September had come — the hills flaunted their fall colours, the air was cool, and you could smell the aroma of wet leaves and the rich earth. For many reasons, autumn has always been my favourite time of year, even if it meant returning to the confines of our school desks when I was a kid, not to mention the homework load. Above: image USN
Life always seemed better in the fall, the lure of freedom from everyday concerns when being in the bush for hunting season was just around the corner. We often hunted grouse by walking the bush roads with a shotgun loaded with partridge cartridges, carrying our lunch and some water in a side pack. Grouse was regular dinner fare in many homes, as well as duck, rabbit and goose.
Dad would drive us out, drop us off in some remote spot and pick us up hours later. It always felt like we were embarking on a new adventure. Sometimes we would wander off the beaten path and find ourselves lost for a while but still managed to find our way back out. Dad never seemed to worry about us.
Grouse hunting
One particular day my buddy and I were hunting the Paugh Lake area and we ran into Mr. Dombroskie on some old road. He asked what we were doing on his property and just exactly who we were. We gave our names, explained and apologized. He settled down once we had politely answered his questions. “I know your Dads, so go ahead with your hunt and if you shoot too many grouse, feel free to drop a couple at the house.” Shoot too many — we looked at each other and shrugged. When did that ever happen?
What a day we had — a grouse at every turn. We dropped by the Dombroskie homestead on our way out. The dog announced our presence, and the older couple greeted us at their front door. “What is the name of your dog,” I asked, “he is quite friendly.” “Barek” came the reply, “and he’s not usually so good with strangers.” I figured then maybe Barek was hoping one of the grouse we were carrying was for him.
We had both bagged our limit and proudly showed them the grouse, asking “How many would you like?” “Two would be perfect,” he said.
Interestingly enough, half of this conversation was in the old Kashubian language. We both knew enough of the lingo to get the gist, and the couple knew enough English to understand us. Mind you, there was plenty of gesturing and animation to help ease the language barrier.
Mrs. Dombroskie then offered us each a piece of pumpkin pie. “YES Ma’am, Please and Thank You!” We were enthusiastically harmonious. Well, the pie was delicious.
Mr. Dombroskie said, “You boys should be hunting bears.” “Why?” we asked. “Well, there is a big one here, and he’s the cause of some trouble. This bear is after my calf. I hear my cow calling, and she is ready to do battle with the bear .” I asked him if he had talked to my Dad about it. “Yes,” he said, “He said he’ll come when he has time.” I asked him why he didn’t shoot the bear himself. “I have tried, but he is a cagey old bruin; by the way, how was the pie?” he asked. “Excellent,” I answered. Then he told us, “Well, that darn bear also took to smashing and eating our pumpkins. I have no idea why but I know we won’t be eating Mom’s excellent pumpkin pie much longer.”
The old wall clock in the house struck 4:00 pm. so we had to get going as Dad would be looking for us. We thanked them for their kind generosity and said our goodbyes. As we walked out to the road, my buddy and I agreed that the pie was excellent and Mr. and Mrs. Dombroskie were good people.
We came around a corner and Dad was sitting in the truck listening to CBC news. “How was the bird hunting?” he asked, followed by “And I see you met Mr. and Mrs. Dombroskie. How did you like the pie? I’m guessing pumpkin.”
“Now how would you know that, Dad?”
He chuckled, “You’ve got some on your shirt, there on the collar.” I looked down, but rather than flicking it away, I reached down and scooped it into my mouth. It was that good!
As we drove home, I told Dad about the bear and asked if we could check out the bear tomorrow evening. A bear hunt, that’s big-time for a young lad like me. Much to my surprise, Dad agreed, and the next day after an early supper we drove to the farm and did our scouting, returning home after dark.
First bear hunt
Friday evening, we drove out to hunt the bear. When we got there, Mr. Dombroskie said the bear had killed the calf, and the cow had put up a good fight. “Barek started barking furiously, so I knew what was happening. Between us, we scared the bear away. I dragged the calf back with the tractor, gutted it and dumped the guts in the upper end of the grain field.” Mr. Dombroskie was quite upset, his words poured forth, and I don’t think he realized he had been speaking in rapid Kashubian. Dad stood quietly listening, nodding his head; he understood the seriousness of these events.
The evening was calm and quiet except for the raucous crows on the gut pile. But no bear. We sat down on a couple of rocks and waited; nothing stirred; darkness was not far away.
I had been relaxing with my back against a big old maple tree when Dad calmly said, “There he is.” The bear was giant. He was testing the air for danger, then he stared in our direction. Had he scented us? Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he moved to the bait. The agitated crows flew away with alarm.
Dad told me to stay put, watch the bear’s movements and gave me instructions. There was a point where he could see me but not the bear. I was to use hand signals to communicate with him in the event the bear moved off. Dad had the .32 Winchester Model 94 and wanted to get closer; he started his stalk.
My Dad had lost his right eye when he was a young man splitting cedar rails using a sledgehammer and wedge. I wondered how well he could see in the dimming light. On the other hand, it never seemed to slow him down. I took my eyes off the bear for a moment and tried to locate Dad. Where was he? Suddenly, I jumped as a shot thundered across the field, and the bear disappeared. After a long while, Dad finally came into view.
I could hear the bear thrashing and moaning; he was wounded. Suddenly the moaning stopped, and all was quiet. It felt spooky; where was Dad? Darkness was falling quickly, and I could not see him anywhere. I hoped he had not gone into the bush after the bear.
Suddenly I was startled again as Dad appeared. “Geez, Dad!” He chuckled, “Nerves on edge. Have you got a flashlight?” “Sorry, I don’t,” I replied. “Well, that settles it. Tomorrow we get up early and go look for him.” “Good thinking,” I said. I was relieved and did not want to search for a wounded bear at night, even with a flashlight. It was safer to come back in the light of day.
Dad told Mr. Dombroskie what had happened and said we would be back early the next morning.
That night I had dreams of bears chasing me. It was a relief when the early morning alarm buzzed.
The hunt continues
We ate and headed out. Upon reaching the spot where Dad had shot him, we picked up his tracks and traced him to where we had last seen him disappear. There was a path of blood, but fifty feet further the trail disappeared. That will happen when a bear is fat; the flow of blood will stop.
Dad figured he was at least 150 yards back in towards the cedars. I thought he was more to the left. “If you think so, go look; you have your gun.”
Now, the reasonable thing for a 16-year-old kid would be to follow the adult. But no, not me,! Off I went. I zig-zagged back and forth, my gun at the ready. I was on edge and hoped the bear was dead. There was still no sign; I could barely see Dad walking ahead of me and off to my right. Looking around, I spied a big rock — ah a good vantage point. I shouldered my rifle and climbed up to the top. As I reached the summit and I looked down, there staring up at me was the bear. I scrambled to pull the gun from my shoulder, adrenaline rushing through my veins. Shouldering the gun, I flipped the safety off. The bear just stared at me. I was about to squeeze the trigger when I realized he was dead.
With relief, I shouted, “Dad — over here.” Just the shouting seemed to ease the tension in me. Dad walked around and checked to see where he had shot the bear.” He didn’t go as far as I thought. Good thing we didn’t go into the bush after him last night.”
I noticed many old scars; he had been shot twice before and had a broken tooth. He was getting past his prime and must have been a real survivor in his day.
Mr. Dombroskie was delighted and spoke in Kashubian. “What do I owe you?” “Nic.” ( nothing ). Our families have been friends for years. “Masz ochotę na piwo ze mną?” (Would you like to have a beer ?) “Sure.” I listened to them converse in Kashubian.
After they finished their beers, Mr. Dombroskie said. “W tym roku mam dużo ziemniaków, weź trochę.” (I have lots of potatoes this year, please take some.) Mrs. D went into the house and returned with a pumpkin pie. Dad said, “That is not necessary.” but she shook her head saying, “Oh, it is not for you, Gilbert, but for your son.” I was so pleased. “Dzaka.” (Thank You ), I said. I did not want to insult anyone, so I graciously accepted the gift.
On the way, home Dad said, “Remember to tell your mother this pie is almost as good as hers; otherwise, she may never make a pumpkin pie for us again.” I had a suspicion that Dad also enjoyed pumpkin pie and knew we would be sharing my pie.
I was happy that there would be no shortage of Mrs. Dombroskie’s pumpkin pies next year now that the pumpkin eating bear was no longer a nuisance. You never know when an adventure is waiting to happen around the next bend of the road in the Madawaska Valley.
About the author: Gil Glofcheskie, a Barry’s Bay native, grew up here and learned about the bush from his dad. After a career in the electrical construction industry, Gil and his wife Vicki retired to Madawaska Valley to enjoy lakeside living. The landscape, wildlife and local heritage inspire him to write, paint, travel and take photographs.
Good story Gil !!! You should have written books instead!!!!
What a life you’ve had, Gil. Thanks for giving us a taste of earlier times in the Bay. No bears here in Panama, just the rare jaguar paw-prints!
Great story! Thanks for sharing.
Thanks Rob . Cheers.