By John Olsen
Growing up in a small town in northern Utah in the ’80s and ’90s, the Outdoors was in my blood. I loved fishing and hunting more than anything else growing up. But to be fair, my video game experience at home was the Atari 2600. My phone is about a billion times more advanced than 2600. So you can see why the Outdoors was more appealing.
When other kids skipped school to go to the mall, even if Logan, Utah’s mall was about as exciting as a paint drying at the time. I skipped school to fish and hunt. Some of my most incredible memories are of hunting and fishing with my family. My dad, grandpa, and great uncle Glen taught me the love of the Outdoors, And the humor.
One morning of the elk hunts opening, my dad, my uncle Blain, and I headed up the canyon to find the elusive elk. I knew elk existed, and I knew they were in the area because every year, my family went and saw them on sleigh rides at Hardware Ranch, and we always saw a lot of elk during the deer hunt. Still, as for the Elk hunt, they always seemed to elude us. When I brought that up to my dad, I was met with a deep frown and a grumble of "Smart Ass."
We reached our destination deep in the cache forest well before light. You have to show up early in public land so everyone knows to park near you so we all can claim the same looking spot at sunup. I was about 12 at the time and wasn’t packing a tag, but my dad and uncle both did. We pulled off the road in a clearing to wait for the morning light. After a few minutes, dad grabbed the toilet paper and announced he had some business to attend to. He got out, walked about 10 yards in front of the truck into the dark, and disappeared. My uncle let out a small laugh. “what’s so funny?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” He replied.
Not long behind us, I could see lights coming up the dirt road we had driven up. I looked and saw a jeep crawling up the road. As the Jeep got to us, my uncle reached over and flipped on the truck's headlights. There in the weeds before us squatted my dad. His bear ass glowing in the light for the world and Jeep to see. The Jeep slowed and gave a little *Beep *Beep in hello. With a big smile, my dad turned and waved at the Jeep like he was the Grand Marshal of his own parade. The Jeep moved on, and after they left, my uncle flipped the lights back off, saying. "Better leave him to his privacy."
At least that's what I thought he said through the heavy wheezing and laughter. When my dad returned to the truck, my uncle and I had almost gained control of ourselves. My dad sat in the driver's seat and stared out the black window. We didn't get an elk that day, but it was still a good hunt.
On one remarkable occasion, I was spending a week with my scout group in the Windrivers in Wyoming. The Windriver range is a large wilderness area in western Wyoming. We were on a fifty-mile hike. Twenty-five miles in, then spend a week, then twenty-five out. The best part of scout camps was you had kids like me that lived for the Outdoors and kids who would rather not use a tree as a bathroom.
One late afternoon one of the scout leaders, Tim, and I wanted to hike up to a lake about 2 miles from camp and do some fly fishing. Tim was one of the best scout leaders I ever had. At the time, I was 16, and Tim was barely 22, so in other words, his brain hadn’t fully developed either. In hindsight, making a 22-year-old in charge of a group of 15 and 16 years olds was a miss-step, but to us in the group, it was amazing. It was like having a cool older brother in charge of your activities. Unfortianly for the next generation, because of our "Fun," most of the “Don’t Do” rules In the scouting handbook now are based on the things we did. But I digress
As Tim and I prepared to head out, Brian asked to go. I liked Brian; he was what we called a "Cool Dude" in the old days, but he was not an outdoorsman. Brian had long blond hair, rode skateboards, and said “Dude” a lot. I looked at Tim and then at Brian. Tim looked a little confused because Brain did not enjoy fishing, but he said, "Sure, Brian, grab your pole, let’s go.”
The three of us headed up the trail at about 4 pm. As we walked, we came to a track in the trail. It was an enormous black bear track. We had seen bear track earlier in the day but not this fresh and not this big. I bent down to examine the track when I heard Brian whisper. “We should go back.”
I looked at Tim and back at Brian. Jokingly I replied. "No worries Bry; the bears don't even eat until 7 anyway."
Tim smiled, and we prodded Brian along. We got to the small lake and started fishing. I always lose myself in the fishing, especially flyfishing, but Brian was in my hip pocket the entire time. Every 15 min, Brian would ask to leave. And Tim or I would reply, “Not yet.” Or “Give us a while.”
Brian became more and more nervous as we fished. Suddenly Brian Yells at us. “DUDE, WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW!"
Tim and I looked at Brian in shock and surprise. We walked over to where Brian was standing, holding his pole to his chest in fear. Tim asked, "Brian, what’s going on? What's wrong?”
Brian held out his hand and pointed to his watch. "It's 6:45! We only have 15 min to get back to camp."
Really confused, I asked, "What do you mean 15 min?"
Brian, angry now, looked at me and said, "The bears start eating at 7! We don't have time for this!"
At that, it hit me, Brain had taken my comment about the bears eating at 7 seriously, and he was deathly afraid. I fell over laughing, and Tim smirked. After I picked myself up, I explained to a furious Brian that bears don't have a watch, and we would be ok. Unfortunately, we had to leave or be forced to carry the scared-to-death corps of Brian.
Later I told my dad this story, and he laughed but then scolded me. He explained it funny but that Brian, who had no idea about the wilderness, had turned to me for info, and I had turned him astray. I thought about that anytime I needed to teach something new to someone. Or learn something new, which at 40 something can be challenging. I often take for granted my strange understanding and knowledge. Hell, I've been to an opera and made a fool out of myself. Did you know clapping at an opera is ok, but cattle whistling is frowned upon? Me neither, but now you do. And hopefully, you won't embarrass your wife like I did mine.
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