Milo is Not Alone

One would think trapping bears in a half-acre pen would be quite simple...a drop-door trap, some tasty treats, a few quiet hours and voila, caged bear on a platter. Oh no, no, no...life could never be quite so simple. Yet, so goes the life of a curator at the ABR.

Much like recent events, 1997 was a busy year for orphaned cubs. A mast failure in early fall brought in a large influx of cubs over a very short period of time. The natural foods were poured on, the cubs thrived, and before we knew it we had a bevy of fat, healthy young bears that needed release. The trapping process commenced.

In the early days of the bear center equipment wasn't quite as sophisticated as it is nowadays. There were no cub enclosures or acclimation pens that had drop-door systems. These are systems where a door can be dropped by hand when a bear entered the baited area. Rather, the center owned one large hav-a-hart-style trap that was used to catch each and every bear. The trap was about the size of an extra large dog carrier and was constructed of heavy gauge wire fencing. Toward the back of the cage was a footpad that was connected to the door system. Once the footpad was depressed, the door dropped down and two metal fasteners latched in place to secure it closed. When a bear was trapped, it was then carried by hand, trap and all, up to the maintenance building where it was transferred into a confinement cage until its release. This allowed us to take the trap back down to the wild enclose in preparation for trapping the next bear. As one can imagine, trying to trap a dozen bears might take a little bit of time. I never knew exactly how long that "little bit" was actually going to take.

The trapping process is quite simple... reduce the amount of food available to the bears, place some of that food within the trap, and wait. Usually within a few hours I would hear the telltale bawling of a young bear that found himself in an unsettling predicament. That's how it went until, the trap-wary bear came along (I'm afraid my memory fails me and I'm afraid to guess the wrong name).

I had trapped and released (along with TWRA and the NPS) a slew of fattened cubs but one remained with us, much to my chagrin. He was the last of the mast failure cubs and by all estimates he was well over 50 lbs. In other words, he needed out of there, but unfortunately he had the propensity to avoid the food-laden trap.

Though he proved elusive over the main trapping event, since he was the only bear left in the enclosure, I was fairly certain I'd be able to trap him within a short period of time. My strategy was simple... cease all food application except for what was used in the baited end of the trap. His growling tummy would certainly be his downfall.

The food stopped and the waiting began.

I half expected not to catch this trap-wary bear within the first few days since there was probably ample forage left behind from the recently vacated bears. Soon enough the "good stuff", which included fresh fruit and acorns, would be consumed and he would be relegated to eating "salad". In other words he'd just have leaves left to eat and who in their right mind prefers to only eat lettuce. (Sorry, this writer's tummy too begins to growl every once in a while.)

About a week had passed and I still hadn't trapped him. I was certain there wasn't much left for him to eat in the main enclosure, so I baited the trap with some of the juiciest fruit I had acquired from the grocery store. And I waited some more.

Days passed and I still had no bear.

It appeared as though the food in the trap was disappearing but I attributed it to rogue squirrels. I needed something more tempting for him. I needed him to want the food so badly he wouldn't let a feisty rogue squirrel scavenge his treat.

Bring on the donuts.

After a quick trip to the bakery a dozen donuts was securely held under my arm as I made my way back down to the bear pen. I proceeded to bait trap with ten of the most delectable delights you had ever seen (Yes, I said ten, after all what's good for a bear is good for a curator!).

The trap was now set. In the morning I would have my bear.

In the morning I had no bear.

And I had no donuts to boot!

Some dang animal snuck in and stole my bait!

I tried the donut option again, and again I failed. It was now time to play dirty...I was bringing out the BACON.

Let me tell you, if you think a starving curator deserves one-sixth of the donuts I assure you he deserves much more of the bacon! Fortunately there was enough left after I tested its worthiness that a healthy, or should I say unhealthy, amount of bacon lay at the back of the baited trap.

Within hours the bacon was gone.

Yet I had no bear.

This routine went on for a number of days and my frustration grew. Weeks had now passed and the Park Service was asking to release their last bear.

The gloves came off.

Not only was I going to tie the strips of bacon to the floor, I was going to stuff donuts full of bacon, and add them to the pile at the back of the cage. A nice trail of fruit leading the way was sure to make this offering absolutely irresistible. Knowing that this tasty treat could not be resisted for long I decided to stay in the blind and watch the show.

He was perched in his usual pine. Within minutes of sitting quietly, I watched as his nose went to work.

At first his head lifted, his muzzle bobbed a few times displaying the tell-tale sniffing motion, and his neck strained reaching to savor the irresistible aroma of donuts and bacon. After a long drawn-out pause he decided the coast was clear and began to amble down the tree, soon disappearing into the brush. After about twenty minutes of nothingness he reappeared, not far from the trap. He slowly made his way forward, closer and closer to his demise.

Surprisingly he was not interested in the fresh fruit that lay scattered at the front of the trap. His mind was made up, he was going in!

Before stepping a single foot inside the trap he stopped. It was almost as if he was sizing it up. Fortunately he was just an animal and knew not what lay before him.

I was finally about to exact my revenge.

He moved forward and placed his first foot within the trap. This was soon followed by the second. He moved cautiously knowing something was up but his nose was in charge. Another eighteen inches and he would be triggering the footpad.

He inched closer and closer.

Twelves inches.

Six inches.

One inch...Soon the next step would be the footpad and I would have him!

I actually believe I started salivating. My nemesis was about to be ensnared.

He paused.

He then looked side to side within the trap, his prized bacon-filled donuts a mere foot-and-a-half from his snout.... just beyond the footpad. He looked down.

What the heck was he doing?

I watched in disbelieving horror as the son-of-a-gun placed his left paw on the side of the cage. This was soon followed with his right paw. He then creeped his way forward using leverage by extending his arms on both sides of the cage. In an instant his back legs did the same and he crept forward in alternating unison to keep his body suspended.

I watched in utter amazement as he was HOVERING over the footpad....

...his head dipped low eating my bacon-filled donuts!

My frustrations flitted. As I watched, I was almost inclined to applaud for his acrobatic technique was flawless.

And then it happened.

He slipped.

And his rear paw came down and caught the footpad.

Immediately he knew the jig was up and with incredible speed he lunged backward feverishly trying to extricate himself from the cage. Fortunately the door swung down and whacked him on his derrière (much to my satisfying delight).

He shot forward and the door locked in place.

Milo's great great great grandfather was finally trapped!

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These animals continue to amaze me, not only through their remarkably keen senses but through their ingenuity and their well-above average intelligence. As much as bears tend to learn from us, I must admit, I have learned far more from them. And for that, I am grateful.