Though most of my adventures happened in my home state of Michigan, a few come to mind from my travels elsewhere. No matter where I went, that same desire to explore and enjoy the outdoors came with me.
Through my teen years, almost every summer a group of us would end up crossing the border into Canada for a week of fishing in Ontario. Just as the topography and landscape changed crossing from the lower peninsula into the upper, crossing into Canada always came with a rush and the immediate feeling of being somewhere far from home. Despite that feeling, it took us less than three hours to be in our neighboring country to the north.
On the drive, we would begin in the mixed hardwoods of the Huron National Forest, with its hilly terrain broken up by towns and farmland. Across the Mackinac Bridge, we would find the mostly flat lowlands of the Eastern Upper Peninsula, covered in dense cedar, conifer, and poplar woods. Then into Ontario, the landscape became more picturesque — a similar forest to the Upper Peninsula, but with rocky cliffs and grey slabs of stone appearing as we crossed into the area known as the Canadian Shield. Unlike our gentle, tree-covered hills in Michigan, Northern Ontario’s took the shape of small mountains. As we travelled north toward Wawa, we would pass through many tall rock faces along the highway where cuts had been made through. Rivers and waterfalls are numerous along the route, and there are simply too many lakes to count.
Many summers, our destination was Nate Weaver’s cabin along the shore of Kabenung Lake. Nate was a burly man who had spent many years working in the woods of Northern Michigan as a woodcutter. There was no question his favorite hobby was fishing, and when he was not fishing, he would be telling fishing stories. He knew the local lakes better than most and could often tell you right where to cast to catch one of the many northern pike found in them.
Not all the years we went were great for fishing, but that was only part of the adventure for us. Regardless of the catch, we always found plenty of places to explore and came home with lots of new stories to tell.
On one very memorable occasion, my father decided to take a drive and try to find a local landfill. You may think it odd to travel all the way to Canada just to take a day trip to find some giant piles of garbage — however, it can be far more interesting than it sounds, because bears are very commonly found digging through the piles for food scraps.
After stopping in a small town north of the lake, a local gave us the tip we were looking for. Not far away was an open landfill, just the sort we had hoped to find. He did note that you were not really supposed to go in, but mentioned it was possible to park by the gate and walk up the gravel road. My heart was pounding and all eyes were peeled as our group climbed the small rise from the main road up to where we could see the crests of massive garbage hills. As we approached, the colorful collection of trash towered above the dense spruce trees surrounding the area. Walking into the small clearing between piles, one of us exclaimed in a hushed voice, “There’s a bear!”
We all jolted to a stop at the same moment, as the younger ones peered around the adults to see the sleek black fur of a bear standing on all fours at the base of a tall garbage heap. He looked up at us momentarily, but quickly resumed searching for his next snack. As he rummaged and sniffed about, we shifted to the side and used the cover of another pile to get closer. Most of us stopped 80 or 100 yards away to observe, but two of my friends, Jared Gusler and Bryan Ellis, continued to stealthily move ahead. Watching for the bear to look up, they would scurry from pile to pile and duck behind each new point of cover. Each chance they got, they would dart out, bent low, and softly run to their next position. I am certain that in their minds, they were akin to members of SEAL Team Six, rapidly closing in on their target with precise movements. Unlike Navy SEALs, however, these two were armed with only a single digital camera. Their objective: come home with a photo of a bear at as close a range as possible. My heart was picking up just watching them creep closer and closer. In my mind, that bear would spot them at any moment and charge. They were both rather slender, but I assumed they still had to be more appealing than whatever the bear was finding in those garbage piles.
At their nearest point, they peeked out from behind a protruding edge of a mound of garbage. They could only have been 30 or 40 yards from the bear. Jared raised his camera and after a few shots, the bear’s head snapped upward and looked right toward him. The boys froze as their eyes met the bear’s. Fortunately, as bears almost always do, he turned and fled up the pile and away from the intruders who had interrupted his meal. I think we all felt relieved that their special operation had not resulted in any casualties.
Walking ahead into the fields of mounded trash, the group began to spread out, everyone scanning for another bear. I followed my uncle Mike, and my little brother Luke tagged along behind us. We crossed to a hill past where the first bear had stood and began ascending. The garbage shifted and crunched under our weight as we stepped. It did not smell great, but honestly, was not nearly as terrible as I would have imagined. Nearing the top, I glanced up and to the side occasionally, but spent most of the time focusing on my footing through the semi-compacted trash. Suddenly, in a quiet but urgent voice, Mike said, “Stop!”
His arm crossed in front of me and his hand grabbed the front of my shirt. He took a step back, and I stumbled half a step down with him. In the same quiet, tense voice he said, “There’s a bear.”
I could tell he was looking toward the top of the pile. Being shorter and standing slightly below him, it took several seconds before the black fur of the bear crested the pile in my line of vision. It slowly approached as we quietly stepped backwards. My heart was thudding in my chest as I watched the bear’s shoulders shift back and forth with each step, its black fur bristling and shining in the sun. It was only five yards away and closing faster than we were backing down the hill. Firmly, Mike stated, “Do not run.”
In a few more steps the bear’s ears, then its head, appeared over the crest of the pile. Mike called out in a low voice, “Hey, bear.”
He looked down at us — inquisitive, but seeming unfazed by our presence. At the top of the hill with us just below him, he stopped. Though still incredibly nervous, his pause gave me a moment of relief. It was then that I remembered my little brother had been trailing behind us. Mike still held the front of my shirt as we both backed down with cautious steps. I assumed Luke was right behind us. I swung my arm back — eyes still fixed on the bear — and reached out to take hold of him. I could not feel him, but fear kept me looking straight ahead. The bear did not move, and we slowly continued backing away. Wishing my hand would find my brother, I finally gave in and stole a quick glance over my shoulder. To my surprise, he was not behind us — he was already taking large bounds down the garbage pile. So much for our uncle’s instruction not to run! An odd mix of emotions rose in me, and a slight chuckle caught in my throat. That brother of mine was not taking any chances; he was getting a head start on Mike and me while he still could!
Once we had put 15 or 20 yards between ourselves and the bear, Mike and I likewise turned and ran across the gravelly ground away from the pile. Slowing to a walk further on, I looked back to see the bear rummaging through the garbage at the top of the pile. What had been a heart-pounding ordeal for us appeared to be just another day at the landfill for him.