[pct-l] Bear Vault Canister

[jjolson at uwyo.edu (Jeffrey J. Olson)]

A friend and I hiked for five days along the Lost Coast of California last 
May.  The rangers there require a bear cannister, and you can rent them for 
five bucks at the petrolia store, which has limited hours by the way...

While I disliked carrying it, and felt all the rebellious adolescent 
resentment that comes from authority saying I'll get a ticket if I don't - I 
found one good use for a bear cannister.  (There were no rangers by the way 
on the whole five days and 64 miles...)

I love to throw rocks.  I don't use the word love lightly.  I grew up 
throwing rocks at things, and engaging my little brother in competitions to 
see who was more accurate.  We grew up in a leave it to beaver family that 
had us throw rocks at things...

The last time we had a contest was before he went into the Buddhist 
Monastery at Mt. Shasta in 1991.  We were visiting the Washington coast with 
my sister who lives in Bend.  There was a rock about 75' out from the high 
water line.  The waves broke, and the average high point of their rush up 
the sand was about 75' from the rock.  This rock was beautiful.  It was 
about 40' high, and had a three foot hole in the middle of it.  As brothers 
will do, we built an incredibly rich and tensioned fantasy about the whole 
direction of our lives - his toward spiritual enlightenment, mine towards 
more beer and dissapation.

If you have a sibling you know when the play suddenly takes on a meaning 
communicated in one glance, one look, one body posture.  We'd spent a half 
hour throwing rocks at this window in the world and had come up pretty 
equal.  It was down to the last five.  Suddenly, the stakes were cosmic.

I have a friend whose son is imaginative beyond belief.  He and I can walk 
the streets of Albany and Berkeley CA and pretend we're the heros and the 
citizens are playing roles they're not aware of.  We get into it, and his 
parents are good enough not to be embarrassed.  Nothing like crouching 
together in the gutter along Shattuck Ave to avoid the glance of an elderly 
Berkleyite to fuel other worldly attachments.

My brother and I looked at each other and knew this was for all the marbles. 
I had my whole life's self-esteem warbling on the edge of my eyes.  He saw 
it, and stood just a little bit taller.  I felt the underdog, for no 
apparent or real reason, other than that I like to win coming from behind... 
He strutted and I stood with quiet resolve...

Five rocks each.  Five, ocean smoothed, billion year old rocks - perfect 
rocks.  No sand on this beach, just perfect rocks, trillions and trillions 
of them.

We were tied, one hit each, and the whole of our existences came down to the 
last throw.  Our "line in the sand" was a driftwood log 18" thick.  Woe he 
who went over the line.  Barked shins and a serious fall threatened...  I 
actually twisted my way over it on one of my throws and the throw was 
disqualified.  I missed anyway.  No big deal.

I threw and missed, a good foot away from the hole.  Craig took aim, looked 
at me, still centered in his strutting space, and let go.  As you now 
expect, it went through and he won.  Other than a basketball game in Willows 
California in the middle of summer on our way from the folks to the 
monastery where I would drop him off, it was our last brotherly competition.

So as I unloaded the Golite Gust of this insulting cannister, it occurred to 
me what it was good for.  It was a perfect target.  Yes, the bear cannister 
is a perfect target.  Aim for the upper half, or lower half.  30' away is 
about right.  If you can skip it off the flat top, you've won...

Jeffrey Olson
Laramie WY...