First things first:
Jaakie, thank you for the surprise package you sent me. That was more than kinda cool. Only you.
James, thanks for sending my bank card and sorting all the other shit I dumped on you. Only you.
…
There are four ways/reasons you can get thrown out of this gorgeous, beautiful place, “heaven on earth” one of the sanctuary directors called it. Heaven on earth? Nah, that would still be a nightclub with indie music and friends and Guinness and Scottish malt whisky and unapproachable women and a filthy kebab afterwards and then going to a friend’s even more afterwards listening to even better music than was played in the indie club and regretting not to try and talk to that Italian-looking bird with the long legs, high heels and short skirt dancing to all the right tunes with the right moves who gave me one look, only the one, but more than enough to and nevermind.
This sanctuary director was pretty close tho.
Heaven On Earth.
Here.
Four.
Ways/Reasons.
To get thrown out.
Four.
Like Saint Peter.
Lecturing.
You.
Catholic you.
After having passed away.
1) Cause harm to the bears
2) Handfeed bears (i.e. they eat from the scoop you are placing food down with. You could try your hand, I suppose. You would only have two attempts, trust me)
3) Take illegal drugs
4) Give alcohol to minors (For the Europeans amongst us: minors are those younger than 21)
Guess for what I got in trouble in my second week? Yup, some Swedish cunt of a woman grassed me up. For two cans of beer. Two. I mean fucking two. Cans. Of beer. Fucking American beer. To two minors. 19 and 20 years old. Allegedly. Could not be really proven anyway. Now, I understand that walking around drunk in bear/moose/wolf/cougar country is not the best of ideas. So they are right to clamp down on alcohol with minors who have had little experience with alcohol. But the idea of grassing somebody, knowing perfectly well that he/she would be thrown out, that’s pretty low. Rock bottom. For two fucking cans of beer. American beer. Allegedly. Whether I did or not is beside the question. Luckily, I wasn’t thrown out. Got a final warning. If it happens again, I’m out.
It won’t.
Happen again.
But then again, I’m not gonna confirm whether it did happen. I’m not stupid. People read this.
You would think I didn’t make the best of impressions on the people running the sanctuary. But it is the opposite. I work my arse off, make everyone laugh with typical self-deprication humour and have a knack around wild animals.
So.
I became the main feeder.
Let me explain what this means. There are two shifts. One starts at 5.30 in the morning, the second starts at 10.30. Morning shift prepares the bear food, weeding, building bear beds, keeping bear feeding areas clean, does the poop scoop and a zillion other things, late shift does the same, but mainly monitors, meaning making sure there are enough dates and seeds out there. For bears to eat. We eat at 3.30 pm, then relax, (read: nap, wherever we can, on chairs, sofas (if you’re lucky to find a space, if not the floor) to get ready for the public as the sanctuary opens at 5.00 pm. We close and finish at about 9.30 pm. At 5.00 pm we put out our special mix which is a recipe with as main ingredients nuts, berries, other fruit and seeds. The bears love this mix so they come in in large numbers. And are agitated. And are hungry. And are impatient. Now, volunteers have many roles and responsibilities: welcoming visitors on deck and explaining bear behaviour, bus talks to educate the visitors, gift shop, looking after photographers and/or documentary crews, admissions, car parking and of course feeding. Everyone wants to do feeding. Being around the bears and doing that what makes this place so unique in front of a live audience.
Not many volunteers are allowed to feed in front of an audience. (Just killed a massive mosquito, which left an equally massive splash of blood on my screen. My blood). Feeding the special mix to the bears is a technique: the right amount, in the right places, while almost literally dancing around bears with two heavy buckets in your hand. We are told to keep a 10 foot distance, but that is almost impossible. They smell the food, see the buckets, so they will come straight at you. It is then up to the feeder to interpret and anticipate bear behaviour and behave accordingly. Like for example making a quick side-step in the direction of another, quieter bear while never making eye contact coz to them that means your are challenging their dominance.
To me, it comes natural. I am never afraid (the bears will sense it), but always cautious.
…
I just love the oohs and aahs you get from the public on the viewing deck when I am feeding the bears. Sometimes even a “Jesus Christ!” or a “How fucking close is he?!!”.
Like a circus.
But.
Not like a circus.
Wild American Black bears.
Not poor bears beaten to shit.
Like performing on stage.
A musical, say.
Or a play.
But.
With me as the lead.
The lead character.
Non-stop.
For four hours.
Fucking love it.
And I have only twice been bluff-charged so far (see previous post). Accidents can happen. Bears are incredibly silent and incredibly silent movers. Because of their fur and the thick padding on their feet. And their graciousness despite their weight. The other day, while I was bent over putting food down, I could suddenly feel a bear snout on my arse. Luckily it was Oscar, a colossal but very benign 26 year old boor, weighing close to 550 pounds. Needless to say I shat meself again. Which is probably why he decided not to taste me arse.
Every bear has a different personality. The ones that come back day after day, you recognise and know how they will behave. And give them names. With the ones you haven’t seen before, you have to be extra careful. People get bitten. Sometimes mauled. Very, very rarely, but it does happen. And scratched. When they swipe their paws at you. You have very sweet bears that would never even dream of harming a person. Some are almost like a pet. They are much liked here, but I prefer the feisty, angry ones. One such bear is called McKenzie and fuck me is she feisty. If I could, I’d marry her. But seriously. When you see her, you know to keep a much longer distance than 10 feet. But she is what I call a bear. Pretty too. A beautiful chest plate like a butterfly. With evil eyes. Love that bear. My favourite one.
I am tired and have lots more to write. Just not now. Like about K. This lovely, lovely, lovely girl I met here but has sadly already left, and is gonna use me like she should, at her age. Because of whom I am gonna cut my stay short, because of whom I am gonna leave my so beloved bears and spend my last three weeks in San Francisco. But I’m so tired I didn’t even remember how to spell Francisco. Plays football (soccer) really well. And the guitar. And the piano. With a very impressive iPod music selection. Especially for a 19 year old. Pretty too. With big gorgeous, blue eyes. Lovely hair. A body to die for. And legs that go on for miles. Very funny. And kind. And humble. And. Just. Lovely. And. And. Just. And. And she likes me too. Don’t know why. Don’t wanna know why. Gonna stay with her parents coz she still lives at home. She is not allowed to sleep over at male friends. Bless. God fucking bless. But I am staying for nearly three weeks. With her and her parents. Husten, man, just … just just, will ya?
Why can’t I be like everyone else?
Need to go. Don’t want to, but have to. All my pics are on facebook coz downloading them on Fall On Me is far too much of a hassle.
Just went outside for a wee. Funny how in my first two weeks I didn’t dare to go anywhere further than 5 steps from my cabin at night with at least two torches (flashlights) and fully clothed. Now, if I wake up in the middle of the night desperate for a piss, I just go. Without torches and in me boxers, bare-footed. Fuck the mozzies. And if I stumble upon a wild animal, well, so be it. Coz Georgina is living with her two cubs right next to our cabin.
The wolves were howling again just now. Not good enough a writer to express how happy that sounds make me.
Running out of juice. Macbook battery, whiskey and energy. Need to sleep. Gotta get up in 5 hours coz doing the morning shift. Don’t want to. Go to sleep. Wanna write about K. About the bears. About the bugs.
Woodticks. Found my sixth one yesterday morning. In the pelvic region just above my pubic hair. Wasn’t happy. FYI, woodticks look like tiny, little spiders, but are blood-sucking insects that attach themselves to you sucking out as much blood as they can. And the more they suck, the deeper they get into your flesh, the more difficult and painful it is to get them out. And when you remove them you gotta make sure you get their heads as well. If you leave the heads, you are prone to all kinds of horrible diseases. So once bitten, you have to check that spot for the next two or three weeks or so. See how it develops/cures. I got six so far. On places you cannot always see for yourself. So, you have to ask other people. And they ask you. Embarrassing at first. Just normal now.
Everyone is taking the piss here because Michael Jackson died. Don’t understand why. He wrote Billie Jean, right? Too shattered to come up with other song titles. Apparently, it is uncool amongst this wildlife intelligentsia to like Michael Jackson. But. Of course. Should have known. I am not wildlife intelligentsia. I wear Bape, A Bathing Ape, clothing up here. And Superlovers. Once Japanese cool clothing labels. Up. Here. Too many “heres”. I am drunk. Very.
Fuck ‘m. This wildlife crue.
And you guys at home are being over-Michael-Jacksoned apparently. Hear stories about funerals and stuff. Too much media attention. Too many people lapping it up.
Fuck anyone not having a clue.
Unlike K.
K. likes The National. And Postal Service. Deathcab For Cutie. And so many more. Classical too. Bach.
Dunno about Michael Jackson.
I’ll tutor her.
In case she doesn’t.
Like him.
Like Billie Jean.
She should.
Anyone should.
Dirty Diana.
Thriller.
It is coming back to me now.
But.
Most.
And.
Foremost.
Billie Jean.
Oh, I built a bear bed yesterday. At home, I can’t even built a hamster bed with lego bricks.
Really need to go.
Exhausted.
With happiness.
In heaven on earth.
Almost.
You should all try it one day.
Fuck Saint Peter.
Before you pass away.
