Chad Dupuis, a resident of Slave Lake, Alberta, recounts his story in this First Person column. For more of CBC’s First Person narratives, please visit the FAQ page.
On a scorching Sunday, the busiest day of the week at Carson Pegasus Provincial Park in Alberta, I, the park’s maintenance supervisor for four years, oversaw preparations of over 120 camping sites for incoming visitors.
Maintaining a park involves laborious tasks like waste disposal, fire pit cleaning, tree rope removal, and clearing camper leftovers, yet I remained cheerful as the day concluded.
After parking my truck, I strolled towards my Winnebago, relishing the sun’s warmth on my face, the melodious chirping of birds, and the excitement of grilling the steak I had planned for dinner.
Upon entering my temporary abode, I was puzzled to find the meat missing, replaced by brown butcher paper sprawled on the floor.
Frantically surveying the room, my thoughts drifted to a recent encounter with a young black bear near my campsite a few nights prior.
However, the absence of a typical bear mess led me to discard that theory. Could an intruder have stolen the steaks while I was away? Unauthorized entries and attempted break-ins were not uncommon in the area.
Pondering the mystery, my gaze fell upon a softball-sized hole in the window screen near the couch, revealing the culprit: a small creature had chewed through and snatched my dinner.
Disheartened by the loss, reminiscent of a childhood disappointment, I accepted my fate of missing out on the anticipated meal.
Years of forest living had acquainted me with various wildlife encounters, emphasizing that the wilderness belongs to animals first. They are untamed, capricious, and can catch you off guard if you grow complacent.
Seated on the bed, I heard a low growl emanating from underneath, prompting me to investigate.
Venturing outside, I propped