Around 6 a.m. the sound of rain drops hitting the roof of the tent jolted me awake from my near-frozen slumber.  I silently cursed the weather while gingerly tiptoeing across the cold floor of the tent to the wood stove.  I stoked the remaining embers and added some wood to the dying fire, and then quickly crawled back into my sleeping bag to rest for a few more hours. 

The rain subsided around 9 a.m. and we all gathered around the cook tent for some grub and to collectively devise a plan for the day.  After another hearty breakfast Mark and I decided to go along with Tim and Monty to check on the bait sites that they had prepared the day before.  Much to our disappointment, none of these equally impressive-looking areas were touched by bears.

“Normally these baits are being hit within 12 hours after I set them.  I just can’t figure it out,” said Monty.    

It was midday by the time we got back to camp, so Mark and I sat down for a bite to eat.  After a quick lunch we got dressed, gathered our gear and headed for the same stand sites that we sat yesterday afternoon. 

Tim dropped me off at my bait in similar fashion to the previous day.  I climbed up to the stand, pulled up my bow and got ready to wait out the setting sun.  After another nine and a half hours in the tree, enduring unseasonably cold weather and failing to see a bear, I started to get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Helpless to fight off the insidious effects of a sudden bout of mild despair, another wave of pessimism crept through my mind as I waited for Tim to return with the boat. 

“Perhaps the weather still had the bears holed-up and we are simply going to miss their annual emergence from the den.  But, it’s the second week of May for goodness sakes.  This just doesn’t make any sense,” I vexingly pondered to myself.