How I Perfected My Ventriloquism Skills

The last time I was in Yosemite National Park I was around 16 years old. I had been quite a few times before that, but an event on this final trip left such a lasting impression, I have not returned to this majestic place in 25 years. Now that we are wrapping up our adventurous summer with a big family gathering there, I am forced to revisit this event, and confront the fear it left within me.

I have spent most of my life camping-out in a tent for my "vacations". I have never been too thrilled with the idea that a piece of nylon was all that stood between me and Mother Nature, especially if she was big and growly with claws and an appetite. I'm not even really sure I feel protected from a squirrel that way. (Those who know my history with squirrels may understand this better than others.) On many occasions I have woken up to bear tracks in my campsite, or heard the clanging of utensils on frying pans in the not-distant-enough background. For those of you who are novice campers, this is a way to not only frighten away a bear (or a man on his way to the bathroom mistaken for a bear,) but also to frighten everyone within a 35 mile radius of said bear (or man.)

I have never had occasion to bang on a frying pan before, but have in many circumstances come in contact with people claiming to have "seen" a bear. I once opted to turn back from a trip to the restroom when a group of college-aged young men returning from the same adventure warned of a bear in the vicinity. Normally I would have been inclined to think they were just messing around and trying to scare my pretty sister and me, but for the one young man in their group walking backward with his flashlight pointed back behind the group, shining it nervously from side to side.

The last year I visited Yosemite was a banner year for bear. The rangers warned that there was a bumper crop that year, and they were highly inquisitive and learned. There was a slide show presentation upon arrival, of cars which had been opened like tin cans because someone had left a stray peanut inside. I did not feel good about my thin nylon barrier. Many pans tolled constantly through the night, but, being 16 I had the optimism of immortality bestowed on all young people. So I did what all youth does when confronted by mortality…. I ignored it and tried to go back to sleep.

Somewhere near the end of our stay our family took a hike up Vernal Falls. A very beautiful but steep and physically challenging feat. About half way up we stopped at a large expanse of rock just off the side of the waterfall to have a snack. Lots of other hikers were stopped there, further out on the rocks with blankets or towels, sitting close to the water. There were seven of us, my mother and step-father, my two older siblings and two close family friends (our age) like cousins. We selected a somewhat shady places closer to the bushes where there was a fallen log for seating. Unfortunately, there was not enough seating to accommodate the youngest. Isn't that always the way. So I sat on the ground a few feet in front of everyone else, probably pouting, and watching the water shoot passed us in this long flat part of the falls.

I had a candy bar and an orange for my snack. I had eaten the candy bar first (of course)and the wrapper was in my lap covered by the peels from the orange, waiting to be packed up with our trash and hiked back out. I watched my "cousin" Dan stroll casually passed me, further down the rock a few paces. He then turned, calm in his safety, and uttered a phrase I can still hear, "Hey look. A bear." Simultaneous to this I felt the brush of a squirrel tail against my bare back (Yes, I was wearing a fashionable crop-top, and No, I did not yet have my reputation with squirrels.) The two things didn't quite connect in my head at first-- fuzzy thing brushing up against me…hey look a bear. Hmmm. Fuzzy thing brushing up against me… …Hey look… a….BEAR!

Of course the connection clicked audibly as a pale cinnamon colored bear nosed around my shoulder and began sniffing at the orange poised before me like Snow White's poisoned apple. Oh My God! A BEAR! Live. In my face. Nosing around my lap. OH MY GOD A BEAR! I was completely frozen. Every muscle taut. I can still feel the pulling of the muscles at the backs of my calves, the way they were bent and flexed, ready to run but nowhere to go. A morbid smile pasted on my face that put The Joker to shame. My eyes moistened with tears that would not fall (apparently they were too terrified to move too.) My bear proceeded to lie on my lap, all comfy, and start pawing at the peels there. I think he was mostly interested in the candy wrapper. I can still recall his over-sized paws-- the weight of them, the claws. He didn't seem "aggressive" so much as "interested" but like all bad dates I just wanted to get rid of him and go home.

I don't know where she came from, or for that matter what she was thinking, but my mother crept quietly up on the other side of me. I know she was saying calming things, and in a calm voice, (which is awe inspiring) although I can't remember what any of them were. As near as I can recall the plan was to "distract" the bear and quickly "extract" the girl out from under him. I remember thinking I didn't like the plan, but since it was the only one, I was willing to do my part. So far, I was distracting the bear. That was no good. My mother gently plucked an orange peel from my lap, waved it in front of the bear's nose and chucked it a few feet away. The bear noted this with disinterest and returned to digging at my bare legs.

My mom continued to "tempt" him with little scraps as the bear took note of the orange in my hand and began to sniff at it. Then lick it. Then TASTE it! I was suddenly keenly aware that when he reached the bottom of the orange he could just continue on down my arm. Panic began to settle in. It was a calm panic. I still believed escape was a possibility(because I was young and immortal,) it was just starting to seem like I may have to leave a limb behind, and I was not wholeheartedly committed to that arrangement yet. I had always wanted to learn to play the piano. It was going to be a lot more difficult without my arm!
My mom waved another peel calmly, closer to his nose this time, a little more desperately. Now she was talking in soothing tones to the bear-- enticing it to "fetch." I think someone had put their arms under mine, ready to pull me away. I can't recall. I just studied the orange still frozen in my hand, in the air above my lap. Lips, slightly parted I distinctly began to utter the same phrase over and over, with increasing intensity. "Give…him…the…orange!" No muscles in my face moved, not a twitch. The same gruesome half-smile stuck there, eyes bulging from their sockets, "GIVE…HIM…THE…ORANGE!" We were running out of peels. "GIVE HIM THE ORANGE GIVE HIM THE ORANGE GIVE HIM THE..."

Suddenly, further down the rock someone popped the top on a can of soda. It echoed off the rocks. My bear looked up with curiosity and perhaps a sense of knowing. Someone, further down the rock had something far more attention worthy than my lousy orange. My bear stood up and started to wander in the direction of the "phftht" sound. I was whisked up and drug across the rock. A few people down the hill noticed the bear. Someone said it aloud. "Bear!" Commotion. People started to move too quickly and my bear realized it was play time and started to trot quickly down to his new found toys. I remember the sight of him galloping away. That's really all I recall. I can't remember if we continued up the falls or went back to our site. I can't recall how many more days we stayed and if I left our camp site again. What I do recall is that from that day forward I have been, legitimately, afraid of bears, and really good at ventriloquism. I am especially good at saying, "Give him the orange!" Ask me (you know you're going to) I can demonstrate, but only with the bugged eyes.

This is, approximately, my bear!

Now, whenever I tell this story people always ask the same question, "Was it a baby bear?" In all honesty, I don't give a damn. It was not full grown, but it was also not a "baby". It was a teenaged bear. However, YOU let a four-foot-tall, wild bear lay in your lap and eat out of your hand and THEN you tell me whether "size matters." I'll tell you that close up a teenaged bear is still really big, and really scary. I'll also remind you that where goes the child, so goes the really pissed-off mother bear. But, like the mother bear, my mom was there, right by my side, and voluntarily I might add, trying to attract the bear's attention onto herself and away from me. Inviting the wild beast to take an interest in her. Crazy!

I'd like to think that under similar circumstances my own motherly instincts would take over and that, without thought for myself, I would step between my child and a bear. I'd like to think that. But I just want it to be perfectly clear before we leave on this trip-- If I see a bear, if I hear the hammer of a wooden spoon on a frying pan, I will gone in a puff of smoke like the Road Runner, leaving nothing but a cloud of spinning dust in my wake. Have a nice day. Best of luck to you all. I'm outta here! If my kids think I react hysterically when a the cat brings a bird into the house, just wait until they see this! So, for the sake of my children, and my honor as a mother and a human being, I would like to repeat in written form my plea to my adolescent nephew-- Please! Please abandon your plan to try and "trap" a bear in our camp site this week. Spare Auntie Erin the embarrassment and the heart attack!