As a kid, my family spent the entire summer in Yellowstone Park. Our 1962 14-foot Winnebago trailer was home as we explored the west.
Conestoga pioneer wagons were bigger than our tiny RV. There was no bathroom or refrigerator. No TV, Stereo, sofas, or modern comforts. A pump added water to a small sink. The 3-burner gas stove also had a small oven, that was mainly used to store pots and pans.
One big table folded down to become a large bed. The front overhang extended space made a bunk for my brother and me. We had it made. At least we were not in a smelly tent. Every 2 weeks we changed campgrounds in the park.
We saw many bears in every campground we went to. We would often pass them as we headed to the bathrooms. The bears were headed to the campsites where campers left pic n nick baskets in the open. Bear Jams along the roads were routine. We even went to a dump where everyone stayed in their cars to watch bears feast on the Parks garbage. Yogi was alive and well.
At Tower Junction campground, I watched an Air Force Colonel shoot a black bear with his 357 cal. Handgun. The bear had grabbed a loaf of bread from his picnic table. At Slough Creek we once watched a grizzly tear a pup tent to shreds. At Madison Junction, we watched bears clean out several dumpsters. Near Fishing Bridge, bears ran through the campground with their mouths stuffed full of cutthroat trout that people had caught at Fishing Bridge then threw them into the trash.
Canyon Village campground is in the middle of Yellowstone Park. Our camper was small so sometimes my brother and I would set up an LL Bean pup tent and sleep outside. The main rule was no snacks or food in the tent.
Late one night we heard a bear. He walked by our small tent and was headed into our neighbor’s camp. They were asleep in a large popup. My brother and I quietly peeked out the tent flaps. The BIG GRIZZLY must have been thirsty and went for the case of beer on the table. Budweiser pop tabs were snapping faster than the best bartender. The bear claws opened every 12 oz, can of brew. Next the lapping began. Lick, lick, lap, lap, sip, sip. Soon the cans ended up in the bear’s mouth as he crushed and swallowed the beers.
“Get in the camper now!”, roared from the open door of our Winnebago. It was my dad. We scooted into the safety of the small trailer. Honestly, if the bear wanted us for dessert, he could have torn our camper apart.
The nearby “Bear Proof trashcans” were knocked over and the trash rummaged through. It took 3 rangers and a backhoe to put the trash can back in place. I guess the Grizz snacked on trash before needing some Buds to wash it all down. I’m glad that my brother and I were not on the menu.
The campers next door were gone when we woke up.
Cheers!
Montana Grant
