The plan was merely to empty some trash into the container in our alley, but it went awry as a hulking creature appeared from the shadows. “Quillen,” the bear hissed, “come with me to our meeting.”
There was no point in arguing with a critter that could easily outrun me, so I followed him down alleys, pausing while he tipped over trash cans and gulped garbage, until we reached Salida’s F Street Bridge. We crossed the river and the rusting railroad tracks. I had to stop often to catch my breath on the steep, rocky hike up Dead Goat Gulch.
Finally we arrived at an aspen grove, site of the annual convention of the Colorado chapter of the Ursine Liberation Front. My guide introduced me to the chairbear, Boo-Boo, something of a goof-off in his youth but now a respected elder.
“We’re trying to figure out what to do with those problem hominids that keep moving into our habitat,” Boo-Boo explained. “We’ve tried hazing them, and we’ve euthanized a few over the years, but they’re not getting the message.”
A sow named Dowjones spoke up. “I don’t think that’s entirely true. They aren’t building nearly as many new dens this year and many of their old dens are empty with no food. I’ve overheard them say it’s on account of something they call a ‘bear market.’ So perhaps they are listening.”
“And they’re not all bad,” a yearling named Alec interjected. “I was foraging over in Snowmass last month and tumbled into this deep pit with hard, steep sides. I couldn’t climb out, no matter how hard I tried. I thought it might be a new kind of bear trap. Then I worried that perhaps bear-baiting was back and they’d bring in some big dogs.”
He paused for effect. “But come sunrise, this human dude brings a ladder and shoves it down so I could climb out and go on my way. It was, like, a total surprise. I never thought those weird bipeds could be so awesomely cool.”
There were murmurs of disbelief at his far-fetched tale, which stopped when a mature sow with lustrous brown fur named Organia Green changed the subject.
“My cubs and I thrive on a wholesome natural diet. Beetle grubs, yampa roots, scrub-oak acorns, piñon nuts, juicy raspberries and strawberries, sweet honey from the comb, fresh field mice and the occasional fawn. We’re strong and healthy because we stay off the grid.”
Her tone grew accusative. “So what on earth are you guys thinking when you lumber into their habitat to eat pizza boxes, candy wrappers, white bread, processed cheese, sugary drink containers, paper towels soaked with bacon grease? The bipeds don’t have to shoot you to kill you. You lazy louts are killing yourselves with that toxic junk.”
Boo-Boo managed to cut her off before she could start in on global warming. “You’re right, Organia, but you need to remember that we’re programmed to stock up on calories this time of year, and their food has more calories than anything nature ever provided.”
Organia huffed but did not interrupt Boo-Boo as he went on. “The main thing is that we need a strategy for next year,” he said. “Should we continue our dispersed guerilla campaign, or join together for a mass assault on one of their command centers?”
A husky boar named Elias spoke up. “Most of us have been around their dens and overheard them talking about how they’re losing their jobs and they can’t afford health care, let alone dens in the mountains. As Dowjones said, we’re gaining on account of this ‘bear market’ factor. Let’s stick with a winning strategy.”
They all agreed. I asked Boo-Boo for a statement. “Just let the invading occupiers know that we’re staying the course,” he said, “and we plan to be here long after they withdraw.”
Ed Quillen (ekquillen@gmail.com) of Salida is a free-lance writer and history buff, and a frequent contributor to The Post.
