It happened a couple of years ago, we were about twelve
miles in the woods, two or three from where we had parked the truck, trying to
find our way to a particular lake using old logging roads and snowmobile
trails. The three dogs were with us, Chara, the oldest German wirehaired
pointer trotting not far ahead, Colby, our youngster GWP staying maybe a
hundred yards ahead, and Bella, our crazy Vizsla bouncing around somewhere
between the two.
The dogs knew we weren’t hunting but hiking, so mostly they
stayed on the trail and only made occasional short forays into the trees.
After walking almost an
hour over a ridge on hot sunny logging roads, we had dropped down into a
valley, where a narrow snowmobile trail took off to the east through thick
hardwoods. The dense understory on both sides and abundant foliage overhead
made it feel like a tunnel.
Near a stream, Chara
trotted off to the left and stopped twenty feet from the path. I stopped too,
thinking grouse.
Bella noticed Chara standing
still and galloped in. Her usual routine was to bolt toward Chara but then to
circle around to pin the bird between the two of them. Instead, she stopped
almost beside Chara.
The two of them stared
into the woods, not in what I would call a bird dog’s point, but with heads
held high as if trying to see.
And then about thirty
feet beyond the dogs the bushes shook and something large moved. My first
thought was “deer”, because that is what it would have been back home. But I
didn’t see a deer and the critter only moved a few feet. What I did catch was a
glimpse of something dark, and then I lost sight of it among the moving undergrowth.
We could hear something
not far away moan like an infant. And then toenails scratched on bark. The two
dogs never moved. Our third dog, Colby, came trotting back and I stopped her
with a “whoa”.
I said, “This way
girls,” and the dogs agreeably turned so we could hurry on our way.
My best guess is a bear
with a young one. 
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