| Author: |
Brenda Clotildes |
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Tuesday, July 03 2007 @ 04:20 PM EDT |
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Alex sat back on his heels and brushed sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist.
“Well,” he said, “just like the others.”
“Can you tell if it's the same poacher?” I asked. I was hunkered down beside him. As gruesome as the sight and smell was, it was no where near as bad as the other carcass we'd found in the crevasse. This body had been left unhidden, and while there were plenty of flies about, at least we were in the open air.
“There are definite similarities, but there's no way to say for sure.”
Alex gestured at the remains. “Head missing, paws missing, gallbladder missing.” He shook his head. “I tell you, from their point of view, these guys aren't wasting anything. They're taking anything they can get paid for.”
Ryan Persson had been standing out of the way while Alex had inspected the body. Now he took a few steps forward.
“The same poacher?” he asked. “You mean you've found other bears?”
Alex told him briefly about our previous discovery. “The thing is, for every body we do find, there could be many others out there that we know nothing about. I did go through our files and found a couple more illegal kills in this area last fall. But just because we've learned of four in the last few months doesn't mean it's the same poacher. This area is full of blacks and grizzlies. Odds are there'd be more discoveries.”
We were silent, and I let the mountain stillness wash over me. A raven's call echoed faintly off the far wall of the valley. Alex pulled off one of the latex gloves he was wearing with a snap and began to pull off the other.
“This one's a female,” he said bitterly. “Well, I guess...”
“Stop,” I said suddenly.
He looked at me in surprise.
“Listen,” I said.
“What is it?” Ryan asked.
I shushed him with an abrupt motion of my hand.
“There,” I said. “Did you hear that?”
Alex nodded. “Over there.”
All three of us turned slowly towards a small cluster of bushes just a few metres away. It was a stand of young birch, no more than 10 feet tall, at whose feet a number of shrubs were gathered. As we watched, something hidden in the shadows caused the brush to rustle and sway, and I heard again the small whimpering sound that had caught my attention.
“What do we do now?” I said.
Alex turned to Ryan. “I need a length of rope,” he said, “about 5 metres long. And a blanket or piece of tarp, something like that.”
“I'll look in the four-wheeler.” Ryan walked slowly to the ATV and quietly lifted the lid of the plastic case strapped on the back. He came back with a long piece of yellow nylon rope and a ratty, old, plaid blanket.
I hadn't taken my eyes off the gentle movement of the bushes in front of me. Alex took the rope from Ryan, looped it in generous hoops and hooked it loosely over his elbow. Ryan then handed him the blanket.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I'm going to make a wide circle far around the bush. When I get close in behind it, I want you both to rush up. We'll
try and flush him out.”
Ryan and I waited, motionless, as we watched Alex stroll casually away. Eventually he took up position behind the small stand of birch. He
carefully unfolded the blanket and held it in front of him, rather like a matador's cape.
Ryan and I looked at each other, and I nodded. Suddenly the quiet of the wilderness was rent with our screams and yells as we ran wildly towards the bushes.
The bear cub's nerve held until we were practically on top of him. Then he shot out the far side of the brush, a black ball of fur
squealing and bawling, looking over his shoulder. Alex made a diving tackle, and miraculously managed to wrap the cub in the blanket at the first try. Ryan and I ran up and helped him hold the wriggling, squiggling bundle. Piteous whimpers and squeals issued from the trapped cub.
“Now what?” I asked breathlessly. Despite the cub's small size, he was putting up a valiant effort to get free, and I could feel sharp little claws through the blanket.
“You and Ryan hold him,” Alex said, “while I get him secured with the rope.”
After a few more minutes of struggling, we finally had the cub safely tied up inside the blanket. Alex had left his head free, but had dropped a noose over his muzzle to stop him biting, and the cub was growling and hissing in frustration. I had a scrape on my hand, Ryan's toque had come off in the battle, and Alex's neatly pressed uniform was scuffed and bedraggled. We paused for a breather.
“Now what?” Ryan asked. “What are you going to do with him?”
“I think we'll have to take him with us,” Alex said. “We don't really have much choice. He's much too young to survive on his own. There's a
wildlife refuge just west of Prince George. When we get back to town I'll give Shelly a call and see if she can take him.”
“Will he travel all right in the helicopter?” I asked.
“I've got a veterinary kit in the storage compartment,” Alex said. “I can give him a shot of tranquillizer, just enough to keep him calm. We should be okay.” He looked from the furious little bundle on the ground to the two four-wheelers we had arrived on. “But first, we have to get him back to camp.”
In the end, I drove the ATV slowly back to camp, while Alex sat precariously behind me, facing backwards while he cradled the cub on his lap and let his long legs trail over the back of the machine. Every once in a while I could feel the muscles in his back flex and strain as he curbed the cub's efforts to get free. Once back at the tree planters’ camp, Alex dug out a small syringe from his kit and injected the cub with a minuscule dose. His whimpers and cries faded away, and while his eyes remained open, the ferociousness left them and was replaced with a look of drowsy bewilderment.
We made a tiny nest in the small space just behind the pilot's seat for the cub, and Alex lifted him in. He loosened the noose around the bear's nose, but kept it in place, then turned back to Ryan.
“Thanks for your help.” They shook hands. “Remember, if anyone sees anything at all that might be relevant, we need to know.”
“No problem. Let me know how the little guy makes out.”
“I will.” Alex nodded.
I said goodbye to Ryan, then walked around the aircraft and opened my door. Ryan stepped backwards to a safe distance from the helicopter as Alex and I climbed into our seats. We rose smoothly into the air in a whirl of dust. My last glimpse of the camp was Ryan shielding his eyes from the flying scatter, and the tents flapping in the breeze.
The cub remained quiet and sedate throughout the short trip back to the airport. Once there, we loaded him into the back of Alex's jeep. His
eyes were starting to lose their sleepiness, so Alex tightened the noose around his muzzle. Before leaving the airport parking lot, Alex made a call to the wildlife rescue centre and made sure someone would be there to meet us. Then we set off.
The Nechako Home for Rescued Wildlife kept a very low profile. We had traveled about half an hour west of Prince George when Alex turned
confidently onto a narrow, gravel side road heading north. There had been no sign to indicate what might be hidden on this increasingly rough track. After 15 minutes or so, during which time the cub became more and more restless and vocal, the road branched off, and, keeping to the right, Alex carefully negotiated the Jeep over a rutted, bone- jarring path. Finally the route widened out, and Alex pulled to a stop.
Directly in front of us was a tiny lake, perhaps one kilometre long and half a kilometre wide, bordered by willows and pine trees and edged with marshy, reedy areas. A small dock T'd into the water from a gravelly beach. To the right was a small wooden cabin with a wrap-around deck, stone chimney, and metal roof. Paint was peeling off the window frames and some of the slats on the deck railing leaned sleepily against each other.
To the right of the open space in which we had stopped was a long, low roofed building that strongly resembled a dog kennel. Of course, that's pretty much what it was, except that instead of the usual domesticated
canines, the inmates of these runs were their wild cousins, including a number of foxes and a coyote with only three legs. Separate from this
structure was an enormous enclosure, two stories high and constructed to include a number of living shrubs and two tall birches, with walls of thick chain link. Behind these facilities were a number of corrals, complete with lean-to shelters, water troughs and feeding racks.
A short, stocky woman carrying a pitchfork loaded with hay came around the corner of the kennel block and headed towards us.
“For Christ sake, if it isn't Mr. Weaver,” she shouted. “Come to ask another goddamn favour I suppose. Never come and just visit, no way. Always needs something for nothing.” She leaned her pitchfork against the wall and strode forward, continuing on at the same volume, “The biggest mooch I've ever seen. Don't know why I bother. Costs me money every time he stops in.”
She peered into the tinted windows of the Jeep.
“Whatcha got this time? Wolverine? Porcupine? Bald Eagle?” She spun toward Alex and poked him sharply in the chest with a bony, grimy finger. “It better be good, or you can just take it right away with you.”
Alex was grinning widely. I, on the other hand, might as well have been a lump of meat for all the attention I got. Actually, a lump of meat
would have attracted more attention as it could have been fed to her guests.
“Cindy, Cindy, you know you love it when I visit.” He wrapped his arm around her wide shoulders and turned her towards me. “I'd like you to meet June Brandt.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cindy said gruffly, glaring at me from pale blue eyes hiding behind straggling bangs. She had a ratty old fisherman's hat jammed on her head, underneath which sprang tousled, Medusa-like locks of light brown hair. The red and black plaid flannel jacket and faded blue jeans she wore were indescribably dirty, with holes in knees and elbows, and on her feet were large rubber gumboots caked in mud and filth.
She elbowed Alex in the ribs. “So, whatcha got? Ain't got all day, you know."
Alex opened the back door of the Jeep and Cindy stepped forward to see our prize.
“Oh,” she crooned, the first sound she'd made not at full volume. “Looky, here, lovey. Mama's got you.” She reached in and gently scooped up the cub, cradling him carefully in her brawny arms.
The cub, who had been whining incessantly, seemed to recognize a sympathetic presence, and calmed down immediately after Cindy picked him up. White stilled showed around the bark brown of his irises, but the stiff ruff on his neck settled down and he appeared to relax into Cindy's embrace.
“Shhh,” she whispered, rubbing her chin between his ears, “it's gonna be okay now.”
Alex glanced at me triumphantly. I stood flabbergasted. Without a look at either one of us, Cindy turned and trudged off to the kennel.
We trailed behind, superfluous and knowing it. We stepped into the concrete hall of the building just in time to see Cindy and her new love disappear into a doorway on the right. As we stopped in the entrance, Cindy lowered the cub onto a straw filled bed on the far side of a chain link fence that divided the small space from left to right. With great gentleness and deliberation she removed the rope we'd used to restrain the cub, all the while speaking in a sing-song voice. The cub's gaze never left her face, and even though he was now free to defend himself, he did nothing but lay curled up in his new nest.
Cindy stepped quietly out of the wire enclosure and closed the gate. Walking past Alex and me, she headed across the hall to a feed room and filled a small metal pail with fresh water. Striding silently past us, she unlatched a small opening in the fencing and slid the pail into the cub's space, locking it carefully afterwards. Then, finally, she stood and looked at us.
“Well?” she barked, in her 'dealing with humans' persona. “What are you two still doing here? I don't need you anymore, and neither does he. Go on, get.”
Alex stepped forward and hugged her pugnacious shoulders. “You're a good woman, Cindy,” he said.
“Go on with you,” she said brusquely and pushed him away. “If I need you I'll call you.” She turned away to gaze at her new charge, who still lay passively in his new home. Alex and I headed back to his jeep.
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