ODDS’N’SODS — A persistent bear

In my experience, I’ve found that bears are wary of human occupation and will not venture near a camp until it has been vacant for several days at least.

Black bears are capable of ripping doors off camper vans (and have been known to do so in some areas). But, normally, wilderness bears are not bold enough to attempt to break into cabins.

At Bedwell River on Vancouver Island, I have occupied or maintained various cabins over the years. Plastic or metal containers left in the open or in a tent camp have been bitten into; water pipes supplying camps have been punctured; and I have even had tags ripped off claim posts by bears. But only on one occasion did one break into my cabin.

The cabin was basically a plywood camper built over the wheels and axle of an old car, with an extension constructed of materials salvaged from an old cabin that had been hauled to the site. This extension incorporated a large window with several panes separated by narrow strips of wood. The trouble started when two prospectors employed by Canadian Superior Exploration, who were sharing the cabin, left the door open when they went out. I had made a pot of beef stew and left it on the stove to be reheated for supper. A bear came in, upset the stew on the floor and lapped it up. It didn’t do any other damage at the time.

I made sure the door was latched after that experience, but a day or two later the bear got in by smashing through the window. One pane was broken in one corner, and I suppose it used this as a starting point to pry open the other panes. The animal then proceeded to make a deplorable mess by knocking everything off the shelves and table. It tore open all the food containers, mixing flour and cocoa in a heap on the floor and tracking it all over the place.

I replaced the window and barricaded it with lengths of drill steel, but the bear got in again by tearing off a panel of plywood beneath a small window, which was also barred. I then clad the whole cabin in sheet metal siding, which I salvaged from another old building.

In bear-proofing the cabin, I overlooked one means of entry, thinking that I was dealing with a large animal. On the shady side, I had a cupboard built into the wall, which consisted of a wooden powder box. The bear managed to rip this box out from the opening of the cupboard, which was only about 18 by 24 inches, indicating that the beast was not big. It must have been a runt, or little more than a cub.

By this time I was getting a bit exasperated and resolved to set a trap for the animal. I rigged a snare, with the noose draped around the opening and attached to a bent-over sapling held down by another line, which could be released by a trigger fastened just inside of the opening. I tied a partially open can of beans to this trigger and went home to await developments. However, I began to have second thoughts about this device and, through the night, had visions of a bear dangling and bouncing around tethered to a stringy sapling.

Consequently, I returned to the site the next day. This entailed a 20-mile trip by water and a 3-mile hike up the trail to the cabin. The can of beans was undisturbed and the trap unsprung, so I dismantled it and boarded up the opening.

As a rule, I don’t carry a gun when working in the bush, as I consider it an unnecessary encumbrance. But I was determined to get that bear, so I acquired a rifle and kept it cached across the clearing from the cabin while I was out. A few days later, I came up the trail and saw the bear slumbering by the cabin. It was about as big as a large dog. As luck would have it, the beast saw me before I managed to get the rifle, and it ran into the bush before I could take aim. In exasperation, I fired a wild shot in the general direction where it had just entered the thicket, not thinking there was any possibility of actually hitting it.

I was never troubled by that bear again.

— A resident of Tofino, B.C., Walter Guppy is an occasional contributor to this column.