Defeater of the Algonquin Bear

I have maintained the suspense of my story for far too long. My physical and emotional therapy has been quite the process and only now that I have broken through the shock of this traumatic event do I feel ready to give the full account of my face.

Last year was one of great transition and change in my life. Although the vast majority of this movement was positive, I was completely overwhelmed by the thoughts of my recent past that I quickly set out to clear my head the best way I know how – direct contact with the natural world – but I got a little more contact than I was expecting.

I drove up to Algonquin Park, borrowed the necessary cross country ski equipment and headed out on my thoughtful excursion. I am by no means a natural athlete, and before long there were some too-toned spandex-clad competitors quite ready to pass me by. I tried to get off of the trail as quickly and smoothly as possible when awkwardness got the best of me and before I knew it, I was falling sidelong into the snow. It is ridiculously difficult to put yourself upright after falling on skis, so to avoid adding unnecessary frustration to my already fatigued and hungry body, I unclipped my feet and stood on the path, thankful to be in just my boots again.

Not yet ready to return to the skiing, I played a short game of personal I-Spy until a cave, not 20 feet from where I was standing, caught my attention. Curiosity usually overrules common sense in my life, and so it didn’t take me long to decide that spelunking would be much more fun than another round of the park with my poles.

The cave itself wasn’t very deep – 15 feet maximum – but it was a good shelter from the snow and the sun, so I grabbed my granola bar and began to unwrap it when I was suddenly aware of a mysterious presence. It wasn’t a sound, per se, but chills shot up my spine and my eyes grew very wide as I turned, looking over my shoulder to the back of the cave. There, with dark, angry, wild eyes was a bear! A huge bear, at least three feet tall!

I was in such a state of shock that I began to think crazy things; the first was how bizarrely similar this situation was to the childhood song “I Met A Bear”, and the second, prompted by the first, was to run. I ran. I ran screaming, out of the cave, past my skis and to a protective looking maple tree. I would have continued to run, except trees require climbing and not running, so I climbed as fast as I could, which was, admittedly, not very quickly thanks to the slippery ski-boots and my out-of-shape shape. I don’t know if this has yet occurred to you, but bears can also run. This concept had eluded me earlier as it was not noted in the aforementioned song, and so I was unprepared for a pursuit of any kind, but less the frightening and violent one that followed. Though I thought I was high enough to be safely out of danger from the three foot tall beast, I was apparently still in range of its giant, clawed paw when it stood up and fully extended its reach. I was caught in the face by a bear!

Needless to say, my nerves were completely shot at this point. I was so stunned by my encounter that my consciousness was affected, at least in part, because it was a long time later that I came to my senses and found myself to be leaning no longer against the large trunk of the maple, but against my own van! The same two spandex skiers that had passed me before were now standing over me, offering blankets for my shivering back and towels for my bleeding face. They had called the park’s patrolman to help me home, but I assured them I was fine and after an hour of attentive supervision and some refreshing conversation, I drove the journey home.

What a traumatic event, but what an incredible story. I would be tempted to send it in to the Toronto Star... if there was even a grain of truth in the tale.

The real story is much less interesting, but I have been told that it is pretty good, as non-fiction goes: New years eve I picked a fight with a couple of 11-ish year old boys, who I have to admit are stronger than they look. I threw them into the snow a few times, but the majority of the battle I spent on my face in a snow-bank, or on my back with snow being thrown at me. It was one of these latter moments that another little guy friend of mine thought it would be a really good time to head down the hill on his toboggan. Long story short, I got my face run over by a seven year old and his sled.

So there you have it, folks. The fiction and the truth, for you to chose.

Props go to Tim Beckner for the story idea, to Tyler Ouderkirk for the scar tissue, and special thanks to Jamison, Bryce, Colin and Cammie for the take down. No wildlife was harmed during the writing of this piece. The author of this story does not condone the use of spandex in any way.

This has been a Fartoomuchtimeonyourhands Production.