Jul 18, 2015 4 min read

While doing a bit of clean up in my reloading room, I came across some of my old Pennsylvania Game News magazines that had some of my articles inside. One in particular caught my attention. The article, titled “Ronnie’s Dumplings,” was about the small, yet memorable things that take place while on hunting trips. You see, Ron was the designated cook on a hunt long ago in Warren County and his dumplings turned out about the size of a pea. He took quite a bit of good-natured harassment about those dumplings.

One has to understand times were quite different when the following occurred, but while it was strange, it is also certainly true. Ed and I were looking for that elusive black bear, although, in reality we never took bear hunting seriously. The odds of either of us bagging a bear were slim indeed, but we still liked to carry a rifle over the mountain of Grunderville in Warren County. That Monday started in an odd manner, as I woke to the sound of something in the garbage can. I woke Ed to alert him of the sound.

“It’s a raccoon,” he mumbled. “Go back to sleep.”

It was about 3:30 in the morning and the snow that fell was slacking off. Following his advice, I went back to sleep. When I finally did get up, Ed had the bathroom tied up, so I, as most men do, went outside in the snow. Then, I noticed the garbage strewn about and the large animal prints in the snow. Those were hardly raccoon prints. Instead of going after a bear, it had come to us. I tracked it all day and as far as I’m concerned, it is still walking around the Lenart Road area.

That particular hunt ended when I came across a strange scene. Not too far from camp, there was a huge stand of pine trees and the bear tracks entered the cover. I had Ed on stand and it was my duty to get that bear going in his direction, so despite the fact I had to bend over, I entered the dark cover of the evergreen palace. To my benefit, the needle carpet made for quiet walking combined with dry crawling. I had gone a short distance when I spotted movement ahead. I raised my binoculars and saw something unbelievable – another hunter. Now that is not unusual, but the man was on his hands and knees wearing a woman’s fur coat. The low branches of the pines required the hands and knees approach, but where were the man’s bright clothes? Exiting the pines as quickly as I could, I circled back to Ed. He didn’t believe me until the fur-coated man emerged from the thick cover.

There and then, we decided to quit bear hunting and head to the tail race of Kinzua dam and fish. While I will never forget the man in the fur coat, I do owe him a vote of thanks as we did really well on the Walleye in the flowing waters of the Allegheny.

Then there was the archery deer season hunt in the same area; only this time, my wife Eileen was my hunting partner. The weather was a bit warmer and there was very little deer movement, but it is always good to be in the mountains of the North. That evening, we made our way up along a cleared right of way to a spot I had found months earlier. Almost to my stand, I dropped Eileen off at a rock that placed her at least 10 feet above the right of way. It was a natural tree stand.

I went about 100 yards further in and found a good spot to watch and wait. I hadn’t been there 10 minutes when I noticed an excited Eileen almost running toward me. Either she had downed the world’s largest buck or something was wrong. She was puffing from hurrying as she explained how she heard a noise behind her, only to find she wasn’t on that rock alone. The guest was a big black bear.

Naturally, she departed the scene, giving up her stand to Mr. Bear, but there was a small addendum to her tale. As she was leaving, Eileen tossed her Bit-O-Honey candy at him, hoping it would distract the bear, or at least make him happy. That’s the only time I have ever heard of someone defending themselves from a bear using candy.

George H. Block writes a Sunday outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter