Late last Monday afternoon, my friend and coworker Michelle sent me an invitation to ride along on a black bear tagging by the Penna. Game Commission. They had some extra slots and so a few of us from work were able to go. We were included because many years ago we helped preserve the tract of land upon which this particular bear den was located.

Well come Tuesday morning, it was pouring down rain….

We got to the Game Commission headquarters, met our guide, B. and after we had all assembled, headed out in a caravan. It was only a short drive to the parking/rendezvous spot. The plan was as follows: the vet and a few of the PGC staff were going to ride on up ahead on ATVs and dart the mom; we would hike in after them and they’d call B. when everything was safe. People could hold and play with the cubs while they were being weighed, inspected and tagged. They did the same thing last year and my uddy Greg got to go then.

The hike was not difficult, just miserable. About a mile and a half, uphill on fire roads. The rain was heavy enough that we were essentially walking up the middle of a mountain stream. We were taking it slow on purpose. When we reached the parked ATV’s, we had to wait until we got the final “all-clear” call. We eventually started moving again, and I noticed B. ask MK. (my co-worker) and his wife if they would help carry a few packs the last 40 yards or so. When we got to the den site, B. asked for the person with the smallest pack to come forward. He zipped her open and pulled out a good-sized cub that they had been intending to reintroduce there. Turns out they couldn’t for some reason and had to tote him back down the mountain.

The mom (technically called a “sow” just like pigs) was fast asleep when we arrived. Surprisingly, the den was an above ground nest; just a very dense patch of brush under a fallen tree. You could walk within a dozen feet of it and never know it was there. The PGC biologists already had the cubs and were passing them out to us guests.

Four cubs in the litter, about six weeks old or so. They were very tiny, only about the size of house cats. Two were 3 pounds and two were 2.4. When holding them you had to keep them inside your jacket for warmth. They were already sporting some serious claws and could cling to your shirt like they had paws made of velcro. And the one I was holding was making a terrible racket; he sounded exactly like Eric Cartman screaming “NNNNNNNNNNNow! NNNNNNNNNNNNNo! NNNNNNNNNNNah!” He was making enough noise to wake the dead (or more of a concern to me, his mom who was only about ten paces away).

I only held the one and for no more than five or six minutes. After it was all said and done, we spent a good half hour there. The rain never let up for one minute, but it was still unbelievable and fantastic despite the weather.

They are the cutest things ever, by the way. I wanted to keep one. B. said that would probably turn out to be a bad idea in the long run (never mind that it was illegal).