The SSY
Part three of the trilogy
Fall 1997, Middle Fork of the Flathead, Bob Marshal Wilderness, Montana – The hunter watched me search for the toolbox. It was behind a gro - cery cooler resting atop a base log in the cook tent. We had walked from camp that morning and came back for lunch. He munched on a sand - wich, "What are you looking for?" " a measuring tape. I saw some - thing yesterday while we were on horseback. Come on I'll show you." He followed me. "Grab your musket. We'll hunt that direction this after - noon." He nodded and lifted his rifle from where it hung on a side-pole timber hitched to the tent crotch. We walked past the corrals and to the trail that circled past camp. It was sunny and the snow from two days ago was melting. The path was muddy and churned up where our horse herd traveled back and forth to the hillside where they grazed. But, in the opposite direction it was smooth and mostly untouched. We tiptoed along and where it forked and turned at the creek I found the subject of my cu- riosity. "Holy mackerel, that's one hell of
a bear track!”
"Yep, Grizz old bear, it comes through every year 'bout this time, headed to den-up and hibernate." I stretched the tape along the print of a hind foot. "Eighteen inches, but you gotta figure this is melting. That makes it look bigger. It came out of the blow-down timber at the mouth of Trail Creek. Game warden Rod Duty said it had a cache down there last week." "Did you ever think about track -
ing it and finding its den?"
“No, I reckon his bedroom is up around Badger Pass. But, it doesn't bother us. It goes straight past the cook tent and meat pole without stopping. The old boy deserves his privacy too. I stay away and leave him alone." The hunter stood looking at me. My attention was still on the tracks.
"You make this world seem mighty simple," he said. "This is one heck of a classroom. A person can learn about critters and etiquette in one lesson."
Spring 1998, Texas A&M University, College Station, Texas – The Parks and Tourism Science class was led by a young woman from Massachusetts. She was the second grad student I’d met from New England. At the moment, she was in a heated argument with four Petroleum Engineer majors at the back of the room. They objected to her ill-perceived pronouncements about fracking and
production practices. This was their second confrontation and she real - ized that she was losing the class. The engineers were boys from West Texas and held the congregation's respect. The gals knew math and ciphered that petro professionals were fatter prospects than park rang- ers. They were here for an easy "A", and/or, the fast track into the future. Lastly, her zero-to-sixty close-mind ed demeanor and screeching “I don’t cares!” were offsetting and put her straight into the Society of Scream - ing Yinnies (SSY). But I noted: She was due credit in recognizing that the natives found humor in her pain. It would be the last time she mentioned the Oil Patch in her lectures.
So, she did the next hilarious thing. There was an upcoming field trip scheduled to Big Bend, and she made the proclamation, "Anybody caught sneaking over to Boquillas, Mexico, would get an automatic F". This held no weight with me. I worked cattle and guided whitetail hunters in Mexico. I also knew there was nothing in Boquillas except an outdoor café and weathered old bar. However, for the sake of keeping the peace I didn't consider a side trip.
But, instead of riding in a van with a dozen or more Aggies, I opted to take my truck and a canvas wall tent. Immediately, two of the boys asked to ride with me. It was nice to have company and good to have extra hands putting up the tent. We were there and ready 12 hours ahead of the van's estimat - ed time of arrival. One of the boys looked at me and said, "Well?" "Well, what?" "Are we going?" "Aw, crud Listen to me. Pro -
fessional people live by policies and standards. Rules are for nincom - poops and little children. Fools make rules and one of my policies is that when a fool makes a rule break it as fast as possible!" Later: The crowd showed up in time to set up their nylon pup tents. There were no evening formalities and the kids burned hot dogs. The canvas tent was spacious and I of - fered to let others sack out with us, and to stack their food/beer coolers inside.
"What about the bears?" Our leader spoke, "You're the wilder - ness guide. You should know about storing food in bear-proof contain- ers." "Well, ma'am How'd you get all these down here? Ma'am, if you see one of them lil' Mexican black bears you holler at me. I'll cut a switch and show you how a wilder -
ness guide handles bears in camp!" Our only assignment was an es - say depicting one aspect of the trip.
The next day the Texans played football, soaked in the hot springs, swam in the Rio Grande and hiked desert trails. That night the Forest Service gave a slide show at an open-air am - phitheater. The Aggies were joined by 40 or more couples of the WWII era from the RV campgrounds. A freshly graduated young lady in a Forest Ranger uniform deliv ered a program about mountain lions. Unfortunately, her talk degraded into a diatribe and then a self-righ - teous tirade regarding environmen - tal ruin caused by past generations. She never admitted that moun - tain lion populations were actually higher than during any point in his- tory. She was smirking and cavalier while insulting her audience. They exchanged glances wishing they hadn't come. My essay broached the ill-man - nered debacle. Despite "A's" on every test, my report card said, “C”, thanks to the Society of Screaming Yinnies.
