On the Banks of the Skagit

I've been trying heroically to read The Riddle of the Compass, it's not bad. Alas, I'm afraid that while the author has a most interesting story to tell, he's not quite up to the job.

Or it could be the bear in camp.

I don't mean to be harsh on the fellow. After all, he's got several books out, all of which I'd be happy to buy, despite his narrative style being somewhat scattered.

On the way here, "here" being the Silvertip campground on the beautiful, if treacherous, Skagit River, I asked Nola if there were any bears in the area.

"Of course," she replied. "There are bears everywhere."

A long pause ensued. "You know," I said finally, "that's still not a part of my reality."

And now, even after the bear in camp, and the sow with cub on the road not three hours later, it still isn't.

The Skagit River runs down from the mountains near Manning Park, on the Similkameen, into Washington State, whose engineers in their wisdom have dammed it to form Ross Lake. Actually, Manning is quite a large park, with the beginnings of several rivers on its grounds, and so far as I know, the Skagit and the Similkameen have sod all to do with each other. But if you want to find the centre of Manning on a map, you could do worse than follow the Similkameen.

So anyway, here we are on the banks of the Skagit, having tried the shore of Ross Lake and found it wanting. Frankly, it was not really as wanting as we would have preferred-- there was a distinct surfeit of mosquitoes. And us with but a single dainty bottle of worn-out DEET.

I am sporting over fifty bites. One half-closed my right eye. Truly scions of the Evil One are biting insects that go for the eyes.

I pitched a fit and we broke camp yesterday, seeking less troublesome climes. Also spray cans of fresh DEET. We found Silvertip within ten kilometers and the town of Hope supplied the DEET. Just today the town of Hope supplied pepper spray, in case more bears wander across the river.

Silvertip is not a fashionable camp, not like Ross or Manning. It's favoured by anglers, though, and the prime spots are usually filled by fly fishers who appreciate immediate access to running water coupled with cool, constant breezes that dispel the mozzies.

We could see that the best sites were taken, but second best would do for us, and it only remained to determine which were they. As in most everything else, the stars and duds stand out. What remains can only be judged through dogged determination and a clear understanding of one's own priorities.

Me being the mozzie-magnet, Nola let me out to walk the sites while she ranged ahead in the car. I ambled from one tent pad to the next, sniffing the air and standing next to picnic tables and bushes, to see what might billow forth. Had our adolescent bear chosen then to make his own explorations, I would have had a time of it.

(Memo to self: this is not Texas. Bears do not rattle their tails. Also, they're higher on the food chain.)

As it turned out, the site Nola found was all we could wish for: open, yet private, easy access to riverside, on the large side and relatively mosquito-free.

We set about moving our stuff from Ross to here. That took most of the rest of the day, but early evening found us relaxing with beer on the bank of the river.

I made a celebratory supper, single-pot, of rice, a tin of shrimp (and with what Safeway wanted for it, it might better be termed a gold of shrimp), salt, butter, chopped garlic, and roasted almond slivers. It was good! Shrimp in with the rice, garlic in as I chopped it, salt & butter of course, then serve with butter & almonds to taste. We licked the pot.

Today woke with the dawn, more or less, and put together leisurely coffee while Nola, eyeing the clouds, strung a tarp. Just in time-- it started raining just as she had the last corner set, and we had more coffee while inspecting the flow channels and tweaking ropes.

Nola started breakfast while I did a bit of cleanup and generally froliced around, enjoying the new day. We'd just had a coffee by the river, and I'd been sent back to get a pan of river water to heat for washing-up. By myself. Into trees, down short path, hello river, hello sky, hello mosses, dip pan, back up without spilling. Or hearing any swelling of ominous orchestral stylings.

A while back, Nola related to me (this was while driving along some remote highway or other) the Secret to Spotting Wildlife. Some kid had told a friend of hers, and she passed it on to Nola: don't look for the animal. Look instead for a twitching, a glint, movement or reflection where should be stillness or dark, flat colours. Look for a leaf shaking out of tune with its neighbours. I think what the kid actually said was to look for an outline of an ear, or a leg stepping; the rest was implied.

Nola was pulling out eggs to scramble, had just got the stove lit and the bacon cut. I was behind her, looking through the trees toward the river. I saw a darkness where I knew should be light, had just been light. Then a twitching that, as I watched, became a shiney black nose moving to and fro, and behind the nose, a tan snout connecting the nose to the dark shadow, then eyes.

"Jesus, Nola, there's a bear!" I said quietly, if not calmly.

Nola looked up, then started shouting. I joined her, trying to be bigger than I am. She became bigger herself, walking with sureness and purpose around the table to where our pots were. The bear half-raised himself, looking at us and sniffing, moving closer. Nola found our frypan and a wooden spatula, and began making a serious racket. The bear turned away. Nola stepped forward, making herself ever larger, and banged harder. The bear began to run, and kept on running.

We gathered our food together and into the car. If it came back, we didn't want it to get a reward. In the car, we drove toward the other campers. The bear had gotten only two sites down, and we shouted at it some more, to drive home the lesson that stopping by camp was a Bad Idea; best to carry on to the mountains behind us.

It was a two-year-old, newly on its own, we thought, about as big as a Newfoundland dog. Beautiful black glossy coat. When I first saw it, it was maybe thirty feet away, coming up the little path from the river to our tent pad. I hope I never see another so close.

We warned the other campers, and the parkie when he came by later. He said they'd put out an alert, that this was a new bear to them. On the road into town to get pepper spray (in case he circled round), we saw the sow & cub.

So, extra mosquitoes and extra bears. And rain all since. But that's lessened, and we're hoping for a decent day tomorrow to hike over to the Othello Tunnels on the other side of Hope.

(The frypan has several new dents in it, but is still usable.)