In the Public Domain

In The Public Domain:
Something Bruin at SGL 213
By Rob Hilliard

It behooves any hunter, just like any Boy Scout, to be prepared. Getting the facts ahead of time can be the key to a successful day in the woods. Sometimes, that is.

In the course of having little else to do, I stumbled across these two seemingly unrelated facts:
1. Black bears are the most difficult to take of Pennsylvania’s big game species.
2. The human body can only survive about 8 minutes in water colder than 50 degrees Suitably prepared with this useful information, I took the next logical step and decided to go bear hunting in a swamp.
My swamp-busting, bear-gunning partner would be Paul Carmody of Pittsburgh, who also happens to own a camp in Crawford County, PA. The cabin is located along French Creek and, unfortunately, very convenient to the Conneaut Swamp. It is from this base of operations that Carmody usually pursues his true hunting passion, which is waterfowl.

But when he heard from a “reliable source” (which actually turned out to be a woman who worked at a bait store down the road from Camp Carmody) that the locals had seen at least eight bears in the vicinity over the past year, Carmody was bound for the swamp on the Monday before Thanksgiving. I suspect my selection as a partner was based less on my hunting prowess than on my gullibility. The fact that I had dragged Carmody north to Elk County to sit in the rain during last fall’s bear season may have also entered into the equation.
Nonetheless, I agreed to go for a couple of compelling reasons. The first was that I was certain nobody else would venture into the swamp in November (who would be dumb enough?), so we might be able to catch the bears in their normal feeding pattern. This meant that we would be able to pursue the bears without the customary army of hunters – which we didn’t have. Another reason was that Carmody’s camp is always well stocked with food and beverages.

Those persuasive arguments aside, I also knew that I would be armed with the most technologically advanced, scientifically tested, fearsome implement of ursine destruction known to hunter-kind: the Bear Cub-In-Distress Call. Bought for me as a gift by a well-meaning friend (thankfully I didn’t actually spend any of my own money on it) at an outdoor show, the BCIDC promised to lure every protective mother bear within earshot to my position in the swamp. “You better be ready to shoot when you use that thing,” the salesman had warned, “because they’ll be mad when they get there.”

Sure they will. But, only if they’re hearing-impaired. The BCIDC emits a noise that sounds vaguely like a cross between a frightened goose and a sheep with pneumonia. I assure you that if the mother of that creature angrily charges me, I will be ready to shoot.
The day before the season opened found me rolling into Camp Carmody around noon and meeting Paul, who had also just arrived. We quickly dispensed with the obligatory greetings and headed out to the swamp to scout locations to post the next morning.

Carmody shared with me detailed accounts of how the bears had been roaming out of the swamp and into the adjacent cornfields and orchards since the early summer months. When pressed as to the source of this valuable information, however, he admitted that he didn’t even know the woman’s name or whether she really had a clue about bears in the area. I had to admire his honesty. I began to question his judgment.

Our bear-hunting destination of choice was State Game Lands 213, a well-known haven for waterfowl hunters from across the tri-state area. Known to most wing shooters as Conneaut Marsh or Geneva Swamp, SGL 213 is mostly shallow open water and cattail swamp bordered by extremely wet brush land. In other words, it’s water, surrounded by water, wrapped in slightly less wet water. Did I mention hypothermia already?
We spent the afternoon scouting out suitable posts for ourselves along a couple of likely looking game trails, then found our way back to the cabin for the evening. We passed it in time-honored fashion, eating venison chili from Styrofoam bowls and singeing our socks in front of the fire.

It never ceases to amaze me that, after nearly three decades of hunting, the evening before a season opener always brings me that night-before-Christmas-and-Santa-is-coming feeling. To the non-hunting world, this is known as insomnia. As Carmody snored in the armchair next to mine, I struggled to keep from running laps around the room. Even after reading two complete Sunday newspapers front to back (a true test of sleeplessness), the sandman had not cometh.

Finally, at about 11 PM, I retired to one of the small bedrooms off the main room. Here, another dilemma presented itself. The radio playing in the main room, blaring the requisite country music station, echoed deafeningly loud in the tiny bedroom. But if I closed my door, I would be cut off from the woodstove, my only source of heat on a subfreezing night.

Minutes wove their way into hours as I waged this mental tussle. And then, in a hideously unexpected development, there issued forth from the radio the sappy strains of “You Light Up My Life”. I crossed the distance from my bed to the door in one stride and closed it as authoritatively as decorum would allow. Better to freeze to death.

Fortunately for my next of kin, my blood did not congeal overnight and we were up and into the swamp well before dawn. Just at first light, I parked myself on a small hummock covered with hemlocks, facing into the densest part of the swamp. Within minutes I was greeted by the yelps of a flock of turkeys that was sharing the other side of the hemlock stand with me.

Two weeks ago their raucous calling would have made every hair from my scalp to my toe knuckles stand at attention, but in bear season, the racket was merely amusing. That is until about 30 minutes passed; then it graduated to annoying. Eventually they moved off, but only after I found that the Bear Cub In Distress Call does have at least one practical application. If you’re looking to rid yourself of irritating poultry, this is it.
The morning passed with nary a hint of a bruin. We even spent a couple of hours still-hunting the swamp in hopes of cutting a track in the 3 inches of new snow, but to no avail. At midday we decided to hedge our bets on the swamp and headed to a nearby upland forest, but the dearth of bear sign followed us there.

Finally, after a quick, but satisfying meal of grilled sea bass at Camp Carmody (What did I tell you about the food there?), we crossed the iron bridge to the far side of the swamp to close out the day hunting that portion of the game lands. After a short walk through the tiny wedge of dry land, I picked a spot on a steep hillside overlooking two trails leading through a strip mine cut and down to swamp below.

Soon after I dropped to my backside, I began to remember why it is that I still put up with the sleepless nights, toe-numbing cold, and eye-poking walks through the brush to hunt big game. The sun briefly stabbed through the daylong ceiling of gray snow clouds, warming my face as a few forlorn flakes whirled around my shoulders to the ground. A chattering gray squirrel raced busily across the trail in front of me. The familiar feeling of comfortable enjoyment of nature in winter came over me, just as it does every year.

I tend to think that feeling is the added bonus of hunting in November and December, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe this is the real reward and taking game is actually the bonus. Hard to say, but I seem to come out ahead either way.
Two hours later, with my teeth chattering the theme song from “Bonanza”, I finally trudged back to the truck, sans black bear. But next year I’ll be back out, soldiering the hillsides and swamps, still on the lookout for a bruin.
Anyone know the way to the bait store?