As I lay awake in my sleeping bag listening to the incessant drumming of a lovesick ruffed grouse, I realized that my Manitoba spring bear hunt would soon be coming to an end.  I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was plagued by an unyielding array of troubled thoughts. 

“What if I don’t kill a bear or even see a bear?  Worse yet, what in the heck am I going to write about on the talk forum when I get back home?”

I tossed and turned until daybreak, but I wasn’t alone.  Monty was also feeling the strain.  After all, he was hosting clients during the worst two weeks of spring bear hunting that he had ever encountered during his career as an outfitter, and it seemed the only end in sight was the abrupt finality of a discomforting 40-minute flight back to the float plane base with unhappy hunters.  Not a pretty picture.      

Once we finished eating breakfast Monty and I slipped off to talk in private.  We spoke at great length about the situation. 

Monty began by saying, “I don’t know what to do, Steve.  This is unlike anything I have ever experienced; except for the time I got talked into scheduling a bear hunt in the month of June by an outdoor writer who was convinced hunting during that particular timeframe would produce bears.”

He continued, “That year the bugs were absolutely horrific, and the bears had switched over to native grass and berries by the time we arrived in camp.