“Your bear was back last night,” Sharon told Jackson Crow at breakfast one morning. It was almost daylight and we were starting our day. Sharon usually made a quick inspection of the picnic area before breakfast. “Made the usual mess.”

“How did that bear become mine?” he said.

“You seem to be the only one of us he's afraid of,” Sharon replied. “We need to figure out how he keeps getting into the trash containers. They are supposed to be bear-proof.”

“They are bear-proof,” Danny Taylor said. “Want to hear my theory?”

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“Coons,” Danny said. “The trash containers are bear proof but raccoons can get them open. Once the coons get them open the bears can scatter the trash.”

“That's a good theory, Danny,” I said. “Raccoons have paws almost like hands that are versatile enough to open the containers.”

“Maybe,” Sharon said seemingly not convinced. “If so, how do we stop them?”

“Maybe when we close the picnic area at night, we could wire them shut,” Jackson suggested. “Unless the critters come with wire cutters they can't get in.”

“I know that coons really don't like pepper spray,” Jimmy Cotter one of the part time rangers said. “Why don't we spray the latches at night with some bear spray? It will be evaporated by morning.”

The picnic grounds were open daily from daylight to dark. The gates to the campgrounds were closed at ten o'clock and opened at daybreak. That was mostly to keep campers from coming in without checking-in.

“Okay,” I said. “Let's try the pepper spray tonight. In the meanwhile, Jimmy, you and Kirk go with Jackson and clean up the mess. If that boar bear is still hanging around let Jackson reason with him. I may have to get Wildlife to come and trap him. I think that old boy has figured out there is an easy meal to be had here.”

Jackson's method of dealing with picnic bears was to use a pick handle on them while yelling loudly. Usually that worked to discourage bears from hanging around. Most of the time just seeing our forest green pick-up trucks arrive was enough to send them running for cover. It appeared that the old male had lost his natural fear because he hung around even during the day. People, food, and bears were a bad mix.

“Danny did you spot your interlopers yesterday?” I asked him. A few days earlier, Danny said he saw three people crossing a shallow valley when he was on high ridge.

“No, but I know how they got here,” he said watching to see if anyone went for the last piece of bacon. “I saw where they pulled a boat up on the lake shore. Might be pot farmers or some jerks looking for a spot. Anyone going to want that bacon? I hate for it to go to waste.”

“Guerilla gardening crossed my mind, too,” I said. “No, go ahead and take the bacon. Maybe I should get the state police to do a fly-over with their helicopter. What is so funny, Danny?”

“I just had a mental picture of an ape with a garden hoe preparing the ground,” Danny said laughing.

“How about a silverback go-rilla, reared back puffing on a joint?” Jimmy Cotter added causing even more merriment.

“There is some wild country back there,” Jackson said when the laughter subsided. “Be a good place to raise some weed. Be hard to get it out thought.”

“Not by boat,” Sharon said. “That's a perfect way to come and go and to haul out the mature pot. They would most likely strip the stalks right there and just take out the leaves. You should bring in the copter, Josh.”

“I will,” I agreed. “Maybe I should check and see if there is a boat available for us, too. Okay, gang, let's get to it.”

***

We made an all-day hike out of it. We went west from Granger's Field almost all the way to Rattlesnake Ridge before turning back.

“Something dead over there,” Jackson said pointing to the circling buzzards. We were on the return leg and almost back to Granger's Field.

“Yeah,” I said. “We better check it out.” Turkey buzzards have incredible eyesight and can spot a dead animal from high up in the sky. I figured something big had got the attention of the large number of circling scavenger birds.

“It's a bear,” Jackson announced. He was right of course but the dead black bear wasn't all. Under the bear was a human. It was the severally mauled body of Bobby Morgan.

“It's looks like Morgan shot the bear with his crossbow,” Jackson said after we rolled the stiff bear carcass off the person. “It wasn't a killing shot and apparently the bear got to Morgan before he could reload. I guess the bear bled-out...so did Bobby, for that matter. Just quicker.”

“Man, is that gruesome,” Danny said. “It looks like the bear tore his throat off.”

“They died together,” Jackson said. “They've not been here very long because no varmints have dined on either of them. I'd guess not more than a day. Last night most likely.”

“Yeah, the crows couldn't get through the bear's tough hide and the bear had Morgan completely covered.” I looked up. “It wouldn't have been long before the buzzards would have been here. They certainly would have gotten through the bear's hide.” I left Jackson and Jimmy with the bodies while the rest of went back to the car to get a tarp to cover them. Once at the cars I sent Jolene and Sharon back to the station to call for the medical examiner and a sheriff's investigator.

Since it would be morning before the ME or the investigator could get there. We covered the bear and Morgan with a heavy tarp, piled some rocks on it, and we went home.

The forest firefighters had been gone all winter but had just returned so we enlisted their help in bringing the human body out. The bear would be allowed to return back to mother earth...or feed the scavengers which I suppose is the same thing.

“How do you figure it?” Rick Davis, the sheriff's deputy, asked.

“I think Jackson read it correctly,” I said. “Bobby Morgan tried to kill the bear and got himself killed in the process.”

“Damned shame about the bear,” Rick said. I had to agree with him.