I love a good bear story — from the safety of my living room, that is.
A polar bear emerged from the sea and was attempting to enter the tent.
Not a sentence you ever want included if you are the subject of a story.
. . . the instant where my stifled scream broke free and the dream was gone. Sitting bolt upright in my sleeping bag, gun in my hand, my world was defined by a domed envelope of yellow nylon.
“BEAR!” I bellowed, grabbing the zipper on the doorway. The stillness of that moment was broken by the ripping of the zipper teeth. The tent door fell away, revealing a very black and moist nose, straddled by two wide and startled eyes. In the space of three pulls on the trigger, two things became certain: A bear had died in the High Arctic, and I was fully awake, bent forward in my sleeping bag.
— AmmoLand | June 21, 2023 | Dean Weingarten
(Whoever he was yelling “Bear!” to was of no apparent help.)
I kept hoping at the end it would have said – no polar bears were harmed in the making of this story. I was wrong. I am saddened.
How it got in my pajamas I’ll never know.
Note to self..never try to slip out through the night for a pee with this guy around..
If it’s cold enough to have polar bears, you can bet I’m not getting out of my sleeping bag at night just to pee.
A bear had died in the High Arctic, and I was fully awake, bent forward in my soiled sleeping bag.
There fixed it.