The Brown Bear of Pikes Creek (A short Story out of Minnesota and Wisconson)

Cradled with the Devil
Book Two of Three

Retreat: At Pikes Creek
Sergeant Morgan Carter’s Brown Bear



(July, ‘69) Staff Sergeant Morgan Carter, was home on leave in St. Paul, Minnesota, with his girlfriend Delia Parker, rode up to the great lakes, to the one called Superior, to Pikes Creek, he stayed in an inn there just outside of Bayfield, Wisconsin, nor far from the Minnesota boarder, walked along its narrow stream, and its light brown sandy edges, within its confines of the woods, next to the inn. It was more of a getaway from the city, and a thirty-day leave before he went back to finish his forth tour of duty in Vietnam, the war was raging on, there.
He slept the first night away, and woke up about 8:00 AM, for breakfast the following morning; breakfast was either at 7:00 or 9:00 AM, he had missed the first one, and really wanted the breakfast sent to his room, but the owner said they didn’t do that, he’d have to join the rest of the guests, at either time. Morgan was not all that friendly on meeting anyone new, and trying to explain the war to them, it was all too controversial, and once they knew he was a soldier, that was what the conversation would be about, his war, not theirs. Therefore he avoided the first breakfast hoping the second would be less guest congested. And walked outside with his gal Delia Parker, twelve-years younger than he; matter-of-fact, as he walked through the downstairs hallway, he avoided eye contact with everyone, even the sole proprietor, a women in her late forties, or early fifties.
He had killed men, many and the war was not popular in the sense of it being accepted by the public, they called him ‘baby killer,’ among other things, and he really needed space and time to empty his brain vaults out, not to refill it with what is right and wrong according to this or that person.
And there he was, walking along the Pikes Creek, then he climbed the embankment, upward looked now towards the old mansion, where he was staying, the Inn, and to the right, was a luscious green woods, birds singing, and rays of sun’s light penetrating into the woods, it all looked so tranquil, the very thing he was looking for. Across the road, was Lake Superior, considered the largest lake in the world, the waves were hitting the bank hard, he could hear them.
“Let’s take a walk there, into woods,” he suggested to Delia, pointing to the right.
It looked safe enough, plus the house, the mansion, or inn was right here, what in heavens name could go wrong, they both thought; henceforward, they both found their feet on the narrow warn path into the woods.
“You sure there are no bears in here?” asked Delia.
“Well, in the 1800s, Minnesota had some bears, and in St. Louis County, there has been some bear violence, so they say, but up here, I don’t think there are any brown or black bears, or Grizzly’s left, that all was years ago. I saw them in Alaska, but I doubt out here you will find on, perhaps Yellowstone Park.”
And so they continued their walk into the thick of the backwoods, that is, the woods in back of the Inn, they were staying at.
Morgan had seen dear tracks down by the creek, and some odd looking tracks, larger tracks, but mud had distorted them, as if an animal, was trying to climb the embankment and fell backwards, and then got back up and tried again the embankment, and made it up.
“Just what was your idea coming here in the first place, not much around here,” said Delia.
“Quiet I think, war can be noisy,” said Morgan.
“We’ll leave and go on down to Bayfield after breakfast, if you don’t mine, take a ferry over to that three mile island they have, Madeline, is that what they call it?” asked Delia.
“Yaw, I think that’s right,” said Morgan.
Morgan noticed there were no sounds of birds, in war that means trouble, birds know when there’s chaos to be, and they fly away from it, and if they are in the middle of it, they do the same thing, far away, out of it, and return with it is all over, all said and done.
The leaves from the trees were moving, and there was no wind, he walked a little further into the mosquito infested woods, he could hear other movements in the very nearby bushes, behind a few trees, and then he saw it, camouflaged within the greenery, a large bear.
Delia looked at Morgan, as he was looking at the foliage to his right, thinking that was all he was doing, not knowing he was really sizing up the bear, it’s hair was not thick like a grizzly, but it was tall, lean and brown, then Delia caught sight of it, her mouth opened wide, she started to turn about to run, but Morgan stopped her, “Wait,” he said, “lay down, I’ll lay on top of you, face to the ground.”
The bear came out from behind the bushes and trees, sniffed by the two, from the glimpse Morgan got, he’d say later, the bear was as tall as a chimney.
The bear disappeared as fast as it had come to Morgan’s sight, as they got up from off of the ground, retreating quickly back into the house. The owner was there, said, “Breakfast was ready,” and they went to eat in the dinning room, there was two other couples. On the walls were pictures of hunters, from the 1880s, when this Mansion was first built, to the present, 1969? In one picture was the owner of the house, and her late husband, when they were young, perhaps from the 1940s. They stood behind a large brown bear, one they had killed, and Morgan said to the owner, “I think we just saw that bears sibling.”
“Oh, I don’t think so!” said the owner with an odd smile, “that picture was a long time ago, the bear would be twenty-four years old now.”
And so they finished breakfast, and headed on down to Bayfield, and over to Madeline Island.