Bear count is at 1, bald eagle at 2. I only saw the ass of the bear; at first I thought it was a fat woman crouching as she worked her way through some bushes in the most illogical black skirt. One of the bald eagles landed on the branch above my tent while campmate Mike Stanger and new friend Ryan and I were cooking some rippin' pasta. I was hoping it was some sort of nature blessing, though I began doubting when I woke up a couple mornings later to find a two foot long dead fish with a fat talon mark behind the left gill lying peacefully outside my tent. I took the shovel and flung that fucker as far as I could; no sense in attracting bears.
I'm working at the Fiddlehead, a cool little local restaurant that's been around for some 25 years and makes good veggie food along with the dead stuff. Oops, time's up.