It was the winter of ‘88 and as cold as people tell you that winter was, let me tell you, it was colder. Just walking outside made me feel like I had plunged into an ice bath. The Mississippi froze right down to the gulf of Mexico. Freak ice storms would sweep across the country and one chicken farmer I knew had emerged after a blizzard to find his cocks had frozen solid.
Well, me and Irondacks, we had teamed up to go west. For some reason or ‘nother we couldn’t get off until late in the year to start crossing the Rockies. Now, Irondacks had assured me that he knew a shortcut across those mountains that would get us through to San Fran’ before the worst of the weather hit. Any other year, he probably would have been right. But that year the snow blew in weeks before the start of the season and caught the two of us with our pants down just as we had reached the pass.
We stood there, watching the stormclouds roll up the foothills.
‘Figure’n we’ll be in for some snow,’ I said. ‘Them clouds are going to dump a load on us.’
‘Figure’n we will’ said Irondacks. He didn’t sound too worried, although this was the man that went 115 rounds against Teddy Roosevelt out in the Dakota badlands simply ‘cause he wanted to fight ‘the government’. No snowstorm was going to bother him over much! But being of a somewhat more submissive constitution, the idea of being frozen stiff wasn’t an appealing prospect for me.
‘I know a place we can hole up’ said Irondacks, and he trotted off into the trees with me scrambling to keep on his tail. Ten minutes later we were standing at the mouth of a cave as the first snow had started falling. I lit up a kerosene lantern and started walking into the darkness.
The bear had come in on our asses, driven to find shelter from the storm. He was long and heavy, having gorged himself for the winter and was about to start hibernation. He had obviously chosen this spot, and was not going to brook any company.
His roar filled the cave. I grabbed my pack and the lantern and ran further on into the cave, Irondacks just behind me. Then, around a corner, a deadend.
‘Quick, up there’ said Irondacks, pointing to a ledge about eight foot off the ground. I threw my pack up and over and Irondacks picked me up and gave me the same treatment as though I weighed nothing at all. Flying over the top, I saw that it wasn’t a ledge, but a hole in the wall where the cave continued. Thankfully the floor on the far side was only five foot down from the gap, but it still rattled my bones when I landed.
Like a shot, Irondacks had grabbed the edge of the gap and hauled himself across beside me. Seconds later the grizzly roared around the corner as well, howling in frustration at its lost prey.
Holding up the lantern I looked around our retreat. This was a true dead end, the cave only extended another 10 feet before it ended in sheer rock. There was only one way out, guarded by a demon. It looked like our options had narrowed to freezing to death, starving to death or trying beat off our captor.
With a roar the bear reared up to the gap, thrusting into the hole with a massive arm it reached for the two of us.
Well, without missing a beat Irondacks stepped up to meet it. With the difference in floor levels, they were both face to face. The bear’s paw was easily six inches across, but Irondacks took it easily. Grabbing the matted fur in his equally massive hand, Irondacks set his feet against the floor, elbow on the ledge, and began to twist the bear’s arm down onto the granite.
Instinctively the grizzly tried to oppose the force that was twisting down its arm, raising it back up until the two giants were locked together, arms straining against each other. In the flickering light of the lantern, it was hard to tell where the man ended and the bear began. How long they were together, I don’t know. It seemed like eternity, or it could have been seconds. But with a roar of his own, Irondacks’ hand slowly, but surely, moved over the top of the bears as it forced that giant paw down onto the stone. With an almighty crack, the bear’s arm broke, its sinews twisted into pulp as Irondacks drove his hand down in victory.
The bear collapsed without a sound. Picking up his knife, Irondacks jumped over the ledge to finish it off.
Well, we rode out that storm with a small fire and a dirty but life preserving bearskin rug. Three days later when the blizzard had passed, we emerged back into the wan sunlight.
I’ll never forget Irondack’s words as we left that cave, as he massaged his arm, still sore from the fight.
‘If I ever wrestle a bear again, I’ll make sure to beat it with my right arm!’
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