The Day I Caught Santa Claus

Although it was many years ago I remember the events well, as if they occurred only yesterday. My boys were the ripe old ages of 10 and 7, and firmly entrenched in their wondrous child-like belief of Santa Claus. One would think the threat of being placed on Santa's naughty list would keep my mischievous kids on their best behavior, but alas, those threats seemingly fell on deaf ears. Fortunately, at that time, we had the mystical powers of "Honey Dew," our aptly named elf-on-the-shelf. He had the amazing ability of keeping our boys in-line leading up to the Christmas celebration. That fact that my youngest child was terrified of Honey Dew mattered not, his Chuckie-the-doll-like stare kept both my spawn on the up and up, so for that, I was grateful.

A few weeks before Christmas I sat down to dinner with the family and was discussing the day's events. Earlier that day I had pulled some trail cameras off a property I was monitoring. I used trail cameras quite a bit back then, not only for hunting purposes but for work projects as well. For those that are unfamiliar with trail cameras, they are motion activated cameras that are strapped to the base of a tree to capture animals as they walk by, they're even capable of capturing photos at night with their infrared capabilities. Given my job as a wildlife biologist, seeing what kind of animals frequent an area is quite useful at times and always enjoyable.

I shared with the family what kind of animals I had captured on film that week, mostly deer and an occasional gray squirrel. I even had a couple of coyotes show up one night. The two trusty ol' cameras I used now lay in my garage eagerly awaiting their next deployment after having received a fresh set of batteries.

The  meal-time discussions continued. With a little nudging on my part, the conversation soon turned toward the Christmas holiday and what kind of presents my boys were hoping for. I figured it was always good to solicit that kind of information well in advance to prevent a mad scramble come Christmas Eve. As one would expect, my boys' list was full of toys and gadgets and not a single request for world peace and harmony. Oh well, 10 and 7 was still a little young for altruism. After all there were no differences in the world that a good nerf gun couldn't settle, especially the Elite Hyper-Fire Blaster, a 20-round, battery-operated, super-sized, revolver-like nerf gun. Though my boys could make me pull my hair out at times, they were really good kids and even though money was tight, I was determined to give them a great Christmas. The toy conversation droned on and I could tell my boys were really looking forward to Santa's impending arrival. Then it happened.

My ten year-old dropped his fork mid-bite. It clinked off his plate as it landed on the table. He looked up wide-eyed, mouth gaping. At first I thought something was dreadfully wrong.

Then I saw a huge smile begin to grace his face, then he screamed...

"Trail cameras!"

I could see the tiny gears in his mind formulating a fantastical joyous thought. Something was making him insanely happy.

"Dad!!" he shouted, "Do you still have the trail cameras?!?" 

"Yeah...they're in the garage. Why?" I asked.

"Trail cameras!" he screamed again.

"That's it! We can set up trail cameras over our Christmas tree and catch Santa in the act when he comes!"

I believe my fork made the exact same noise. It was my turn to sit there wide-eyed with my mouth assuredly agape.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I took a deep, yet difficult, swallow.

"Ummm..."

"That's a great idea son. Where did you get it from?"

"You Dad...when you were talking about the trail cameras and then you mentioned Santa! I just put two and two together."

"Ha...I did mention both of those things, didn't I? Yer' pretty clever...ya' know that kiddo?"

What I really meant to say was "You're too clever son. Gosh darn it, you're too darn clever!"

"So can we do it?' he eagerly chimed. "Can we set one up over the tree?"

"Yeah Dad...can we do it?" my quiet-up-until-then seven year-old piped in.

Another difficult swallow.

"Sure, I don't see why not." I said, with a half-hearted smile.

I smiled and turned my head down toward my plate. Dang you Honey Dew! You were supposed to keep them in line!

-----------------------------------------------------------

Sleep didn't come easy those next few weeks. How was I going to make it through this one?

What if the camera doesn't catch Santa?

What if my son's dreams and fantastical ideas were dashed?

What if both my boys lost that wonderful Christmas spirit they both shared?

What if their Christmas is ruined?

Well, by gosh...it looked like we were just going to have to capture Santa in the act!

-------------------------------------------------------------

On the eve of the Eve, December 23rd, I helped my sons set up one of my trail cameras on the side of the fireplace overlooking the Christmas tree. The span on the motion detector covered the entire living room. Nothing...I mean nothing was going to move in that room without having their picture taken. It was a child's dream come true. I, in the other hand, was in the midst of a worried nightmare.

Needless to say, I didn't get to sleep until 4:00 a.m. that night. There were countless takes and retakes, constant resetting of the date and time stamp. Pictures too clear. Pictures too blurry.

And all I had was a red Santa's hat.

When it was done, I was exhausted. 

I removed the SD card where the pictures were stored and tucked it away in a safe place. I then collapsed on the couch.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Christmas Eve, my boys were ecstatic. They told all their friends of their "master plan". If all went well, then that night they'd have proof of Santa delivering the goods.

I don't believe anyone slept solid that night, fortunately the boys slept just long enough for Santa to work his magic, even if his most special trick involved the unseen switching of SD cards. The next morning, the thunderous banging on my bedroom door woke up half the neighborhood.

"He came! He came! Santa came!"

Within the blink of an eye the whole family was downstairs in the midst of presents strewn about everywhere. Surprisingly enough, there was no mention of any cameras.

The wrapping paper began to fly. It was as if there was an NYC ticker-tape parade in my living room. The boys were giggling and showing off their new gadgets and just when the last piece of paper came to rest, they both screamed in unison..."The camera!!!"

That's when I finally stepped in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa...hold your horses there guys. Go get me the camera, but whatever you do, don't get your hopes up. Little boys and girls your age have been trying to get a glimpse of Santa since time began and he's always outsmarted them. No one knows how he does it...he just does. So don't be too surprised if you didn't catch anything on camera, you boys still had a wonderful Christmas." 

I removed the SD card from the camera and handed it to my oldest son.

"Now go pop this in the computer and see what we got."

----------------------------------------------------------------

You could hear the screams from two towns away.


Here are the unaltered pictures from that oh so famous night... Enjoy!!!

Two excited little boys check the camera and tree one last time before turning
 in for a restless night's sleep. Notice the time...ten minutes before midnight.

Some emerges from the fireplace!! It almost looks like a large coat
sleeve hold some sort of giant bag. (The lights are off, hence the crazy exposure.)

Daddy heard something rustling around downstairs and came to check on things.
Whatever was coming out of the fireplace disappeared so as not to be seen.

Somebody is standing by our Christmas tree at 2:53 a.m.!!!!

OMGosh...is that who I think it is?!? I can't believe we got a pic of him!!!

And when he was gone, an empty plate of cookies and presents were all that remained.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

This truly was one of the best Christmas's ever. There I was, worried about delivering the best Christmas ever to my boys, and in return, they delivered to me the best Christmas I had ever had! It wasn't until many years later that my youngest son asked me why Santa was wearing my hiking shoes. :) 

To the Person Who...

It has been one year since the decision was made to leave Tennessee and head west to the Rockies. It was a year to remember to say the least. There have been ups and there have been downs much like a thrill-seeker's favorite roller coaster, but that is what life is meant to be...a ride, not a destination. I'll leave destinations for the after-life and hopefully I end up in the right place. Needless to say, Tennessee was an awesome "section of the roller coaster", can't wait to see what tracks lie ahead. Here was my wish for the family enjoying the section of roller coaster I was leaving behind in Tennessee. A year later I hope they are still enjoying the ride.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

To the person who...

...is buying the house made of brick on Winners Circle Court, there are a few things you should know before you set off on your journey.

First off, please understand that you are not just buying a "house". I assure you, your purchase will be far grander than that. You see, a house is made of bricks and mortar, wood and nails, and a plethora of appurtenances that create the tell-tale vision of a shingled structure that we call "home". 

But the one you are purchasing is made up of much more than that. 

It is made up of birthday wishes come true, nerf gun battles won (and lost), flowers oh-so-delicately planted, steaks grilled to charred perfection, bonfires that warm the soul more so than the body, neighborhood parties that are sometimes difficult to remember (in the good way), fierce but friendly corn hole tournaments, smelly yet beloved hockey equipment, children's laughter, a dog's playful licks, cherished anniversaries, and most of all LOVE.

But I must also advise you, the house made of bricks is also made up of scraped knees, failed tests, unwarranted arguments, fleeting heartbreak, barking dogs, sporting defeats, dreams postponed, feverish illnesses and most of all LOVE.

You see...it is made of LIFE more than anything else. And for this reason I have a few wishes for you...

I hope your dreams and aspirations come true more often than not.

I hope your family experiences the ever-flowing love that resides there.

I hope the children of today find as much pleasure in the playhouse as the children of yesterday.

I hope you do not occupy the residence, I hope you live there. Live like today may be your last day and tomorrow is a gift that is always awaiting.

And lastly, I hope you smile and LOVE the place as much as we did...because that's what actually keeps those raggedy old bricks in place. :)

Oh To Be a Woman...Not My Best Moment

As rugged or as masculine as my blog stories may sound sometimes, I admit, there were five seconds in my life when I wished I was a woman. Yes it's true.

Many moons ago I was asked by the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation to give a presentation at their annual banquet. The topic was to be elk restoration efforts in the East, especially the wonderful efforts in Tennessee, my adopted state. Being heavily involved in the Tennessee elk program I jumped at the chance. Up to that point in time most of my involvement revolved around tracking elk on the Cumberland Plateau. After all, chasing elk in the middle of the night in rugged and desolate country, well..."it just don't get no better than that". Needless to say, I was quick to volunteer my speaking services, by far, that is my professional strong point.

I had about three months to prepare my talk, yet the day before I was to speak in front of a crowd of over a hundred, I was still staring at a blank PowerPoint presentation. One would think my procrastination is a horrible trait, it is not. It is intentional. I find I do my best work when it is crunch time. Without a doubt my creative juices flow in the thirteenth hour and my best products are born. And boy were those juices flowing.

I was putting together the best elk presentation I ever created. Considering it was the first and only elk presentation I ever created I apparently set the bar low, but to be perfectly honest I was extremely happy with it. So much so, that I could not take myself away from the computer. It was due in part not just because of the satisfaction I was getting from putting together a kick-butt presentation, but mostly because I was still working on the presentational 15 minutes before I was to be on stage. I was ignoring all distractions, from noisy coworkers to the growing pressure in my lower bowels. All that could wait...the masterpiece was almost done.

Like clockwork I finished the presentation with five minutes to spare. Fortunately the event center was just a few minutes down the road. Do I use the restroom now or wait until I get there? Crap!...I only have five minutes to get there!

I was like Green Lightning making my way to the banquet (FYI - green is the standard issued jacket for the agency I worked for). Squealing into the parking lot, I threw the truck into park in the closest parking spot I could find to the front door which was way too far away. I reached over and grabbed my laptop and projector. That's when it happened. My bowels said you will ignore me no more. I grimaced in pain, gritted my teeth and said to myself, "Not now. Oh Lord...please not now."

My prayer bought me another 30 seconds.

I was like a toddler in his training pants who suddenly realizes he can't hold it any longer. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I was a spittin' image of that four-year old minus the "grabbing himself" part. And unfortunately this wasn't an issue that could be easily remedied behind a tree if you know what I mean.  I ran the final 50 yards to the door and I don't believe my knees ever separated.

I was immediately greeted by the chapter president who was eagerly awaiting my arrival. My agency uniform must've given me away. Apparently he was as anxious as I was for my arrival. Imagine his surprise when before I even introduced myself my first question was, "Can you show me where the restrooms are?"

He must've seen the strain in my expression (aka tears in my eyes) for he immediately gestured to the back of the banquet hall. He assured me he would set up the equipment so I dropped my gear and continued my lock-kneed gait making a beeline to the only place that would offer me relief. I reached the door without a second to spare, and was rewarded with a vacant restroom and an open stall only a few feet away. I quickly rushed in, closed the door behind me, and proceeded to....anyway, I won't going to detail but it was one of the most satisfying moments of my life.

As I sat there I realized beads of sweat had formed on my brow from my urgency. I smiled knowing that now, all was well.

I reached over to grab a small sheet of toilet paper to dab my brow and gather my thoughts, that's when I noticed a shiny silver trashcan above the dispenser. After drying my brow I lifted the lid to toss the now moistened brow-kerchief. I peered inside.

What the heck is that? 

And why does it have a string?

It looks like a...

OH...

MY...

All was not well.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suddenly I realized beads of sweat had reformed on my brow.

Yes...I was sitting on the porcelain thrown...IN THE LADIES ROOM.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What do I do?     What do I do?     What do I do?

Ok first off...don't panic!

You were fortunate enough to walk in here when it was completely vacant, just finish your business as quickly as possible and hightail it out of there and hope no one sees you coming out. I reached over for the toilet paper roll like that scene from "Dumb and Dumber."

Just then the door to the ladies room opened.

In walked a woman with black high heels.

And I didn't even get a chance to finish.

There were no more beads...there were now full blown drops of sweat raining down.

I looked down to see if my sweat was forming a puddle on the tile floor and my immediate reaction was to draw in my feet. I didn't think the unwanted visitor would be suspicious of someone in the first stall, but my size-12 hiking boots might be more than her suspicion could handle. I took off my fleece jacket and quickly laid it over my boots. Like that would be less suspicious.

Breathe Daryl...just breathe. Finish what you started and prepare to make a break for it as soon as she leaves.

Ever so quietly I finished my business.

A few minutes passed.

Then a few more.

Dang...why was she still there? She hadn't entered the stall next to me and for that I was thankful. Yet she remained at the sink.

Ever so gently I leaned over from my sitting position to peer through that half-millimeter crack between the door and the frame of my stall. She wore a red dress but that was all I could make out. It appeared as if her arms were flailing so my guess was that she was applying makeup or doing something with her hair. I prayed she wasn't flailing her arms trying to breathe. No, don't think the worse...it had to be her hair.

My heart was pounding.

I was due on stage in just a few minutes, yet there I was... trapped in the ladies room, held captive by an overzealous makeup fiend in a red dress. C'mon lady…looks aren't that important! And those black heels don't even go with that dress!!!

If only I was a woman for just five seconds I could get myself out of this predicament.

Just then the lady in red with poor shoe choice gathered her things and headed for the door.

Okay...grab your fleece, get your hand on the knob of the stall door, and prepare to make a mad dash before someone else comes in.

The moment after the ladies room door shut after her departure, I made my dash. I was going to get out of this without getting arrested!

In one fluid motion, I put my hand on the handle of the ladies-room door, swung it open, and spun  myself around...as if I was heading "into" the bathroom. It was a good thing too because as I emerged from the ladies room, a guy was emerging from the men's room which was immediately across the hallway from me.

I jumped into the hallway.

"Whoa! I almost walked into the ladies room!"

He laughed, smiled, and returned to the banquet.

I ran into the men's room and splashed some cold water on my face...

...I had a kick-butt elk presentation to give and give it I did.

And that was the last time I ever entertained the thought of being a woman.

Dear Son...I Hope You Fail

My son and one of his many "perfect shots."

His over-sized blaze-orange coat hung down to just above his knees. Actually, wasn’t his at all. It was mine. Fact was, it was a whole lot cheaper dressing my son in my old hand-me-downs rather than buying him new hunting gear every year. Dam kid was growing like a weed.

It wasn’t but a half-dozen years ago I started taking him with me. At first he spent most of his time sleeping at my side. He never really was much of an early riser so staying awake in the stand or blind was often difficult. I didn’t mind. And apparently my arm made a helluva pillow.

I did make sure I always kept him warm though, so that probably played into his coziness. Down jacket, thermal underwear, two pairs of socks, and of course, the hand-warmers. Always had to have the hand-warmers. He had them in every pocket, even pockets he could barely reach. Thanks heavens they sold those things in bulk.

That’s always the hardest part of deer hunting, staying warm, especially when the frost is playing tag with your fingers and toes. It wasn’t the cold that usually woke him though, it was the sun. Sometimes it’s just too dang bright to sleep. After a while basking in the sun’s glorious rays, I could see life coming into his young innocent mind. It usually started with the twitching of his eyes. Slowly he would become more aware. And soon he’d come to realize where he was. A yawn at first. Then it started with the questions.

“When are the deer coming Dad?”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“When are we going to have breakfast?”

“What causes the leaves to turn yellow?”

“When are the deer coming Dad?”

I had a whispered response for every one of them. Aint it funny how the deer are always coming “soon”?

Days like this I cherished for I knew one day they would end.

My son grew into an amazing shot and it sure wasn’t on account of me. Maybe it was those video games he played in his spare time. Killed a deer every year from the time he was eight until the time he was fourteen. Some years he killed more than one deer but he only took one shot each and every time. And I was there every time, usually coaching him. Whispering in his ear, “Hold still until he comes a bit closer, wait until he’s broadside, just relax and breathe, hold steady, and finally… fire when ready.”

Without a doubt I enjoyed those times, probably even more so than he. So when the day finally came, I was crushed. We had just made it to the blind we were going to hunt when he turned and said, “Dad…is it okay if I hunt by myself today?”

I knew it was coming. I just didn’t want it to come so quickly. Days at first, and then years. They drifted quickly by like a sparrow song in the wind.

I walked away and sat alone for the first time in many years. I was just up the hill of course. Close enough to keep an eye on him, yet far enough to leave him alone. I sat and scribbled some notes on a pad I always kept handy. And as I sat and watched my son in the distance, I wished for him to fail.

To my son and my long-time best hunting partner...

I HOPE YOU FAIL.

I HOPE YOU FAIL to get discouraged after a long hard day in the woods and not seeing a dang thing. Animals spend every waking minute of their lives out there, they know what's going on. They know who is in their living room especially if it's a loud smelly intruder that pays no mind to the wind or to their movements. Remember, the loud clumsy cat catches no mice. Once you learn to mind your movements YOU WILL SUCCEED at seeing more game.

I HOPE YOU FAIL to get discouraged when you miss a shot. It is going to happen no matter how good of aim you think you may have. Adrenaline is a real thing and a live animal in your crosshairs often creates a deluge of uncontrollable energy. And don't forget, animals move unpredictably at times, so risky shots need not be taken. That animal is giving its life for your pursuit, it deserves nothing less than a quick clean kill. Once you learn to control your emotions and take ethical shots YOU WILL SUCCEED at making good kills.

I HOPE YOU FAIL to get discouraged at what others may think of what you kill. This is a life lesson more than a hunting lesson. There will always be someone wanting to put you down for whatever reason. This includes not only those that don't like hunting but some of the most passionate hunters as well. Why? Because humans are imperfect and they are showing their flaws instead of yours. Be proud of all your actions, especially your kills. You are the only one pulling the trigger. If it's not something that makes you happy, don't pull the trigger. Once you learn to be happy with your decisions YOU WILL SUCCEED at having a successful hunt regardless of the outcomes.

I HOPE YOU FAIL to do it all alone. Though some prefer to hunt by themselves the outdoors is much more meaningful when it is shared. Much can be learned from those who have worn and tattered boots and locks of gray, grizzled hair for they have undoubtedly failed numerous times but are wiser from each mistake. Listen well but think critically. They will teach you life lessons and ways of the woods but you need to apply your own knowledge to what they speak. Once you learn to listen more and speak less YOU WILL SUCCEED at gaining wisdom and becoming a true student of the forest.

Last but not least…

I HOPE YOU FAIL so that you can learn to SUCCEED in all that you do.

Good luck out there and enjoy the hunt.
 

Good People - "Randall Haley"

Throughout the journey of "Life" we are blessed with meeting good people. They aren't just every day folks, they are people that impact our lives in positive ways. Some are ever-present beacons providing much-needed yet often rebuked guidance, comfort, and hope. They are a steady source of light in our darkest hours. Other people are but a flash-in-time lasting only long enough to steer us back on course when we have strayed. Most people fall somewhere in between. Regardless of what kind of impact those "good people" have on me, I thank them all, for they make my journey oh so sweet.

----------------------------------------------------

Randall Haley

There are good people you sometimes never meet. And that is a shame.

Society has yet to figure out how to address the information exchange in our rapidly evolving world. Literally overnight, social media has made "authorities" out of unknown and often unqualified people. Opinions have now become facts and the public is often swayed by penmanship and celebrity rather than by knowledge and morality. Often times I am more dismayed by the gullibility of the masses rather than by the false showmanship of the "P.T. Barnum-types". People today are so easily swooned by those trying to sell them something, it makes me wonder if I entered the wrong profession. Oh how easy it would be.

In the hunting community there are folks starved for information. And in today's high-tech world of information sharing, there is no shortage of people willing to impart "information". Unfortunately, when it comes to wildlife, most people consider themselves an expert and are not shy to share their "knowledge". Having spent my life studying and working with wildlife, some of the information I see shared often makes me cringe. Regardless of the sketchy stuff, I truly believe there are two powerful forms of information. "Knowledge," or science-based facts if you will, and "Wisdom," cognitive gains through a lifetime of experiences. Good teachers impart information from one or the other. Our best teachers, however, impart from both.

Let me be clear. I do not consider myself to be amongst the "best" teachers, I still have much to learn. I do however, consider myself a good teacher. Therefore I am often clearing up bad information that is so frequently shared. Though I try to set the record straight, I am often seen as a know-it-all especially by those I contradict. And that's okay, for I am not trying to educate them, for they are already informed and their opinions are firm. I am, however, trying to educate the quiet ones. The "lurkers" so to speak since they represent the majority seeking knowledge.

Now enter Randall.

I had learned to pick out the false prophets from those that truly had something special to share, usually in the form of wisdom.

Randall is one of those guys.

Though he didn't seek higher education, I consider him to be a highly-educated man. His lifetime of adventure in the outdoors is something I could listen to for hours on end and I could always walk away with having learned something I had not known before. His soft-spoken words and willingness to share in his life's experiences immediately drew me to him and made him one of my favorite teachers. Little did he know that I looked forward to reading his comments whenever they were offered. I found his writings extremely interesting and believed he held a wealth of information that was waiting to be tapped. Thus, you can imagine my surprise when he sought "me" for advice. Apparently he found the teacher in me and it renewed my spirits.

Though we've only known each other for a short time I can tell you without a doubt, he is one of those guys you easily, and will always, appreciate in life.  I know this because out of the blue, he sent me a small gift, a CD of his, for no one reason at all other than to simply lift my spirits...and reaffirm that he is "good people".

And much like his stories, his songs are equally fulfilling. My youngest son and I already can't stop singing "Gobblers Noggin'."

Randall you're a good one and I thank you for restoring my faith in the people I try to teach.

Education Without Beration... It Works!

I am often reminded that it is more important than ever to impact human behavior, not just to ensure people are safe around bears, but that bears are safe around people. Everyone has heard that "A fed bear is a dead bear," but some truly don't get the meaning of that message. It really does happen...and unfortunately bears continue to die. Yet some people still don't understand that. Willful negligence, intentionally feeding bears when you know it's wrong, is often a crime and the fault of person performing the act. However, uninformed negligence, when folks don't realize the consequences of their actions, is my fault and the fault of anyone else working in the world of bear education. Therefore, we must improve the ways we reach and speak to people if we want to exact positive change to conserve and protect bears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The more I immerse myself into the world of wildlife education the more I realize how ignorant I truly am on this subject. Don't get me wrong, I feel pretty confident I know more about wildlife than the proverbial "average bear," but where I'm often stumped, is trying to figure out ways to influence human behavior, for that is where one's true power lies. I am wanting to not only get folks to hear what I'm saying but to literally reach inside and connect with them, to touch them in ways that actually helps them to understand and hopefully influences their behavior for the betterment of themselves and the wildlife around them. Most of the time I am a complete failure, but every once in a while I have success. The following is an example and although it may only be a small step, every long journey begins with that initial step.

Over the course of the last year or so, since I began writing my blog, I have accrued a small following of wildlife aficionados...actually bear lovers to be exact. No shame in that, for I too am one. Occasionally these folks send me information on the "bear happenings" around their town. I enjoy reading them and I encourage everyone to keep them coming!

Anyway, one recent "happening" I received was a link to an online news story about a black bear that had been killed by state wildlife agent while it was rummaging through a dumpster behind a city hospital. The person sharing the story, who I consider a friend, was obviously upset and wanted some answers to a few questions that were not addressed in the story. That too was understandable. What followed though surprised me because they were not the same questions that came to my mind even though we had both read the exact same story. This intrigued me.

Following the progression of the story on her FaceBook page, there was a small but growing contingency of people expressing anger and frustration at the wildlife agency. This even spilled into conversation from other groups I am a part of and led to even more questions about the situation.

Isn't discharging a firearm in the city dangerous? Why couldn't they  just tranquilize the bear? Why couldn't they relocate it? Was it really that dangerous? How could they just kill it? Have they no conscience?

This perplexed me for I could not understand the ill-feelings toward the wildlife agency. I knew the answers to all these questions, in fact, they were obvious to me. My understanding came from my first-hand experience having worked as a biologist for a state wildlife agency. But what was clear to me was ever-so muddy to them. And this was no fault whatsoever on their part. They simply had no possible way of knowing the answers to these questions since they had never been told. This is where we, as wildlife experts and educators, have failed them.

First off, let me start by saying, never in my life have I wanted to kill a bear in that situation. I am also almost certain that none of the guys I have ever worked with ever entertained that idea either. It's a necessary evil that unfortunately comes with the job and is usually invoked as a last resort. After all, we went to school and dedicated our lives to wildlife because we have a passion for animals and the places they roam.

But how do I explain this and respond to some of their unanswered questions to a frenzied group of people that have seemingly already drawn their conclusions?

Simple...by speaking their language and opening up a clear line of communication.

I did a little bit of investigating and could tell by their background information that many of the folks commenting on the page were either hospital staff or friends of those in that profession. So against my initial "non-interjectionary" judgement...I entered the conversation.

Instead of entering as a know-it-all, or as my son would say, "Smarty McSmartpants," I entered as a teammate, looking for answers to some contentious questions. I also wanted everyone to see the "bigger picture" right out of the gate so they could start listening with a fresh set of ears that weren't already tainted by previous statements. Up to that point, most of the comments were focused on the action that took place (dead bear) and how things should have been done differently.

This brings us back to MY initial question upon reading the article. How did that bear end up being a frequent visitor around the hospital dumpster in the first place?

Then it dawned on me and the proverbial light bulb went off, or should I say "on" in this case. I made a connection with how I could relate to them and help them understand the issue by using something they were familiar with. I brought up the concept of... "a doctor or a nurse treating the symptom and not the disease."

This they understood.

Placing the argument in their terms, they now had a way of understanding that the agent was not the issue, he was only a symptom. The bear feeding in the hospital dumpster was the real problem and the "disease" which needed to be addressed.

Not long after I entered the conversation it was revealed to me that there were actually four bears altogether and that folks were prone to take selfies with them. Hospital staff would also feed them, even rolling apples to the younger ones.

The disease did indeed reveal itself in stunning fashion.

If that issue was not resolved similar unfortunate situations would be inevitable.

I continued my conversation with an open mind and a friendly attitude. I was not in the least bit insulting nor did I show or have any contempt for their actions. These were people I have never met and I knew not their situation. In other words, I could not pass judgment on their negligence. For all I knew they could have believed in their heart they were truly "doing good".

Within minutes I was not only accepted but I was also invited to give a presentation to hospital staff on " How a fed bear is a dead bear." Sadly, in this case, I will have a shining example.

I accepted without blinking an eye and the arrangements are in the works.

Having said all of this, I want to be crystal clear. I am not mad at, or frustrated with, anyone at the hospital. For all I know, some of them may sincerely believe they were helping the bears. If that is the case, then the only one to blame is myself and other bear advocates for not reaching these folks before an issue was created. There is no sense berating anyone because I promise you, a conversation has never been started and an argument has never been won with an insult.

And this is one presentation I am so looking forward to giving.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a Side Note: It turns out the bear was not even killed by a state wildlife agent so I urge folks to gather all facts before formulating an opinion. And I'm sure some of you may already realize this but the media is not always the best source of information. :)

A Soft Spot for "Bub"

Uh oh...I think I may need to prepare you for a letdown but don't worry, it's a happy ending.

If you saw the title of this blog and grabbed a tissue box or a small bag of popcorn so you could settle in and read about a little bear named "Bub"...it ain't gonna happen. In fact, some of you may be shocked because I'm about to throw political correctness out the window and talk about B.U.B. - "Beautifully Ugly Bears".

And yes I've known a few.

-----------------------------------------------

"Ol' Griz"

Recently I was pouring through some old files on my computer and I stumbled upon a cache of trail camera  videos I captured. The videos were taken while documenting black bears that were visiting bait sites for a population survey. It was in this cache that I found a video of Ol' Griz, an awesome specimen and the poster child for what I call a "beautifully ugly bear".

He resided in the Cherokee National Forest and was undoubtedly the monarch of the woods. And yes, he was beautifully ugly.

Ol' Griz - Monarch of Cherokee

Battle-scarred and worn, I nicknamed him Ol' Griz for he truly was the size of a grizzly and it looked like he had the temperament to boot. His sheer size would have set him apart from other bears but his uniqueness didn't stop there. His overall mass caused his body to waggle side-to-side as he lumbered through the forest. And lumber he did. He walked at a slow, deliberate pace which was compounded, or possibly caused, by a slight limp. I'm sure other bears knew he was coming simply by the way he he approached. His entrance was deliberate and kingly, always deserving of attention and respect.

Undoubtedly Ol' Griz was formidable. He had the face of a fighter, tattered ears and missing hair. I'm sure he not only doled out a couple of beatings, he probably took it on the chin a few times as well. When he entered the scene, other bears gave way. Given his stature among his kind, I have no doubt he remained the undisputed champion of the forest. And to be perfectly honest, although I love running into bears every now and then, he is one bear I am quite content with not ever having met. Ironically enough, it gave me both comfort and  torment knowing he was out there, quietly lurking in the shadows, watching over his realm.

Ol' Griz was massive. The "small" bear on the right was about 125 lbs. 

----------------------------------------------------

"Spur"

It's hard to find instances of old beat up and tattered bears when reminiscing about my time at the bear center since almost all of the bears I cared for were tiny little creatures to begin with. You know the kind, the ones that automatically make you smile when you see or think about them. Now if you would please stop smiling for a moment and try to refocus so I can tell you about another kind of bear, one that is different looking but equally beautiful for his uniqueness.

Anyway, there was one bear, that I cared for that did stand out. It was because he wasn't so tiny and come to think of it, he wasn't very pretty either! But he was unique and that was what made him pretty special.

In August of 1999 the National Park Service called and asked if we could provide care for a bear that had come into their possession. What made this bear so different what is that it was not an orphan or injured cub. He was an adult male black bear that had been hit by a car just within the borders of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Given he was struck on a section of road named the "spur" (the road connected the towns of Gatlinburg and Sevierville), he was aptly named "Spur" before I ever laid eyes on him. This was probably a good thing because he too was one "ugly" bear. (Just so you know, the reason I can call him ugly without feeling guilty is because he so very much reminded me of me!)

When Spur arrived at the center the first thing I thought was "Man...he's big!"

Tipping the scales at a whopping 132 pounds made him three times the size of any bear I typically handled. So in my narrowly-focused version of what typical bears looked like, he looked "over-sized"...JUST LIKE ME.

This makes me laugh thinking about it now, especially being around other bears that were over three times the size of him, Ol' Griz for example. But his size wasn't his only distinguishing characteristic. His hair was sparse and thinning...JUST LIKE ME.

NOT Spur...but this is a spitting image of him..

His hair loss may have been his way of coping with the intense summer heat or he possibly could have been overcoming the latter stages of mange. Assuredly it was not middle-aged male pattern baldness that so many of us suffer from (cough, cough). Regardless of the circumstance, he was one of those bald-looking bears. Add to the fact that much of his lower half was shaved during the veterinarian examination and you have one really awkward looking nekkid bear.

But he was also behaviorally awkward. Don't get me wrong, he behaved exactly like a wild bear should but given the circumstances of suddenly being placed in a cage, he knew there was something better "outside" the cage but didn't know how to get there. This made him quietly amble about the pen daftly looking around which gave the impression of him being aloof...JUST LIKE ME.

In all honesty, I think he was deep in bear-thought trying to figure out how to get out so he was probably way smarter than people gave him credit for....JUST LIKE ME. (Sorry I couldn't help that one!)

Anyway, Spur only stayed at the center for about two weeks until we were sure he was fully recovered from the accident and was not suffering from internal injuries. Fortunately he wasn't. We released him pretty much in the same location from whence he came.

Soon after, I too remember thinking about running into him as I wandered through the forest. Yes, even though I considered him to be a an "ugly" bear, It pleased me back then much as it does now to know he was out there.

And that my friends is the grandeur of the untamed wild. The fact that deep in the shadows you may someday run into a "beautifully ugly bear". They are, by far, my favorite kind!