"I wish we could stay here forever, grandpa." the boy said to the old man sitting with him by the fire.
The two of them, the old man and the boy, sat by the campfire down by the rivers edge, where they had cooked the day's catch of fresh salmon. From the water into the frying pan, it was as good a meal as the boy could remember. But best of all, he had finally been allowed to accompany his grandfather on one of his fishing trips to far off places. This time it was Alaska. The float plane has dropped them off by the cabin, and would pick them up when the campout was done. Now, days later, it was their last night on the river in the Alaska bush country. They had hiked, fished, and the old man had taught the boy woodcraft and fishing.
"Well pup, the plane will be here bright and early in the morning, so we'd best be getting packed and ready to leave. All good things come to an end, so we'll appreciate it more when we get to come back again. And we will cone back. Now that you're older your folks will let you go on more of these trips. "
They sat by the fire for a while, letting it die down for the evening. The cabin was set back in the woods away from the river in spring flood stage, and all their cooking had been done on the grill set up on rocks around the fire pit. They had lived on the fresh fish everyday, and the old man showed his grandson how to use just the right spices rubbed on the fish to bring out the flavor. The boy had used his Case yellow handled trapper to clean all the fish under the old mans watchful eye. Only the fall hunting season before, the old man had gifted the boy the knife. It had ben the boys very first deer hunt, and the carbon blades had become stained with the blood. Now the blades had darkened all the more with the days of cleaning fish, and the boy was pleased that his knife was looking much like his grandfathers old trapper. Yellow handles and gray blades.
"Should we sleep out by the river, Grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man looked around carefully.
"No boy, too much chance of bear. We've been cooking fish and eating out here to keep the smell away from the cabin. We'd be better off there than here if we get company. "
They cleaned up the tin plates and frying pan with fine gravel from the river bank, and made their way to the little cabin. Aside from being set back from the river, it was set up in pilings several feet above ground level. It could only be reached by a very narrow set of stairs that led up in a steep angle. The small but snug cabin had only the one room, with a small cast iron stove, a kitchen counter, and a couple of bunks. Now, the old man tossed a few more pieces of wood into the stove to warm the cabin. In early summer, the wind down off the mountains was still cold, and the temperatures dropped at night to freezing. Soon the stove was giving off a welcome amount of heat, and the old man put a pot of water on top of the stove to heat.
"Get a couple of cups there, pup, and we'll have some hot chocolate for desert."
The boy got the cups, and while they waited, the boy sat at the small table and carefully honed his now well used trapper. He slowly stroked the blades on the stone just the way his grandfather had taught him, and the old man watched him, a slight smile on his face. Soon, a bright ribbon of edge ran up both blades, and the boy slowly stropped them on the back of a belt. The old man poured out the hot chocolate and they sipped slowly the sweet brew. The boy was carefully feeling the edge grabbing his thumb print, when a loud guttural growl sounded from outside the cabin door, making them jump to their feet.
It may have been the smell of the chocolate, or just curiosity, but whatever the reason they found themselves looking down the narrow stairs at a large grizzly bear. It was one of the largest they had seen yet. Fishing during the day, they had seen a bear once in a while, but they had not been close. One or two had raised their heads and stared, sniffing the air carefully, then wandered off. This one was different. This one seemed very intent on the doorway to the cabin.
"Grandpa, get your shotgun!" the boy cried.
The old man seemed alert, but relaxed, and the boy didn't fully understand what happened next. The old man stood full in the doorway, and took his trapper out from his pocket and opened the main clip blade. For an insane moment, the boy wondered if the old man was going to fight the bear with his pocket knife. But the old man had a trick up his sleeve. The boy watched as his grandfather took out the canister of bear spray from the holster on his left hip, and then laid the blade of his knife on the cord.
This was the first time the boy took notice of the cord. It was brown hemp, weathered and faded, and ran from an eye bolt on the wall of the cabin, out to a tree branch that over hung the bottom of the stairs leading up to the cabin door. At the end of the cord looped over the tree limb, was a rusty tin bucket. The bear let out a loud growl, then came forward, testing his footing on the wood. His massive bulk made the stairs creak, but they held, and the bear gained confidence, letting out a few woofs and growls that made his silver streaked hump shake.
Suddenly, the old man sprayed the stream of bear spray right down into the face of the big grizzly, at the same time his right hand flicked the blade through the brown hemp cord. At the same time the spray hit the bears face, the tin bucket fell with a crash, making a loud clatter of sound as the stones, scrap iron and old stove parts filling the bucket landing square on the bears head. The grizzly let loose a mighty roar of rage that shook the old man and boys ribs, and then he fell back from the stairs rubbing his face in the dirt, and running off in the woods mowing down any brush in his way.
The boy stared in wonder at his grandfather, and how calm the old man stood there, sliding the canister of bear spray back in it's holster while brushing the trapper closed on his leg and dropping it back in his pocket. He took out the battered old Zippo lighter and lit his pipe, slowly blowing a cloud of aromatic gray blue smoke out in the air. He chuckled to himself.
"Why didn't you shoot him, grandpa?" the boy asked, pointing at the pump shotgun leaning against the wall.
The old man took another draw off his pipe.
"Well pup, it wasn't time for killing. That old bear just needed to be convinced to go elsewhere. Besides, it's his country, not ours."
"What?" the boy asked.
"Look out there boy, what do you see?" the old man said printing out the door of the cabin. The river sparkled in the evening light, and in the distance the rugged mountains stood like a snow topped barrier to the end of the earth. Rugged wilderness as far as the eye could see.
"This was his land, long before man ever got here. It's still his land, we're just the visitors here. Long after we leave here in the morning, he'll still be the old bull of the woods." the old man said, "What happened to him here was unpleasant, but he'll get over it. He'll remember something bad happened here, so he won't be back soon, if ever. That's good, because he belongs here. It's him and the others like him that make this place interesting. Besides, only a crazy person kills when he doesn't have to. Understand, boy?"
The boy thought about his grandfathers words, then nodded.
"I think so grandpa."
"Good, then finish your hot chocolate and hit the sack. Morning is going to come early and the plane is going to be here with the sun."
The boy did as the old man said, and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of fishing wild far off places with his grandfather.
The two of them, the old man and the boy, sat by the campfire down by the rivers edge, where they had cooked the day's catch of fresh salmon. From the water into the frying pan, it was as good a meal as the boy could remember. But best of all, he had finally been allowed to accompany his grandfather on one of his fishing trips to far off places. This time it was Alaska. The float plane has dropped them off by the cabin, and would pick them up when the campout was done. Now, days later, it was their last night on the river in the Alaska bush country. They had hiked, fished, and the old man had taught the boy woodcraft and fishing.
"Well pup, the plane will be here bright and early in the morning, so we'd best be getting packed and ready to leave. All good things come to an end, so we'll appreciate it more when we get to come back again. And we will cone back. Now that you're older your folks will let you go on more of these trips. "
They sat by the fire for a while, letting it die down for the evening. The cabin was set back in the woods away from the river in spring flood stage, and all their cooking had been done on the grill set up on rocks around the fire pit. They had lived on the fresh fish everyday, and the old man showed his grandson how to use just the right spices rubbed on the fish to bring out the flavor. The boy had used his Case yellow handled trapper to clean all the fish under the old mans watchful eye. Only the fall hunting season before, the old man had gifted the boy the knife. It had ben the boys very first deer hunt, and the carbon blades had become stained with the blood. Now the blades had darkened all the more with the days of cleaning fish, and the boy was pleased that his knife was looking much like his grandfathers old trapper. Yellow handles and gray blades.
"Should we sleep out by the river, Grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man looked around carefully.
"No boy, too much chance of bear. We've been cooking fish and eating out here to keep the smell away from the cabin. We'd be better off there than here if we get company. "
They cleaned up the tin plates and frying pan with fine gravel from the river bank, and made their way to the little cabin. Aside from being set back from the river, it was set up in pilings several feet above ground level. It could only be reached by a very narrow set of stairs that led up in a steep angle. The small but snug cabin had only the one room, with a small cast iron stove, a kitchen counter, and a couple of bunks. Now, the old man tossed a few more pieces of wood into the stove to warm the cabin. In early summer, the wind down off the mountains was still cold, and the temperatures dropped at night to freezing. Soon the stove was giving off a welcome amount of heat, and the old man put a pot of water on top of the stove to heat.
"Get a couple of cups there, pup, and we'll have some hot chocolate for desert."
The boy got the cups, and while they waited, the boy sat at the small table and carefully honed his now well used trapper. He slowly stroked the blades on the stone just the way his grandfather had taught him, and the old man watched him, a slight smile on his face. Soon, a bright ribbon of edge ran up both blades, and the boy slowly stropped them on the back of a belt. The old man poured out the hot chocolate and they sipped slowly the sweet brew. The boy was carefully feeling the edge grabbing his thumb print, when a loud guttural growl sounded from outside the cabin door, making them jump to their feet.
It may have been the smell of the chocolate, or just curiosity, but whatever the reason they found themselves looking down the narrow stairs at a large grizzly bear. It was one of the largest they had seen yet. Fishing during the day, they had seen a bear once in a while, but they had not been close. One or two had raised their heads and stared, sniffing the air carefully, then wandered off. This one was different. This one seemed very intent on the doorway to the cabin.
"Grandpa, get your shotgun!" the boy cried.
The old man seemed alert, but relaxed, and the boy didn't fully understand what happened next. The old man stood full in the doorway, and took his trapper out from his pocket and opened the main clip blade. For an insane moment, the boy wondered if the old man was going to fight the bear with his pocket knife. But the old man had a trick up his sleeve. The boy watched as his grandfather took out the canister of bear spray from the holster on his left hip, and then laid the blade of his knife on the cord.
This was the first time the boy took notice of the cord. It was brown hemp, weathered and faded, and ran from an eye bolt on the wall of the cabin, out to a tree branch that over hung the bottom of the stairs leading up to the cabin door. At the end of the cord looped over the tree limb, was a rusty tin bucket. The bear let out a loud growl, then came forward, testing his footing on the wood. His massive bulk made the stairs creak, but they held, and the bear gained confidence, letting out a few woofs and growls that made his silver streaked hump shake.
Suddenly, the old man sprayed the stream of bear spray right down into the face of the big grizzly, at the same time his right hand flicked the blade through the brown hemp cord. At the same time the spray hit the bears face, the tin bucket fell with a crash, making a loud clatter of sound as the stones, scrap iron and old stove parts filling the bucket landing square on the bears head. The grizzly let loose a mighty roar of rage that shook the old man and boys ribs, and then he fell back from the stairs rubbing his face in the dirt, and running off in the woods mowing down any brush in his way.
The boy stared in wonder at his grandfather, and how calm the old man stood there, sliding the canister of bear spray back in it's holster while brushing the trapper closed on his leg and dropping it back in his pocket. He took out the battered old Zippo lighter and lit his pipe, slowly blowing a cloud of aromatic gray blue smoke out in the air. He chuckled to himself.
"Why didn't you shoot him, grandpa?" the boy asked, pointing at the pump shotgun leaning against the wall.
The old man took another draw off his pipe.
"Well pup, it wasn't time for killing. That old bear just needed to be convinced to go elsewhere. Besides, it's his country, not ours."
"What?" the boy asked.
"Look out there boy, what do you see?" the old man said printing out the door of the cabin. The river sparkled in the evening light, and in the distance the rugged mountains stood like a snow topped barrier to the end of the earth. Rugged wilderness as far as the eye could see.
"This was his land, long before man ever got here. It's still his land, we're just the visitors here. Long after we leave here in the morning, he'll still be the old bull of the woods." the old man said, "What happened to him here was unpleasant, but he'll get over it. He'll remember something bad happened here, so he won't be back soon, if ever. That's good, because he belongs here. It's him and the others like him that make this place interesting. Besides, only a crazy person kills when he doesn't have to. Understand, boy?"
The boy thought about his grandfathers words, then nodded.
"I think so grandpa."
"Good, then finish your hot chocolate and hit the sack. Morning is going to come early and the plane is going to be here with the sun."
The boy did as the old man said, and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of fishing wild far off places with his grandfather.
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