There’s not much going on in the outdoor world so let’s do another story from my game warden days in Washington State.

Soon after I’d changed stations from the Columbia River Gorge to a remote area in the northeastern part of the state I began hearing stories about a gal I shall call Mrs. O.

She was reportedly a crusty old widow recluse that had lived in an old farmhouse out west of town for as long as dirt and trees had been around. She supposedly had two dogs that were so mean wolves, bears and cougars cringed at the mere thought of them. If anyone foolish enough to venture onto her property survived the dogs, Mrs. O would finish the job with her rifle. She had no telephone and never came to town.

That was the background I had when a social worker called and said I must go out to Mrs. O’s place immediately for she was having terrible bear problems. With great trepidation I drove up the long driveway to her house. There was no sign of the viciously crazed dogs so I cautiously ventured to the door and knocked. When the door opened I almost fell to the ground. Here was a frail old lady with dark ski goggles covering half her face and an old WWI leather flying helmet cinched tightly to her head. She was so glad to see me she was nearly in tears. I was also nearly in tears trying to keep from breaking out laughing.

She apologized for the ski goggles, saying sunlight hurt her eyes. She invited me in, saying a bear had been trying to break into her house day and night for over a week. She hadn’t dared venture outside or even let her dogs out. On top of a roaring wood cook stove were big pots of boiling water. “I keep water boiling day and night to throw on it if it gets in,” she said. The heat inside the house from the stove was stifling. She pointed to an old rifle on the table, “I have my husband’s rifle but I don’t know how to load or use it. I must look silly in his pilot helmet but it might give me some protection.” The two rumored deadly attack dogs were actually cowering behind the couch. Funny how rumors go, isn’t it?

I’d had plenty of experience with marauding bears and one bent on breaking into an occupied house was a stretch. I was sure her imagination had run completely amok but she was truly frightened out of her wits so I had to humor her. “How long ago did this happen,” I asked. “Every day, off and on all day and all night,” she insisted. I went outside to see if there was any evidence. I was dumbfounded to see a screen door wrenched off and chewed up. The casings around every window of the house had deep scratch and bite marks, as did the doors. By golly, she’s not whacko. Bear hair stuck in various places showed there was not one, but two, one black and one cinnamon colored.

We only had one bear live trap for the whole northeastern part of the state and it was in use many counties away. I was going to have to do this the hard way. I got my rifle from the truck and settled in atop her chicken house where I had a good view. All afternoon perched on a steep roofed chicken coop is a long time. All night too is borderline unbearable. No bears. Long story short, this went off and on for three days. They never came when I was there but invariably showed up anytime I left for a break or some decent sleep.

I was one of the happiest men on earth when the bear trap finally became available. I splurged and bought the best bear bait there is, spicy sausage. Within hours after setting it I had the first bear. He was a monster, about 450 pounds I figured. Two days later I had the cinnamon one. Both were released far, far away.

Carpe diem.

Larry Lyons writes a weekly outdoor column for Leader Publications. He can be reached at larrylyons@verizon.net