We Trap A Bear

The trapping season had opened, fall had set in with cold nights, we were no longer working for the Forest Service; the money or appropriations had run out. On our trips up country, Mel, my partner, and I had observed bear signs, such as broken apple tree branches, tracks, and fresh dung, both at Miller's Ranch and Gale's Orchard. These places were now abandoned, being planted by the 49ers in the gold mining days of the early 1850s.

These preliminaries are just to brief you and get started on this business of trapping a bear.

Our equipment consisted of a #8 Newhouse steel trap, some baling wire, and a hunk of tainted horsemeat. The transportation was a 1916 Ford with a homemade pickup back end. It was ideal for trapping and hauling limb-wood. On arriving at Gale's Orchard, we erected a low brush shelter about 6 feet long of available branches, sticks, and brush - large enough to crawl into and deposit the bait with the trap set at the entrance. The chain was secured with several wraps of wire near the center of a 6 or 7-inch diameter oak log about 8 feet long. The next day - a crisp clear November morning - was a day long remembered.

We took off up the old Henness Pass Road, past the Tannery Ranch, across Campbell Creek, the Yore Meadows, Coal Oil Bend, with the sunlight filtering through a canopy of pine, fir and oak; then through the clearing at the Sleighville House and stayed on the ridge to the turnoff down into Gale's Orchard where the trap was set.

Photo shows Meggers' 1916 Ford with Norval Fraser driving

Lo and behold, our expectations were gratified. We had ourselves a 380-pound young male black bear, securely caught by the right front paw. He had dragged the log about 30 feet when it became lodged in some brush. He had dug quite a depression into the red soil. Mel sicced his dog, Tom the airdale. Tom took no chances and nipped the bear from the rear, which had very little effect. The bear's beady eyes were on us. Mel's one shot from a 30-30 caliber rifle in the neck quickly did the job.

On our return we stopped to talk to Jim at the Sleighville House. Jim pronounced the fur prime, the bear young and fat. On leaving, he asked for a quart of bear oil. I said "sure, you going to use it for your saddle and boots?" To our surprise he said "For my hair" and went on saying, his dad, like himself, was almost bald and over the winter grew a regular fuzz on his scalp and kept his head warm. Well, well, that was news to us.

On driving into town, the bear being exposed with head hanging over the tailgate, the rumor quickly spread that young Whittum and Meggers had killed a bear. While we were skinning out the animal, folks came from far and wide; the country or farm telephone lines were working overtime. Each one wanted a special cut of meat, and it wasn't long before our 380-pound bear was being carried away in small hunks by mighty happy and grateful folks. And by the way, the meat was not strong tasting - it was tender, a little dark, a little coarse, but on the rich side, and so good that nothing went to waste. Some of the meat was smoked, some with venison went into sausage. The hide was tanned by Henry at Freeman's Crossing and made a beautiful rug. But that isn't all.

This little incident happened the following spring. We were repairing and doing the maintenance work on the single-wire Forest Service telephone line, passing close to the Sleighville House, and here was Jim. So I asked, "Did you make use of the bear oil and was it a success?" "Well," he said," I'll tell you, boys, it may be a little early yet." So he took off his big black Stetson and with the other hand hopefully felt over his head and allowed the bear oil was beginning to work, but he stated positively, "I do know this. That it's hell on the pillow case."