~A Pack of Big Bears - ONE BAD MOM BLOGS - ONE BAD MOM BLOG

~A Pack of Big Bears - ONE BAD MOM BLOGS - ONE BAD MOM BLOG"Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life." Rachel Carson



Luke, Brook (fourteen) and I went with my sis TT and her daughter Sara to South Fork near Big Bear, California to camp. It was gorgeous. We were in the very back of the campground and had to hike in a bit to get right up next to Lost Creek. The campsite was huge and you couldn’t see the parking lot, and the neighboring campsites were quite far. It was dark when we got there and I felt like an eyeless worm accidentally above ground, tripping and dropping stuff while my stupid underwear rode up my butt.

We could hike to the bubbling Santa Ana River. The Santa Ana River in Orange County, CA, where it meanders through to get to the Pacific Ocean and spurts out in between Huntington Beach and Newport Beach Ca, is disgusting.



Orange County (OC) cemented it all in so there is not a tree to be seen. Nice work Orange County. Some cormorants loiter on the telephone lines that cross the river in Orange County, and a few Egrets and Herons trespass on the clean concrete occasionally to get a toxic fish or two, but that is about it for bird species much less mammals.



I suppose it would be a revelation for Orange County city planners to understand that most rivers have trees and animals and not concrete and graffiti.



However, in the mountains, the Santa Ana River is an absolutely beautiful, clean brook. It is treed, cool, and shaded, with a lightly trodden trail alongside. . As the river goes through Riverside California on its way to the OC, treated sewage water is dumped into it, but at least the river is wild and not concreted. Actual live birds and animals frequent the river.


The first night, at about 2 a.m., TT woke us all up yelling, “BEAR” and after several long minutes of struggling to get out of my North Face mummy bag, I managed to unzip the tent, while Luke fumbled around with his shorts and the brand new three-layered Eddie Bauer sleeping contraption, and I saw the damn bear. It was surreal and he was beautiful and big. I yelled “HEY” and the bear trotted off a few feet as if to mock my weakness. We all have seen bears while camping in Sequoia and Yosemite. We have all needed to chase them away and been super careful with our food, keeping it in bear boxes. But the camp host told us “Eh there aren’t any bears here.” I should clarify. It wasn’t the Camp Host but her slow and inbred son whose eyes were one inch apart. Why we listened to him I don’t know, but we did.

“There haven’t been any reports of bears in this area for ten years. We have never had an incident here in this campground. We don’t have bear boxes because we don’t need them,” he said.

Note to self, never take advice from the mentally challenged if your life depends upon it. This same guy later told us if a bear confronts us, you should get down on all fours and turn your butt to it, and he pantomimed what he meant. Starlight, TT’s sweet loving Labrador almost attacked him in that position. We chased the bear off, but Brook and Sara, then 14 and 10, were fucking terrified. Especially Sara of course because she was only ten and sensed that we adults may not protect the children if it came down to it because we would be running away too fast. I mean I had a mini heart attack myself, especially when the darn bear came right up to us to get the marshmallows off the table. Then he just chilled out around the perimeter of our campsite while we shined the light on him for about fifteen minutes, marveling and shitting bricks. I banged some pans together and he ran off, but that made it worse because then we didn’t know where he was. Now what? We took all of our food and put it in the car with visions of bears tearing cars apart to get buns and chips. I’ve seen it in Sequoia with my own eyes.

We moved our tents into a semi-circle about 2 inches from each other and went to bed. Sara and Brook shared a tent and Brook knew Sara would feel more comfortable with her mom.

“You better not ditch me Mckenzie, you better not,” Brook threatened. She had a metal pan with a spoon that she would clang regularly from inside her tent.

“I heard something behind our tent. Something just brushed the back of our tent. I heard a snuffling noise in front of our tent. A bear just walked by the door of our tent,” McKenzie would say throughout the night.

It was freaking me out. Instead of trying to calm her and say, you’re imagining things, we hopped up and shone three lights around, but didn’t find anything. We stayed up for 3 and a half hours, jumping at every silent sound, until exhausted, we fell asleep. Then in the morning, at 6 am, we hear some squirrels chipping the hell out of the morning air, and some Stellar’s Jays squawking like mad, and then a few loud thumps, I opened my back window in my tent expecting to see some cute little birdies and a view of the trees, but instead saw a huge fucking black bear, knocking the tackle box around. When he heard me, he sauntered off casually.

Everyone else got up, but being the eldest, I was too tired and felt as an elder I should sleep in and have pancakes ready for me when I got up. The trouble with that is that TT kept talking about how frightened she was by the bear and how heroically I behaved when I yelled at the bear. She put her chair right next to my open back window to talk more about my bravery. Then she left her chair to build a roaring camp-fire and designed it in such a careful way that the smoke made a trail directly to my nose. Coughing and with red eyes, me and my bravery got up and made the pancakes myself.

We had only one neighboring camper who was 200 yards off; an old guy in a hammock. He regularly hiked the Sierras and was used to this kind of thing, but at the time we didn’t know it. We kept imaging him with some Chips Ahoy on his tummy, fallen asleep after munching half the bag, and the bear peering over to get at them and accidentally cutting him in half with his thick sharp nails as he went for said delicious cookies. So we shone our multiple flash-lights on him every three minutes, but he never got up. In the morning we apologized for all of the noise and made up elaborate stories of two and three bears coming in packs throughout the night which was why we kept banging pots together repeatedly.

“No worries, tonight my grandkids will be here. I’m sure they will get you back.” And boy did they.

He was a super cool old man but his daughter was an OC gross dumb bitch that sang instead of spoke to her toddler.

“Oh she is speaking Chinese, isn’t it adorable,” she oozed.

We told her about the bear from the night before and she said, “When we went to the Caribbean, they told us there were no sharks. Duh we knew better, just like I would have known better than to believe there were no bears here. My dad taught me all about camping when I was growing up,” she said while I bit her neck with my fangs and removed her of all of her life-affirming blood. She was so campy and nature-based that she had her shiny black, brand new Mercedes detailed before she came to the dirty mountains and later washed a gallon of oil based dishwashing liquid into the stream.

Next night we ship-shaped the place and then crashed and didn’t hear a thing. I slept like a rock, but several babies cried through the night, making Luke appreciate my old and barren womb.

“I never ever want babies, they are fucked up.” he said.

“GO TO SLEEP NOW” I heard the dad say before I fell asleep.

The beastly boy delighted in the night “La la la, everything is fun,” he laughed and laughed. The Dad was getting SO pissed. “Go to sleep you little asshole.” I know he wanted to say. And the kid was having a brilliantly fun time.

The next night TT said she heard a toddler crying half the night, and then she thought she heard the muffled sound of a hand over the mouth. We laughed about that because our toddler days are over and we take great pleasure in other parents’ great misery.




It was such a great time. Brook chopped ten piles of wood and made the best fire. Luke fished on the creek and Brook Sara and I hiked along it. Without MySpace, texting, One Tree Hill or her BFFs, Brook did not expire or implode, in fact she was human and not an automaton like at home. She made eye contact and spoke full sentences. It made me wonder why we lived in the smothering suburbs. Why not live closer to nature? But my question was answered when the OC Lady walked by with neon-colored camp chairs, carrying a Nordstrom’s bag and smiling her big fake smile and I realized that you can’t leave The OC behind even when you leave The OC.







Santa Ana River: Due to Southern California's dry climate, dam control, and confiscation by local water agencies, very little water flows throughout the year. Wikipedia





OC: Orange County and all its trappings.



All four pictures above are of the Santa Ana River which is 110 miles long.

Picture 1: Santa Ana River at South Fork, RaphaelMazor on Flickr

Picture 2: Santa Ana River somewhere in Orange County, CA

Picture 3: Santa Ana River where it enters the Pacific Ocean

Picture 4: Santa Ana River at South Fork, RaphaelMazor on Flickr

Picture 5: Santa Ana River at South Fork, property for sale


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