Nuisance Bears and life in the country
A chat with Smokey, Yogi and Boo Boo
By Terrance Seamus Gavan
A recent cottage country meeting outlined the depth of a recurring problem.
Bears are running wild, rampant, and free here in the Highlands.
And that has a lot of people very upset.
It’s taking a huge toll on the gentle psyches and genteel sensibilities of many residents and cottagers in the area.
All down to “nuisance bears.”
What are nuisance bears?
Well, nuisance bears are those rumbling ursine garbage scows that interfere with our god-given right to enjoyment of the assorted natural wonders flung so haphazardly and luxuriously here in the Highlands.
Bears who brazenly wander through the woods and into “our yards” with alarming regularity.
Bears who show utter contempt for “no trespassing” signs.
Bears who exhibit a blatant disregard for our innate property rights.
Hungry bears with an alarmingly excellent sense of smell.
Bears who are able to discern, from 5 or 6 hectares, the dusky aroma of last night’s salmon steak on a Weber Hot Blast 4000 Super Grill.
How dare they. Pesky bears.
Many people in the Algonquin Highlands have seen these bears.
I know. I’ve heard the complaints. Numerous complaints. At cottage meetings. At council meetings.
“It’s uncivilized,” says one cottager, Jake Usurper. “Bears running around like they own the woods! Just who do they think they are?” Jake Usurper says he’s done the due diligence.
“I keep phoning the bear line over to the Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR) and they keep telling me that bears often wander this time of year. Wander, shmonder. I fought in two wars, I paid for this property, and I own a lotta’ guns,” says Jake, who says that locals may have to contemplate a “thinning of the herd.”
“I moved here five years ago to enjoy my cottage, the wilderness, and all of nature’s rich and bounteous beauty,” says Jake, 75, a transplanted Oshawite. “These damn black bears are ruining my retirement.”
I phoned the MNR hot line in Sudbury.
I got a recording.
“Thank you for phoning the Bear Aware Hot Line. Your call is important to us. The MNR appreciates your input … but all of our operators are currently running around the woods, willy-nilly, and chock-a-block, looking for endangered species, invasive fishies and the elusive Sasquatch. If you’re calling to report a black bear sighting, press one; if a black bear is interfering with your yard work, press two; if a black bear ate your dinner, press 3; if a black bear is doing short laps in your Jacuzzi, press 4; if black bears are ruining your retirement – Jake! Put that bloody rifle down! Now! Thank you for calling the MNR Ursus Horribilis hot line. This call may be recorded for quality purposes.”
It’s all very confusing. When I’m confused I go to the source. Last week Smokey Bear was in town for a photo op and presser.
I tracked him down after the press conference.
“Smokey, why are your brethren bears terrorizing the citizenry in the Highlands?” I asked.
“They’re hungry,” said Smokey.
“But surely Smokey, that cannot excuse the blatant trespassing, disregard for property, and the increasingly hostile reaction to incursive civilization? For instance, you seem to do all right, how do you manage to feed yourself?”
“Look, I’m on a full-ride government-sponsored expense account … so it’s like salmon, filet mignon, shrimp, caviar, and all the Big Macs I can manage, 24-7, especially during fire season,” growled Smokey. “It ain’t so easy for some of the brothers down in the deep, dark woods … Look, if you want the real skinny from a scavenger’s perspective I’ll give you a number of a good friend of mine,” said Smokey.
I dialed the number and the phone rang twice.
“Hello, Yogi Bear’s residence,” said the voice at the other end. I recognized it immediately –a nasally blast from my Hanna-Barbera past.
“Boo-Boo, is that you?” I asked, incredulously.
“Yes, how can I help you?” said Boo-Boo.
“Wow,” I said. “Look I was given this number from Smokey Bear up in Canada. He said I could get some answers about why bears are encroaching on our summer playgrounds, stealing our food, gutting our garbage, and generally making our lives miserable up here in cottage country.”
“Oh yes. We’re great friends Smokey, Yogi and I,” said the Boo-Boo. “But hey, the nuisance thing, that’s Yogi’s territory, and I’m afraid I have some bad news,” said Boo-Boo.
“Why, what’s wrong Boo?” I asked.
“Yogi’s in rehab,” sighed Boo-Boo. “Ranger Smith checked him into Betty Ford for the 60-day Pic-I-Nic Basket Withdrawal Program. It’s all my fault. I’m a classic enabler.”
“You’re being a little hard on yourself Boo-Boo,” I said. “I think you’ll find that like any addict, Yogi will have to step to the plate, own his addiction, make amends, stay off the pork-chops, and move on with his life.”
We talked for a long while. Boo-Boo brings Yogi five quarts of elderberries every day.
“The counselors at Betty Ford are very kind and understanding,” said the Boo. “They’re slowly weaning Yogi off the hard crack of that soda pop, hot-dog and deviled egg diet. It’s hard. People don’t realize how easy it is to become addicted to the fast fix of a free lunch, a leftover pizza or an apple pie.”
Boo has set up the Yogi Foundation, a not-for-profit agency dedicated to eradicating the nightmare of bears on cake.
So Highlanders. It’s up to you.
Make your donation, care of Boo Boo Bear, at beardespair.com.
Send a Highlands’ bear to rehab.
Do it for Yogi.
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