Those other worlds...

Once upon a time, long ago, in a place now filled with (to me) disgusting trat housing, the time and place was wooly and wild and the government then was much more care free. The town was really small and the chief of police was part time, his real occupation was running and owning the ;ocal plumber's shop and the only uniformed patrolman worked 5 hours a day (mostly ticketing speeding tourists and illegally parked cars in front of one of the town's two fire hydrants). Anyway, I was young and there for some hunting and perusing the girls at the local ski resort.
A bear had been wounded by a hunter it then killed. A day later it attacked a second person and badly mauled them. Encountering me and some other hunters in the evening of the second day at the ski resort's singles bar (true singles bars mostly fell victim to AIDS and no longer really exist today) said Chief of Police both warned us to be careful and solicited volunteers to track down the man-killer the next day. One of the families had put up a $500 reward which was a decent sum in the 1970s. Being young and fairly stupid I agreed.

The next morning, me and my shotgun and a few other folks were sworn in (bears were out of season, so we needed to be special game wardens to hunt it) and sent forth to the area of the last attack. We split up as each had a different idea.

Proof I was stupid that day was my crawling into a cave opening with some scattered gnawed bones near it and with a little pen light crawled the entire length of the hill (pulling my shotgun behind me) only to emerge out a different opening on the other side of the hill. A game trail led down the hill and into a marshy area with tall grass and Cat of Nine Tails growing everywhere.

Stepping through the mud I came upon an unmistakable bear track. Alerted, my shotgun at the ready I proceeded through the tall grass, scared to death too because the visibility was maybe one foot and I knew the bear's senses were much sharper than mine. Suddenly an incredible noise and rushing sound. Throwing myself to one side, I wheeled in mid air and let both barrels of the shotgun go at the movement behind me.

Alas, the poor pheasant never knew what happened. Just red mist and feathers remained. Yuck. So much for stealth. Greatly embarrassed and fully aware the bear now knew I was both armed and there, I gave up and returned to the muster area. There I learned others had encountered and killed the bear an hour earlier, probably while I was crawling through the cave.