Ursus Americanus

image borrowed from bing

Ursus Americanus

“Whatever happens to the beast, also happens

to the man--all things are connected.”

--Chief Seattle.

When I was ten, I watched my grandfather

skinning out a large black bear. He had shot it

along the Carbon River, near Mt. Rainier,

in the forested foothills of the Cascades. 

It was a big Brownie, probably ran 350 pounds--

it had attacked him while they were both salmon-

fishing. He killed it with five blasts of the .357 Magnum

pistol he always wore while out in the woods. He had

killed bear before, but he often feared that one day

regardless of its wounds, he would meet the bruin

that might have the spirit to keep coming,

and take his life, the pair of them 

dancing with death.

“Never shoot them in the head, it won’t stop them.

If you can get them to stand up on their hind legs,

you shoot them just above the peter, & break

their pelvis, & while they are dragging around

their back legs, you can just walk right up to it,

look him in the eye, & finish the job.”

Working with the carcass in his backyard,

he had removed the head, & as it hung there

on three stout timbers, it looked like a crucified

thief, Barabbas reborn, or like Dan, our

Norwegian mailman; so human-like

it stunned me.

My Pop was a devout Evolutionist, 

& he believed that Bear were a distant relative

to man; it had sweet meat, like pork,

like man himself according to cannibals--

that at some point it just branched off

from great apes, & joined the pack

of Caniforms, letting its snout elongate,

& developing sharp non-retractible claws.

“I call this big guy, Bjorn; notice his cinnamon 

blond color, just like a handsome Swede. I’m

going to make a vest & some house slippers

out of his hide, and a spirit necklace out of

his claws.

He talked about the Native Americans

who worshipped the Bear Totem, respecting

its free spirit, with its definite element of

unpredictability, capable of moving from

berry-eater & fish-catcher to raging warrior

at the drop of a pine cone. 

“Remember, Butch, they look clumsy, but

they can run up to 30 mph, & they climb trees

a hell of a lot faster than you can.”

He told me about hunting Polar bear, Kodiaks,

& grizzlies in Alaska: “I once witnessed

a 1500 pound polar bear attacking a float plane;

tore that plane into corn flakes.”

He always amazed me with his outdoorsman

expertise: “They don’t really hibernate, you know,

they just find a cave & chill out for a couple months,

what they call their “winter sleep”--but they rouse

themselves to crap or piss, or eat some of their

stored up food. So don’t enter a bear’s den during

winter just for the thrill of it, because it will notice,

& it will fuck up your holiday plans.”

In history class I had read about how the Romans

loved to pit bear against lions, gorillas, & even

elephants; how most of the time the bear

were the victors.

“In the wild there is only one predator capable of preying

on adult bear--a tiger; but its real enemy is us, man;

cutting down their habitat, building tract houses

& ugly strip malls, reducing the proud bear clan

to garbage foragers, & pet-killers.

It’s a damn shame.”

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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