As we drove away at the end of Bear Camp 2002, we recommitted to going back next year to savor the camaraderie we enjoyed amidst the assembly of fine men of the upper Midwest. We did not have much history about the summer bear camp or even the sponsor, North Country Bears of the twin cities when I convinced my buddy to sign up with me, so that at the very least if we did not like the experience we would still do things with each other.

When we veered off about 17 miles on the Highway 48 linking Hinckley, MN and Danbury, WI, we knew this camp was for real. We drove deeper and deeper into the bowels of the forested foliage of St. Croix State Park, Minnesota, one of the largest State parks in the country. Our camp site was tucked in a pristine corner of the park called Norway Point. The flora and fauna unmistakably reminded you of a different world; the world of nature; a real habitat for any number of species of animals that could step onto the road at any moment to question your mission to their domain.

Real bears (with claws) were the kings of this natural kingdom in northern Minnesota. Without any trepidation as it was no big deal during the check in, the Ranger confirmed that we should be respectful of the bears and in so doing they will respect us. She reassured us that the mother bears are cool; we only needed to watch for the pesky little cubs that could get excited out of curiosity.

It was a relief that the first bear we encountered was the humankind. Lars, the gentle Smokeybear and denizen of the camp as well as the president of North Country bears received us with bear hugs, warm friendly banter and a million dollar smile. He assigned us our cabins and gave an introductory layout of the camp. His welcome gestures and pleasantries assured us we were among friends and it would be a terrific nice camping and company. We sauntered down to A village to settle into our A5 cabin. As we set up my outdoor tent, we noticed friendly flashes of smile and encouragement from our various village mates from the neighboring cabins. Just in that instant we learned of Terry and Patrick of Indiana, Pete of Minnesota, Greg of Minnesota, Phil and Luke, the guitar playing dude from North Dakota, Jerry the fireman (ok, camp fireman) from Minneapolis and a few others that populated our village. Of course our new neighbors asked if they could help. The genuineness of the folks came off so naturally that we all started interacting before we remembered we were meeting each other for the first time and needed to introduce ourselves.

Don Oldenburg so succinctly captured the entire physical structure and routine of the camp in his essay that I will skip those to talk more about the interaction. Even though Don’s essay was on the 2001-summer bear camp, he could as well have been writing about the 2002 camp. The structure and fixtures were basically the same. Check out his excellent article in the past issue of Midwest Ursine Magazine or at the North Country Bear web page.

One distinguishing feature of the Bear camp 2002 that I have never encountered even in my days at world scout jamboree camps was the food. The organizers made absolutely sure that nothing was lacking as far as food was concerned to feed the voracious appetite of the men’s men attending the camp. The quantity of the food was as impressive as the quality. The paradox of eating five star quality foods in the middle of a Minnesota jungle was just incredible. It turned out that we had some bears that double as professional chefs in the real world. Their efforts were complemented by other volunteer bears that worked a certain number of hours in lieu of admission to the camp. It was an excellent trade off and they whipped out one mouth-watering gourmet dish after every finger-licking course of scrumptious spreads. The food bell rang as promptly as was scheduled, pulling a herd of bears from every village, beach, bike path and cabin into the huge well ventilated dinning hall. You served yourself whatever whets your appetite and in any quantity and as many seconds as you wished. Beverages, bottled water and snacks were a constant fixture day or night.

The expansive dinning hall, which reminded me of my boarding school days in high school, served as a social hall too, offering an ambience for people to interact with new people from other villages and of course other cities and states. It served both as the dinning hall and the games and social hall. There was an assortment of games, from pantomime type games, pinochles, poker, scrabbles, to African ludo and mankala and other board games. All you needed to do was to take your pick and corral people around you who were always good sport and willing to participate.

Another convivial spot after dinner was the campfire ring, a couple of feet away from the dinning hall. Jerry of Minnesota was the dedicated fireman that adeptly had the fire contained but roaring and stirring nostalgic youth camp days. Though there were no songs and limericks (we forgot to steer Luke, the South Dakota guitar-strumming hunk from A village to the camp fire area), but the jokes, humorous catty remarks, quick comebacks and general banter got everyone entertained. Kent of Wisconsin and Jerry were the masters of the entertaining exchanges. The banters were occasionally interrupted by the search for the big dipper in the brilliant firmaments by a host of amateur astronomers. I doubt if that was ever found since we lost our orientation and could not agree which way was actually north.

Even if we could not find the big dipper at nighttime, we figured we could scope around to identify the other villages that were not within sight from our village. Heading to what turned out to be D and C villages we first came upon the craft cabin where we met some nice Michigan bears spread-eagled on air mattresses in their birthday suite and chatting away without a care in the world. That was the apex of relaxation especially as the cross ventilation in the cabin gently caressed the chest and stomach hair that crisscrossed Tim’s torso. My buddy’s pores oozed with desire even when our hosts were merely explaining the layout of the cabin to us. The cabin doubled as craft room for a scheduled body painting as well as the ideal group cabin for those that needed electricity to operate their C-Paps, which was a testament to the organizers’ catering to various special needs of fellow bears. Later in the day, the creative talent of bears was let loose as the body painting especially concentrated below the waistline. I had never seen such colorful dicks, balls, ass cheeks and all.

Milling around the camp and wondering through the villages, an "obligatory" and popular trip was a stop over at Lake Clayton beach for sunning and bathing and more sunning and bathing. As Don so ably describes, ‘holes’ were not barred to receive the full measure of tanning that most of the bears needed. All kinds of water sports, not the kinky variety was at play. My other buddies Bill and Rdell from Wisconsin rowed peacefully in the far recesses of the lake in their canoe portaged hundreds of miles to the camp. The picturesque image of these two lovebirds in the distance was a perfect postcard if the moments they sailed could be transmogrified into a glossy paper. In fact, several Kodak moments abound in that lake as was the case when another set of lovebirds, two burly masculine papa bears were coasting on their individual floats yet entwined in a non-coital but passionate pose that they could each only paddle with one hand on either side of the float. It was better seen than described.

What was not quite kosher was a couple of bears that trained their camcorders on bathers as though they were recording a documentary. I don’t think anyone had anything to hide but it was just distracting and annoying.

Water sports were not restricted to the lake. Relaxing back at the cabins after the frolicking at the beach, the water-gun squad led by Logan of MN, Steve of North Dakota and their loose canon band of jovially renegade bears added spice to the atmosphere with their fully charged water-guns used to bathe the unsuspecting but willing accomplice. When the battalion arrived the wide grassy courtyard of A village, Pete and I were engrossed in the intellectual queering of the bear movement and mental review of some books about male intimacy but Mark who just moved away from us unquestioningly accepted a squirt gun tossed at him. That initiated the salvo of watery "bullets" that pretty much washed him out. His puny effort to fire back could not douse the staccato of jet streams from the determined roving bears whose pulsating pecs and hanging firm bellies were already dripping wet. Pete and I prayed they would not direct their muzzles at us and they never did.

Biker bears like the handsome threesome staying in the guest house adjacent to the A village, who wanted more fun outside the immediate village environment, in teams or solos biked through the vast park passing along the way the animal bear inhabitants of the park. Some had hairy moments on chance encounters until they realized that the bears did not care they were in sight. There was absolutely no report of injury or harm to anyone throughout our stay

Now you see why Bear camp is fun ten times over. The camaraderie was infectious. The planning was not only perfect but also perfectly executed. I had so much fun. Meanwhile, I am counting down the days to fall camp at Stillwater State Park near Rochester, MN. I plan on being there with my horsetail whip and all. And you thought black folk don’t like cold. I do, I know Dennis does. We just may have to work on Shannon who came to the Bear camp from San Francisco.