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By JEFFERSON WEAVER
Staff Writer
Supposedly, black bears are generally more frightened of humans than humans are of bears.
As I stood chest deep in the darkening swamp, I hoped this particular bear was not only familiar, but an adherent of this theory as well.
That proved to be the case; said Ursus Americanus splashed away, my only glimpse a brief sighting of a large, furry backside. I went on about the business of disentangling my foot from a root several feet underwater, albeit with a bit more urgency than before.
Of course, since Smokey was a hundred feet away, I shouldn’t have been nervous; after all, I once had my feet sniffed by a black bear cub.
I am not making this up, and I wasn’t drinking at the time.
I was spending the night on the porch of a cabin at a historic site, half-dreaming of breakfast plucked from the nearby persimmon tree. My feet were poking out from under the blanket.
Then I smelled something – not my feet, but something far worse.
Over near the garbage pit, I heard sniffing, snorting and rooting. Then a cute little head with two tiny ears appeared near the end of the porch and coincidentally, my feet.
Again, I promise, I am not making this up.No big deal, I told myself. It’s a baby bear. He’ll run if I move.
Then I remembered that baby bears are often accompanied by momma bears, and sure enough, there was Momma – with another baby bear. Momma bears tend to be a bit protective of their young. I would assume a momma bear would be exponentially protective of two babies.
I decided that since hysteria might turn me into bear chow, I’d better just lie perfectly still. Naturally, my nose began itching about that time
I thought of some of my bear adventures the other day when I read how the anti-hunting people in New Jersey have complicated life for bears, suburban residents, and just about everyone else.
For years, uncontrolled development and anti-hunting laws have created a dandy environment for bears. People carry their town habits with them into what was once the country – much to the delight of bears who love trash cans and barbecue grills.
It’s kind of like the folks who move down here from up north and complain about hunters and trappers – until the deer eat their begonias, the beavers gnaw their birch trees, and the coyotes eat their Chihuahuas.
Even then, some well-meaning misguided folks will descry the harvest of any game animal, suggesting instead that populations can be maintained by birth control. I would love to see that sex education class.
Anyway, Noo Joisey officials are planning to spend $850,000 on non-lethal methods to scare bears away. Among the ideas is to shoot bears with rubber bullets.
As much as I love my several friends from the Garden State, I have to wonder who the heck came up with the bright idea of giving game wardens guns loaded with rubber bullets to shoot bears. All I can see this doing is making the bears, really, really angry, rather than “scaring” them away.
Bears are not stupid, even in New Jersey, and I fear the bears will rapidly discover that not only are rubber bullets annoying, but a person is making the rubber bullets annoy the bear. By simply eating the person, both annoyances will be dispensed with in a forthright manner.
To be honest, if I found myself looking at a non-threatening bear down the barrel of a gun, I’m not sure if I’d shoot him. Yes, I like bear meat, the skull would look great as a hood ornament, and a bear hide would be a nice rug, but I like bears as I do otters. I admire them, and I like watching them play and socialize.
I’m sure I wouldn’t have shot the bear who sniffed my feet, even if I’d had a loaded gun handy. The family was no threat to me (as long as I stayed perfectly, catatonically still). I even managed to enjoy the show as Momma Bear reared up on my persimmon tree and shook my breakfast down for her issue.
The cubs danced and played just like my dogs, and I had to stifle a laugh. Watching the three bears in the light of a cold December moon is a memory I’ll cherish forever. (I did, however, scratch my nose.)
I hear constantly about how bears raid piles of deer corn, destroy trashcans, eat pigs, etc. I do know the frustration of dealing with two bears who enjoyed dog food by the bagful (but they are a column for another day). I have no problem with folks who hunt bears in a sportsmanlike, legal manner, and who knows, I might even get to answer my shoot-don’t shoot question one of these days.
But to intentionally annoy and aggravate a bear strikes me as silly, especially since the little bit of New Jersey I once saw was aggravating enough without someone shooting rubber bullets at you.
It seems to me it would be much better to either relocate those Yankee suburban bears in a humane manner, or allow well-regulated hunting to handle the problem.
Of course, it might be amusing to give the anti-hunters some rubber bullets, and see how badly they can annoy the bears. Those who survived could get a job intimidating alligators at Lake Waccamaw or negotiating with angry timber rattlers over green space.
The ones who are left can try to distribute birth control to the deer and beavers.
Just a long as they didn’t hurt the poor little critters, of course.
Weaver is a staff writer at The News Reporter. He may be reached via e-mail at jeffweaver@newsreporter.biz.
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