A Tale Of A Bear And A Poodle

It felt like paradise.

The little boy who grew up seeing pictures of men flyfishing in Montana streams in Sports Afield, Field & Stream and Outdoor Life was doing it as a man. Rainbow trout were biting and hitting a dry fly fished in the Cherry River fishing access area just outside of Bozeman, MT.

I had just caught a nice rainbow that jumped as if it were a sailfish, when I heard grunting in the tall grass behind me.

I was on the stream’s edge, down a rock embankment that was about 10 feet above me at a distance of 25 yards or so. The grass was tall leading to this spot and a I gently turned my head, I saw movement.

Whatever was in the bushes grunting was black with grizzled grey.

Was it a bear? Perhaps even a grizzly?

This particular location was out of the range of common grizzly sightings but it was still technically in their range and black bears were certainly in the area.

I decided not to do anything out of the ordinary and to keep casting.

I heard the grunt again, but this time a single grunt, muffled by increasing winds blowing from the mountains in front of me.

I had just arrived from a delayed flight and hadn’t yet bought bear spray. I had no way to carry a sidearm in this location and the stream wasn’t deep enough to retreat into and drift down incase it was a bear.

It’s not like they can’t swim.

Suddenly I hear the lapping of water.

Almost afraid to look, I turned my head to the right and there stood a poodle. It was one of those big, standard poodles.

This old poodle was black with grizzled grey and was grunting as it drank. It sounded as if it had a really bad cold.

I was never so relieved to see a poodle in my life.

I walked down and gave it a pat on the head and about that time, I heard someone hollering, “Suzie! Suzie! Come here!”

I walked up the bank and saw a man with desperation in his eyes.

“Are you looking for a poodle,” I asked.

“Yes sir. She got away from me and I was concerned a bear or mountain lion might have gotten her.”

“No, she’s down at the stream drinking,” I replied.

Suzie saw her owner and ran to him, grunting all the way.

I couldn’t help but laugh-at the poodle and myself.

Here I was in Montana and my first close encounter was with a poodle.

Ha!

The phenomenal trip would include a forthcoming truly scary close encounter with a bison, a point black blear sighting, bighorn sheep, wolf packs and a lot of trout.

But the big takeaway on day one was to be prepared for anything, even an old, coughing poodle.

Chester Moore