Kayuse is the kind of guy who can figure out systems and fix them, even if most of what they need is some hard labor. This old house needs his services now and then, partly because he has specialized equipment and partly because my hands are not strong any longer. But I’m useful for holding stuff and fetching stuff. While we work, we tell stories.
Kayuse has spent a lot of time on the west side of the Rockies but still close to Glacier Park -- just west instead of east. Going through Marias Pass from one side to the other is like going from one country to another. The difference in rainfall means that the west side is a little milder and has a LOT more forest, much denser population and more wealth.
So at one point Kayuse and a buddy had a contract to do something close to forest and it was convenient to just take a little camp trailer out on location to eat and sleep in without having to drive home. One night the buddy took a bar break in a nearby dive, but Kayuse decided he’d read in the trailer instead. He was always a reader.
When the trailer started to rock, he assumed it was his buddy coming back a little unstable, but then it got to REALLY rocking and he thought the buddy was going too far. Grabbing a flashlight, he stormed out and discovered the culprit was a big grizzly, probably a male, who had found an edge on the trailer that was perfect for a good back scratch.
He could see his rifle in the back window of his nearby pickup but the bear was between him and the pickup. The bear look at him mildly, decided he was okay, and ambled off. The next day Cayuse moved his .357 magnum pistol into the trailer. He didn’t exactly put it under his pillow, but close. And the bear came back.
Every night.
The buddy decided he might take a motel room, but the bear was no trouble maker -- just rocked the boat. Cayuse figured out the bear’s path, which was from the animal’s favorite sleeping spot to an open dump a little ways away. Unwittingly, the trailer had been parked near the access two-track which was also convenient for the bear. But a griz’s claws are fine can-openers for aluminum camp trailers. It’s just that the dump was less work.
The trouble with the dump was that one night some teenagers were out there messing around, spotted the bear, and shot it up with their .22’s -- then drove off quick. The small bullets hurt and enraged the bear, left him suffering, but didn’t kill him. He kept his old patterns, but now he had a buddy of his own -- a big black bear was following him everywhere while keeping his distance. The griz was too sick to fight and the black bear knew he would eventually go down, providing a regular banquet in two senses.
By this time the Park rangers knew about the bear and Cayuse was keeping close tabs on it for his own safety. The rangers weren’t there enough to know the spot well and their attempts to kill the bear -- which was obviously the only thing to do -- just didn’t work. They had the idea that Cayuse should do it, but his feeling was that the government is always more dangerous than an animal predator and he’d be filling out paperwork and defending himself against conflicting opinions for a long time. No thank you. But if he spotted the animal, he called the rangers.
So the Park Rangers brought in an NPS specialist, a guy who was a predator sniper. He flew into Kalispell from the SW and arrived on location with a small light 300 Weatherby Magnum. The shooter was a short, thick, very focused guy with Indian blood. He stood very still while Cayuse and the rangers explained the terrain and the bear’s habits. Then he took off running into the forest.
In an hour he was back and explained where the carcass was. Then he left and no one up this far north ever saw him again.
The black bear cleared out, muttering to himself.
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