In Lieu of Photos

Since I don't have a camera… I'm going to transcribe the thoughts from my notebook that I was writing right at the time that Phil came upon and shot the bear. Of course, these were notes from times prior to those moments, but they give a flavor of the wilderness across the bay here.

When you come home with a bear in bags, the work is not done. Of course, that's true of any trip that involves outdoor gear, camping equipment, etc, that need unloading, unpacking from drybags, airing, washing, etc. But having that volume of meat to be preserved, having to deal with the bones, guts, etc, is more than a day's work! The sausage grinder and extra electric burner's being barely functional make things drag out even more. 

So of course, I haven't been acknowledging my body's exhaustion as much as I should have been and am feeling myself fading, and am barely prepared for writer's group this afternoon. The hostess today lives up in the back of beyond, and up here, in late May, in full-blown summer, there is still some snow on the ground!

From my notebook

Now for the words I offer in lieu of photos. I'm inspired to include this, in part at least, by Bitt's beautiful photos of her walks in nature.

"Sitting beside Humpy Creek, at the foundations of the wreck of a bridge, spruce logs with dimensional lumber nailed to them, all torn up and torqued, laying splayed at odd, injured angles.

We saw a thrust dart out onto the pebbles, dip a toe and then flutteringly wash herself in the water, which must be about 37 digs, flowing fast, clear snow melt. A few stories above her, a yellow warbler exalted in the budding alders.

A drake merganser sailed down midstream, so stately and ornate, that pincer-prow of a pink beak seeming to connote singleminded directness, leading him as straight as the path of an arrow.

A spider's web caught and played with the light, looping languorously 15ft above the river and parallel with it for about 6ft, tangled in a leaning alder from one side and a jutting spruce from the other. How did the spider walk that airbridge?

A butterfly sucked on a dandelion flower, folding itself into a two-dimensional rudder against the rippling breeze: the petal of its wing not quite a triangle, paneled black-framed with off-white infill in the intricate not-quite symmetry of an art deco piece. (Just heard a resounding shot! Presumably Phil just got a bear!)…..