# 117
“Travels with Bear”
IN DEFENSE OF COMMON SENSE
By Hetty Gray
July 21, 2012
As a camper, you must have one prerequisite or you’re lost — a sense of humor. I don’t care if you tent, a pop-up, tow a trailer or a fifth wheel or drive sumptuous motor home, the parts within are man-made. Ergo, they break.
We have been extremely lucky during our most recent camping trips. Oh, I towed a pop-up when my sons were small, but that was about forty years ago. And, as time would have it, memories do fade. What once was critical becomes laughable. That is, if you vow to take it in stride.
This summer, we coordinated camping schedules with a young family we met three years ago. The five of us met along the North Shore of Minnesota north of Duluth. A pair of talented people the age of our grown children, he is a computer systems engineer and she is a nurse practitioner. To our eyes, their five-year-old son had suddenly morphed into a lean, tall, beaming eight-year-old on in-line skates or astride a mountain bike. It’s understandable. After all, we hadn’t seen him for three summers.
His parents’ hobby of diving the shallow shipwrecks in the Great Lakes with occasional trips to the Caribbean was a highlight for us. From them and other members of their SCUBA club, we not only learned more about diving equipment and underwater cameras than we had expected, but we also came to appreciate the odd mix of exploration and danger so familiar to anyone with a hobby that involves personal risk. Bringing their son into the mix first involved snorkeling. They tell us that he is so adept at it now that they plan to enroll him into various levels of SCUBA training at ten and twelve.
One day the “big lake” rolled with high waves, a situation incompatible with diving from one of the two boats accompanying the diving club to the campground. Their other option was diving off the shore and one site was not only perfect, but in a very unique area.
The ship Madeira lies offshore near one of Minnesota’s treasured sites, Split Rock Lighthouse. Perched atop steep cliffs overlooking Lake Superior, the lighthouse is a real gem. Immaculate grounds and many learning opportunities draw more than a million visitors in any given year. If you choose, you may watch a 22-minute film on the lighthouse and its history, tour the light keeper’s cottage, hike the trails surrounding the light house, or simply relax and picnic in one of the park’s picturesque glens overlooking the water or nestled deep in the woods.
Traveling RV style affords folks very singular experiences. What other vacation accommodation offers you the chance to sit around a campfire with Americans, Canadians, Swiss, Germans, and Japanese — none of whom you had known even hours before? Oh, hotels are both hospitable and lovely, but seldom does a mix of complete strangers gather on the grounds around to roast marshmallows at twilight.
After three days of sweatshirt weather and watching the great ore boats enter and leave the Two Harbors port, our time was up and we needed to find another campground. We ended up along the South Shore of Superior close to Bayfield, Wisconsin and the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore.
A mix of Victorian homes, small shops, restaurants, bookstores and a busy marina, Bayfield also boasts great store called Keeper of the Light. Never have I seen such a variety of lighthouse items. Want a small paperweight under ten bucks? It’s there. Yearn for a huge lighthouse model running into the thousands of dollars? You can buy that, too.
We checked into a campground on the outskirts on short notice. They had a site for us, and we jumped at it. Did I mention a sense of humor?
The shady shite was not set up for the picnic table to be on the right side of the unit featuring the awning and the entry door. However, since we only planed to stay two nights, we opted to eat outdoors at local bistros both evenings and cook breakfast and lunch at the trailer.
One step out of the truck greeted us with a hot blast. The 66-degree temperatures of Two Harbors were history. Back to reality and hot July weather. About fifteen minutes after we parked, a large truck rolled up at the end of our trailer and began to empty the septic system. I didn’t think too much about it, because sites with “full hook ups” (water, electricity, and sewer) require such attention.
Once the hitch was unfastened and everything was level within the trailer, my husband went inside to initiate the cooling system. Accustomed to what we do when we first arrive at a campground, Bear, our big Newfoundland dog was antsy — anxiously looked forward to a cool place to nap.
Not so fast, boy. No air conditioning! The trailer was new in January of 2011, so we had no reason to consider a main system failure. Were we wrong!! With temperatures approaching 90,the three of us were not the picture of “happy campers!”
After a call to the factory, we learned that the digital thermostat had lost its link to the air conditioning unit. Somewhere in all that wiring was a glitch. Well, we chose to make the best of it, unpacked the comfortable outdoor chairs, grabbed the cooler with iced beverages and put a rug under a tree for Bear.
A couple of hours later, with every awning out and every screened window open, we headed for the charming harbor area. The shady deck was perfect and the waitress even brought Bear a huge bucket of ice and water. We watched the ferry traffic alongside lovely sailboats skimming the waters in the stiff winds so familiar along Lake Superior. Madeline Island glistened in the late afternoon sun while tourists walked the streets with their purchases, boosting the local economy so dependent on the summer season.
You can snowmobile at Bayfield — even cross the ice to Madeline Island in the winter — but summer revenue rules.
A walk down the pier topped off the evening. A tall white-haired man stopped to ask about our dog. A sailboat captain who offered either three-hour or five-hour tours around the harbor, he laughed when learned the dog’s name was Bear. Then, he told us what had happened at his home just days earlier.
His erratic schedule involves coming and going from home at different times on any given day. Days earlier, he hosted an out of state sailboat captain at his home. When the visitor heard noises coming from the kitchen around noon, he assumed that his host had returned. Walking toward the kitchen, he began to talk to his friend. Imagine his reaction when cleared the doorway to see an adult black bear leisurely eating lunch from the garbage can in the corner behind the door.
Just as the man grabbed the doorframe in shock, the captain opened the kitchen door. The bear simply looked from one man to the other and continued to munch. He had no fear of humans whatsoever, so he didn’t see any good reason to interrupt his repast even if he did have visitors. In the captain’s words, this could have been a cartoon bear.
The two men eventually got the bear out of the house, and went back to their business; but I’m not sure I would have been that calm about the whole thing. He was out one screen door, but he explained that locals are accustomed to bears and their foraging about in homes or garages. It goes with the territory.
Tummies full and rehashing the bear story, we headed back to our campsite. The weather failed to cool down and trees blocked what breezes did come from the lake. Alas, we resigned ourselves to a less than comfortable night’s rest.
We made sure to walk the dog before night fell, because bears frequent the campground. The park owner maintains a huge bear trap next to the office. Made from a large metal barrel with plenty of air holes, it offers something tasty and then slams shut once the bear takes the bait. Since this type of trap doesn’t harm the animal, the park owner simply calls the DNR to come and pick up Herr Bear for a return trip to the woods.
Windows open, we knew it would be a long night. Sadly, there was more to it than the heat. When we registered that day, we noticed the owner toting a concrete septic cover with his front-end loader. There was more, of course. The storage tank next to our bedroom window put a skunk to shame and no other sites were open. In short, we were there for the duration. Closing windows was not an option.
At one point, we did muster a smile. We spied that huge Newfoundland with his paws over his nose! It was even too much for him. The double-edged sword was that our only respite was when the breeze stopped. I think that I may tell this story to the service center when we go to have the air conditioning fixed.
I suppose that smell doesn’t outrank an animal encounter, but just “bearly”. Our air conditioning problem probably won’t be the only failure we experience, but I hope that the next one won’t involve “Uncommon Scents.”
Excuse the pun with my column title, but I just can’t resist. It’s that sense of humor thing again!