SMOKEY'S LESSON
By James Fox
One dark night the skills of three Boy Scout of America = Do you really need this? Everyone probably knows of the affiliation trained scoutmasters were challenged by a wayward bear. During the years our sons were in a Boy Scout troop, a week each summer was usually devoted to Summer Camp in the mountains.
Because I seemed to be perpetually on the parents' committee, I was often drafted to go along as one of the adult leaders. And eventually cajoled into taking scoutmaster training.
Our scout troop parents' committee usually selected BSA Camp Wolfeboro, a rustic camp in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains. The main reason was we wouldn't be limited to mess hall food. We would{{/c}/c}= shorten to We’d sign up for the campsite that had an old rock chimney and grill. It also had a dry goods=metal food storage locker and several heavy-duty cedar picnic tables near the fire ring. At the campsite the boys would spend the week cooking their own meals, which we discovered was a magnet for camp counselors tired of the mess hall fare. BUT= since this idea will introduce conflict= We also feared cooking meals outdoors might become attractive for bears that occasionally wandered into camp. But= delete SO=insert the troop's previous scoutmaster had added an extra rinse bucket to the Boy Scout dishwashing system and=delete which=insert had established a clean=insert camp clean-up=delete regimen that usually kept our site bear-free.
One summer, through a fluke, three of the adult leaders going to camp with the troop were named “Jim”. The scouts quickly remedied that with nicknames. Jim Davis became Jimbo and I became Foxman. However, through logic that is understood only by the adolescent mind, Jim Schwartzenberger stayed "Schwartzenberger" or occasionally “Schwartz-B.=why not Swartz-bear= perfect ”
Jim Schwartzenberger = SwartzBear had a wry sense of humor and an unusual skill that intrigued the scouts. At any time, he would string a hammock between two trees, ease into the netting and doze off within five minutes. And to the delight of the scouts within another five minutes he would be snoring louder than a freight train!
One evening the perfect campfire built by "Jimbo" Davis had dwindled to glowing embers, Jim Schwartz-B's
Swartz-Bear ’s snores had died down and the scouts had run out of jokes, stories and ghost tales. One by one everyone had drifted off to their tents,=plural? until I was the only one left to douse the campfire and turn out the lantern. I shook the hammock to wake up Jim so he wouldn't be left to the mosquitoes and morning frost.
I began stirring the dead campfire with an iron rake, looking for hot-spots, and Jim made one final round of the campsite before heading for his tent. He discovered this night the kitchen crew had forgotten to take the ice-chest back across the river to the bear-proof storage of the main camp. "We will have to bear-bag=bear pole when I was backpacking this," he suggested as he strung a rope high off the ground between two trees.
Through training and experience we had learned that a clean campsite needed to have all edibles removed, or “Bear-Bagged” =bear-poled which is, to put in a pack or container strung high out of reach. A nighttime campsite free from any available food usually encourages any curious bears to keep on trudging down the path.
I double-looped the rope around the ice-chest to form a sling, tied off one end and=insert Jim began to tug on the other end to hoist the bundle up out of reach. The task was harder than we thought due to the weight of the full ice-chest. I dragged over one of the log-ends=delete a scout
had =past tense used as a fireside chair. Balancing on this improvised stool, I used the iron rake I'd been stirring the fire=insert with to push upwards on the ice-chest. Jim heaved on the=insert rope to draw it taut. As the bundle inched higher and higher, I stepped down from the log and used the rake to tug at=delete on=insert the chest to see if we had hoisted the food securely out of a bear's reach. The chest swung to and fro, but didn't slip from its rope cradle.
Suddenly Jim Schwartz-B =SwartzBear stopped tugging on the rope and cocked his head to stare past me. He quietly said, "Turn slowly and look what's at the table." I turned and peered into the darkness where just beyond the light from the lantern I saw a bear=period. a =A very large bear. Without us hearing it, the animal=bear had crept into the campsite and had gotten as close as the end of the picnic table where it sat back on its haunches, to=delete intently watch ing= delete =insert us at work. Like a dog waiting for its master, the bear had leaned forward to rest its muzzle on the tabletop. where the=delete Lantern light glinted off its black nose ,and=delete reflected from its = delete off= insert dark eyes as it curiously watched us at our task.
The bear’s = delete Its fur=insert was dark brown, but
its= insert muzzle was tan, creating a living replica of the US Forestry's famous Smokey Bear. When I pointed out this similarity to Jim, he reacted with alarm. "Smokey?" He gasped, "Oh no, oh no, what have you done?" I was confused by Jim's behavior. "What," I asked, "What's wrong?"
The twinkle in Schwartz-B’s SwartzBear’s = insert eyes told me I'd just been suckered as he replied, "just before he tossed a tin can that sent the bear scurrying away,= insert here“You know that Smokey can already handle a shovel - and=delete now you 've= delete taught him how to use a rake!”
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