Regarding what those bears have really been doing in the woods all these years.
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2001-2022
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
– – WH Auden
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
FSA/8d22000/8d224008d22491a.tif
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can’t be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise,
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march:
“Where to? what next?”
— Carl Sandberg
Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.
I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.
BY GARY SNYDER
Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
– – W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
Comments on this entry are closed.
Dude who ended up on the ground totally missed a couple opportunities for an arm bar. Plus the other guy was the aggressor throughout so I’d score it for him 10-9.
Rematch.
Two 600 lbs. behemoths in a grudge match.
True giants.
Mother Nature at her finest! Smiled the entire match. Up here on the mountain since Oregon stopped bearing and cougar hunting with dogs, we have hundreds of bear roaming. Magnificent creatures.
I once escorted a cinnamon out of the dump, was running her back into the woods, I was in my police blazer the bears running right next to me, I watching her,,, she watching me. Went roughly four miles driving at 45 mph, the bear not seeming to tire of the pace.
I learned three days later that poachers baited her, and killed her.
Nobody will tell me to this day whom they were. Killing just to kill is soooooo human. What a fucking waste, the bear was stunning, magnificent, amazing, all in one.
VI
I don’t think you understand the logic loop you just took, my friend. The law has created a surplus of predators, and now the citizens who poached or illegally hunted (I can’t tell which) are criminals.
I’m against hunting over bait, but I would shoot a bear with a tag if he were by the dump. It’s nuance. I’m against poaching, but I am really against the no dogs laws (we have a similar one in WA).
Anyway, I can’t join you in your sentiments about whose bad vs whose good. The state of Oregon is bad and evil, on an existential level.
Casey I’m shocked. you often think to much, about things that just Are.
never condoned the senseless killing of anything, “for the thrill of the kill”. Laws are for those whom agree to live by a common code of decency.
But then we’re all different Casey. You want to kill bears just because,,,, go for it.
VI
Well, that’s definitely not Yogi and Boo Boo.
Kind of interesting how they were both using the tree as cover, and I have to wonder if they were actually fighting, or just rough-housing around. I saw fur-a-flyin’ but not a drop of blood getting shed.
Anyone notice the 3rd bear in the distance that looked like it really didn’t want to get involved?
Looked like a couple of bears from Seattle, or maybe Portland….pussies.
I call it a draw. It’s like the heavy-weight division in boxing – they are sluggish, tire easily, not much real action unless there is a knockout.
I was wondering about that lurker off in the distance. Was hoping he was going to come in and challenge the winner….but I think he got bored with the lack of action and sauntered off.
Here in PA, we record some of the largest blacks in the lower 48 with the sows birthing twins and sometimes triplets quite often. Very large bears here and large population of them as well.
What a perfect opportunity for a liberal do gooder to get between them and teach them brotherly love and tolerance.
-from that Walter Matthau classic, “Bad Breath Bears”…
Reminds me of a couple bully macho macho boys sparring. A lot of bravado, name calling and fake fisticuffs, a couple jabs with a few roundhouses thrown in but little real damage. The one who tires first slinks off to other venues to brag about how he overcame and put the other guy in his place.
Very much like the republitard party, a lot of bluster and bravado with nothing of substance accomplished.
I spend a great deal of time in the outdoors either backpacking or bikepacking. Running into one of those bears would be a nightmare. There are no such creatures in my neck of the woods—Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas and Mississippi—but I plan to ride a bicycle to Idaho next year. That state is home to such beasts. Of course I will be armed, but just seeing those huge animals and comparing them to my puny little Smith & Wesson .40 almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
Mike, your not going to outrun em, or outride em, maybe climb a tree, o wait, noooooo run down hill, yea that’s it.
Brother, get eaten by a bear you truly have some bad karma, really screwed up. You being a rationale kinda fella, will be fine. Good luck with the .40.
Dirk
True enough. When a bear—Black, Brown or Grizzly—sees a man he usually runs off. Usually. And if he does not?
What about bear spray? Works fine unless it’s raining. Or windy. Or in your tent. Or too dark to see the creature.
I once went on a hike with my brother and his family. We all met up in Glacier National Park. He was packing bear spray. I was packing a .44 Magnum revolver. He sang the glories of his bear spray as if it were a force field that would protect him from all harm. I asked him, “How many times have you practiced with the bear spray?” He answered, somewhat sheepishly, “Never.” I told him I had fired hundreds of rounds through my .44 Magnum. The irony was lost on him I think.
For me nothing less than a 12 ga will do.
When I went to alaska to run trap lines a Remington 870 with slugs was over my back and a Ruger .357 on my hip. I’ve since watched bear attack videos and I wouldn’t do that any more. I ain’t a young (and stupid) buck now.
Yep. That Remington is a beauty.
But I have to carry while backpacking and bikepacking. So I’m limited to a pistol or revolver. I’m looking at the Taurus 608 or 692 .357 Magnums. I once had a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum with a Scandium frame, but the recoil became too much for my 60+ year old body.
Or I could just get the most powerful FMJ load for my .40 and hope for the best.
Decisions…decisions.
Run downhill? Unless you can run at over 30MPH you ain’t gonna outran an angry bear, and downhill you can run faster, yeah well remember that they can also run faster downhill. Best option is to NOT be where the bear wants to be.
If a bear sees me 100 feet away, and mistakes me for a Big Mac I would have 3 seconds to do something before the hundreds of pounds of angry beast plow into me at 32 mph. Three seconds to: recognize the threat; decide what to do; implement my, umm…’plan’; hope for the best.
What I will not do: play dead; use bear spray; run; pretend I’m taller and more fierce than I am.
What I will do: pull out my firearm—always readily at hand—and start sending lead his way. Once the mag is empty—14 round capacity with one in the chamber always—shove another one in an “await events”.
“Best option is to NOT be where the bear wants to be.” True, but then I would never go much further than a city park. Being alone in the wilds has been in my blood ever since 1987 when I walked from Panama to Colombia. So, nope. The bear will either share his habitat with me—or else.
And I understand very well that I need to be damn lucky. So does he.
The video reminded me of the infamous Timothy Treadwell case– he’s the nature boy who started a human/bear friendship group called Grizzly People, and was killed and eaten (along with his girl friend) by an Alaskan grizzly in 2003. Treadwell told a friend via phone shortly before his death that “he hated modern civilization and felt better in nature with the bears than he did in big cities around humans.” On October 6, 2003, some park rangers found the couple’s mangled remains. “Treadwell’s disfigured head, partial spine, and right forearm and hand, with his wristwatch still on, were recovered a short distance from the camp. . . . A video camera recovered at the site proved to have been operating during the attack, but police said that the six-minute tape contained only voices and cries as a brown bear mauled Treadwell to death.”
For those of strong stomach: the “YouTube Community” has posted warnings about the following video, but anyone who needs to be convinced that living among bears comes with an expiration date might want to watch it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdBfKgwnznE
Neither of them seemed all that into it. Kept waiting for one to say, “Hey, Charlie, this is no fun. Let’s kill the human with the camera instead.”
All who knew Treadwell knew he was insane, and that one day his insanity would lead to his death. That YouTube video shows the result of his obsession. Not pretty. Treadwell was lucky for 13 years. And then he wasn’t.
From the Canadian film “Backwoods”. Not pretty either.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0AHvPpGrDU
Correction: The name of the film is “Backcountry”.
“If you go out in the woods today,
You’d better not go alone.
It’s lovely out in the woods today,
But safer to stay at home.
For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic.”
What’s on their menu?
Se you in the woods!
Now that John Hinckley is being released from his psych ward– time to revisit Reagan’s 1984 “Bear in the Woods” ad:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpwdcmjBgNA
PETA has labeled this as fake news.
It looked like an old skinny guy young fat guy fight. The old skinny silverback challenged first, the young fat guy wisely retreated behind a tree and they measured each other up. When I saw the old silver drop down from the tree I thought it was over, he was backing off, wisely choosing not to take on Junior who looked to be in prime condition. But no, the young guy came at him and it was game on for real. The young guy got the first two takedowns, but the old guy rallied and put fatso on his back for good. Hurrah, old man strength, wisdom and experience overcomes brawn.
I remember from my wrestling days how fast you run out of breath when going full speed. These guys looked like a couple of fighters who just plain ran out of puff, and agreed to call it a day. The point had been made though, the silverback is still king of the forest, the young’un will just have to wait till next year.
An impressive amount of drool. And I think those thick coats protect them from getting seriously wounded by those enormous claws. But still, those claws that could flay and gut a puny human in one stroke.
Don’t mess with the old guys. The youngster was definitely taught a lesson.
It was like watching the Dems and Republicans sparing on the the Senate floor. Lots of posturing, hot air and saliva, with no blood shed and little accomplished.
Well said. Democrats to Republicans, Republicans to Democrats: What possible difference is there between them? Tweedledum to Tweedledee—and then back.
I yearn for something like this in the US Government:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JkXaj_XzeV0
Or this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8hNaCnOdcw
Sulla, Caesar, Octavian: I don’t really care at this point. Even Genghis would be an improvement.
Why not Cromwell as a precedent? Here’s Old Noll dissolving the (aptly named in more ways than one) Rump Parliament in 1653, with a little help from the army:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efmiutIr97c&ab_channel=JohnDunlea
Some classic lines: “The enemies of this Nation have flourished under your protection!”
and “An immovable parliament is more obnoxious than an immovable king!”
I would take a Cromwell—minus his hatred of all things Catholic. His New Model Army might be an example of a “new and improved” US Military once things settle down. If things settle down.
Cromwell had some memorable moments and some cool speeches. He took no nonsense from anyone. A timeless favorite:
“You have sat too long for any good you have been doing. Depart, I say, and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go!”
Incidentally, after Cromwell’s death and the crowning of Charles II all those who had signed the death warrant of Charles I were hunted down and killed except for two who fled to the American colonies. Even so they remained in fear of their lives. See “Killers of the King” by Charles Spencer.
There were actually three regicides who fled to New England: Edward Whalley, his son-in-law William Goffe, and John Dixwell. After landing in Boston, Whalley and Goffe headed south to New Haven, where Dixwell was already living under an assumed name. Goffe and Whalley hid out for awhile in a cave (still called Judges Cave) on West Rock Ridge– the hideout is still there and open to hikers. In 1664, Goffe and Whalley were forced to move back to Massachusetts when some local Native Americans revealed the location of their cave to Charles II’s commissioners while the two men were out. Both apparently lived under a series of assumed names until they died, Whalley around 1675 and Goffe in 1680. They were never caught by any of the king’s commissioners.
There are three major streets in New Haven named for the regicides: Whalley Avenue, Dixwell Avenue, and Goffe Street. I know them all too well because I live (for the time being) in New Haven– so the story of Judges Cave is local history for me.
Thank you kindly for that update. I should have double checked my memory by simply reaching for Spencer’s book on a shelf two feet away.
Being one-fourth Irish and one-fourth English (the remainder being Mexican) I have an interest in Cromwell’s treatment of Ireland, especially his siege of Drogheda and the massacre that occurred afterword. Like most tyrants he justified his actions by saying that God approved of them:
“I am persuaded that this is a righteous judgement of God on these barbarous wretches…”
Ok Oliver, if you insist. I am glad though that a few Irish escaped. Maybe one of my ancestors was among those lucky few.