bit groggy. “You want to fly out tomorrow? How come?”
He laughed out loud. “You are a piece of work, indeed you are. Why do you think, for Christ’s sake? I’ve got to get your sorry carcass back to a hospital. Then I’ve got to come back in here and skin out that bear. I know you don’t go in for trophies but that bear’s in the Boone & Crocket category. So is my moose for that matter. I’ve got to get those heads and hides to a taxidermist mo-ricky-tick.”
He was talking a mile-a-minute.
“Mo…what?” I tried to make some sense of what he was saying, but it was no use. My brain was going slow motion, and he was super juiced – high on adrenaline.
He threw back his head and laughed again. “Mo-ricky-tick!” he barked. “Mo-ricky-fucking-tick! A-fucking-SAP!”
And, with that, he flew out the door with his skinning knife and bone saw. I dropped back on my pillow, and within minutes, was out cold again.
I remember waking up in considerable pain sometime in the night, and I remember Haywood giving me a shot of something and the pain draining quickly away. The next thing I remember, sunlight was streaming in the open doorway. Haywood came in and crammed his things into his black river bag, and hauled it outside. A chilly breeze was coming in the door, and I was cold and very thirsty. My ribs hurt. My shoulder hurt. My mouth tasted like the whole Chinese Army had camped in one side and shit in the other.
Haywood came bounding back into the cabin.
“Hah!” he bellowed. “You’re alive! Had my doubts. How you feeling?”
“Awful,” I answered truthfully.
“Splendid!” he chortled.
“Always a good sign when the patient feels awful.
A good sign if he feels anything at all. Indicative of superb doctoring.”
“Would the superb doctor be so kind as to shut the fuck up and close the fucking door, and bring me a fucking cup of water?”
“Ah! Feistiness! Excellent. Excellent!” He kicked the door closed, and went to the sink and drew me a cup of water.
I started to prop myself up on an elbow, but my damaged shoulder wouldn’t allow it.
“Shit!” I said. “That hurts.”
“Perceptive to boot!” Haywood cried. “Mauled by a grizzly and still has the mental faculties to realize it hurts! He helped me sit up, and held the cup while I drank.
“Thanks,” I said. Then, “Haywood – thanks for everything. I would have died out there.”
“Nonsense,” he objected. “Short nap on the beaver dike, a night in the mud and the freezing cold, you’d have been yourself in no time.”
“Haywood…”
“O.K., O.K.,” he got serious. “You’re right. By all rights you should have died. You would have if you hadn’t managed to get the barrel of that gun in his mouth. You only got off one shot you know. If he hadn’t died instantly, well…” he trailed off.
“So,” I asked, “what now? We out of here?”
“We’re out of here,” he said. “Soon as I get the rest of the meat loaded and figure a way to cart your ass up to the landing strip, we’re gone.”
I sagged back on the pillow. “I can probably walk if you help me. I just need to rest a bit first.”
“You do that,” he advised. “I moved all four quarters and the backstrap down to the landing strip last night. Two canoe loads. But, damn, those hams are heavy! I didn’t bother boning them out, so there’s way too much for one planeload. We’ll take out a couple of quarters with us today and I’ll come back tomorrow for the rest. By law, I’m supposed to tag the antlers and take them out with the meat but, since I’ve got a medical emergency, I don’t think anyone will object. I’ll get Hard Case to come back in with me tomorrow to help with the meat and the rack. Skinning your bear will be a two man job anyway. You want any of the meat?”
I had been trying to follow what he was saying, but was having trouble keeping awake.