Post by: Sliverslinger on August 30, 2024, 09:44:09 AM
Brown Pantitis
For whatever cultural reason, we Americans are reluctant to discuss medical conditions. Well, except the elderly of course. Somehow after a lifetime of unique experiences and lessons learned, it is bodily ailments and upcoming operations that top the list of agenda items to discuss, but that is beside the point.
Generally speaking we keep very private about most matters of bodily function. Even in this shroud of secrecy, there is an illness small segments of the population experience that is never, ever to be spoken of, but exists nonetheless. Since every other shred of human decency is being obliterated in the current times, I feel it’s important to pull back the veil on this matter as well. Pantitis for short, or Sudden Onset Brown Pantitis syndrome as it is medically known is essentially a sudden and sometimes violent swelling of the posterior of the pants and is a real threat to certain segments of the population depending on their activities.
While Pantitis can happen to anyone who receives a sudden fright or burst of adrenaline, it is sportsmen and sportswomen who I suspect are at the highest risk for this condition. Take for example the deer hunter, sneaking all nimbly-bimbly down an overgrown trail, heart pounding with anticipation. The woods are still and silent and he or she knows with certainty that a 200” buck is just ahead. Unbeknownst to the hunter is another equal parts maniacal and stupid forest animal just waiting for the right moment. As the hunter eases forward it quietly waits for the precise opportunity and when the hunter is within a few feet, the thunder chicken of the forest takes advantage, bursting from its hiding place with the sound of feathery machine gun fire and chuckles of amusement as it flies off to reset and begin the game again. Why, just last week I would have set a new NFL combine record for vertical leap under the tutelage of the forest grouse. If you have ever experienced this, you yourself might have been at risk of Pantitis. To be fair, you were also at perhaps an even higher risk of cardiac arrest or sudden onset Tourettes and I have experienced those myself in that situation, but those conditions are for another story. See your doctor if you experience any of those symptoms.
I can think of all sorts of situations that have put me at risk of Brown Pantitis over the course of my outdoor career. Rattlesnakes that have slithered under my boot right at the moment of stepping, back to front capsizing of boat over a bar, banging my head into an unseen bald faced hornet’s nest, the mouse that ran across my face while sleeping in the backcountry, the bull elk that bugled directly into my face from 5 yards away, the black widow nest I discovered in the wooden outhouse at the exact moment I was too indisposed to flee - technically not at risk of Pantitis which requires the presence of pants, but the symptoms were the same. More stories than I can recall have put me at risk of Sudden Onset Brown Pantitis syndrome over the years, but perhaps none moreso than the story of the bear from a few days ago.
In the first couple days of the season I had hunted the far corners of the state, somehow surviving Satan’s inferno when someone left the front gates of hell unlocked and the wind blew them open and blasted hellfire up onto the mountainside I was unlucky enough to be standing on. After realizing my limitations to solo pack a bear out in those conditions, I begrudgingly made my way home back through the back gate of hell, also known as as I-5 SB through Seattle on a Friday evening. I hunted morning and evening of Saturday and tended to homefront business Sunday morning before heading to the lake with the family. I was sore, tired, and perplexed over the lack of berries and bear sign I had found. I knew where they must be, but I didn’t want to go there. Still, Sunday afternoon I left the lake and went straight to a gate where I saddled up on my trusty rusty bike and began pedaling in. The destination I know simply as the swamp, a place of brush thicker than cooked pancake batter and utterly devoid of decency.
After pedaling in to the point of my muscles voting to unionize and strike, I began pushing my bike up the hill the rest of the way, a mostly unsuccessful compromise to their demands. Finally, I put the bike down and began hiking down the somewhat overgrown cat road that ran parallel with the swamp and pondy bottom about 50 yards up the hill. I have never hiked a straighter cat road, or had a more consistent wind gently blowing in my face from my 12 o’clock. I tipped toed slowly down the old grade for 1/3 of a mile, with perhaps a bit more tipping than toeing due to my 6’4 and well insulated frame not fully understanding the need for silence. After coming to a small opening where I could look down into the 5’ tall canary grass I paused for several minutes. Peculiarly, a large branch breaking broke the silence on the far side of the swamp, then more silence. The wind was mild and I made a mental note that the odds were slim a rotten branch had fallen off a tree at that exact moment. My gut said something was over there, but I had no lane or ability to see. I turned to continue on, thinking if I found nothing else I might return. Once again the silence was broken by a deer blowing and followed by my pansy self returning to earth with a thump. Not just once or twice, but incessantly. It was up ahead of me and I knew there was absolutely no way it knew I was there from smell, but it clearly thought something was. Soon another deer from the other side of the creek and then a third joined in coordinating their own 2024 blowfest (not to be confused with a 1980s blowfest).
I continued on as they huffed and puffed for 10 straight minutes and I wondered what the heck was going on. After another 300 yards of stopping and listening I eventually heard another large limb breaking and then some more from back where I’d come from, but closer this time. The deer triad continued their protests and I began to strongly suspect a bear was doing bear things in the creek bottom causing them to be concerned. I turned around and walked as quickly and quietly as possible back to where I’d come from to avoid the bear crossing my wind without me seeing it.
When I arrived near where I’d first heard the sounds, all was mostly silent. Occasionally I would hear a small twig snap or the slightest rustle of grass and brush about 40 yards down the hill from me and on my side of the swamp this time. The problem was my visibility was about 12 yards. I kept my eyes glued down the hill as I scooted further down the old grade looking for a sight lane, taking great care to not bother avoiding the one large branch laying across the trail. The resulting loud snap created a moment of total silence and I strained to listen as hard as I could. A second later the air was broken by the deepest, loudest, closest, guttural roar of rage I have ever heard and yes, I was a kid who held the flashlight for my dad while he worked on the family station wagon. I really mean, I have never heard a sound like that before.
Cue the very high risk for Sudden Onset Brown Pantitis. A quick self assessment revealed I was OK for the moment and had a well thought out mitigation strategy, as I had worn solid brown pants, so no matter what the future held any private medical condition was covered. I won’t take all the credit for such ingenuity in planning, but I suspect this is actually the reason the hunting industry has moved towards solid pants as of late, but I digress.
Things went from 0-60 in a quick second and my ears painted the scene as I could hear the angry pounding of pads on the ground and brush being thrashed around as the bear started demonstrably moving up the hill towards me, before pausing and turning right back down. I couldn’t see it, but it clearly had turned around, and the next sound was that of a giant splash. For the next couple minutes the bear violently splashed water, broke sticks, woofed, and thrashed brush, all within 40 yards or so of me. Every 15-20 seconds it paused for a few seconds and then resumed. I have never heard anything like this, but it was clear there was unmitigated rage and maybe a little trepidation. Finally it hit me. The bear had been hearing the deer blow and blow, heard my breaking limbs on the trail, and then heard me coming towards it, all without any hint of scent. I realized that it had to be thinking I was another bear and was trying to intimidate me into leaving. It was pausing to listen to hear if I had moved off or not, but I was frozen in place. I knew instantly what would happen next. It would either come to fight me off or flee, but if it came, it would circle downwind. The next set of thrashing and breaking brush and I moved quickly down wind another 10 yards and froze when the bear froze. This happened 2-3 more times and I was now at least 30-40 yard downwind of where the bear thought I still was.
Then it happened and the decision was clear. Bruce Buffer had sounded off, the ring was clear, and it was time to get it on in the bear’s mind. I had eased to where I could see down the steep hill. The sword ferns, salal and huck brush was 3-4 feet tall or more and there was a small fold in the hillside where I could see directly in front of me and 40ish yards down, but not the dead space in between. I could hear the huffing, the little woofs with each step, and the brush breaking as the bear walked directly towards me. Finally I saw the brush tops rustling and swaying in a straight line that would soon end directly in my lap. The rifle was shouldered, safety off, and I was following the slowly moving brush as it got closer and closer through my reticle. My heart was jackhammering its way out of my sternum, but the crosshairs were remarkably stable as a coal black nose, drool dripping mouth, and a shiny eye parted the ferns directly in front of me looking to its right towards where I had been. “Whatever you do, do not miss!” was my only thought, which seemed doable considering 85% of my scope was the bear’s head held low to the ground. My crosshair reticle settled right on its left eye, but I hesitated not wanting to destroy the skull. The bear took one more step swinging its head back to the left and clearing the bushes before facing me directly head on, lifting its nose high to sniff the wind from directly down below me and still oblivious to my new location. My reticle found the bears Adam’s apple and my finger found the trigger. I didn’t hear the shot or feel the recoil of the 300WSM, but I saw the bear fall like a trap door had sprung out from underneath, collapsing on its own legs. Not so much as a twitch and I didn’t even think to reload for several seconds. It was so close a good hawk-tuah down the hill and I could have spit on that thang.
I tried to take out my phone to tell the story as a video, but I started shaking so badly I could hardly hold it. 10 minutes of building adrenaline broke the dam and I realized I needed to sit down right now. I sat there visually and audibly replaying what had just happened and trying to make sense of the whole thing. I have almost never seen a bear doing anything except running away at the first sign of danger. I’ve had a bear woof at me before and clack teeth, but never heard a bear make the crazy guttural roar. All I kept doing was chuckling and thinking, “good thing I’m wearing brown pants, a couple more steps and I would have needed them.”
I checked for chest rise about ten times before taking the few steps to the bear where I checked it for any signs of return to life at least 10 more times. The realization hit me it was going to be a long night. While I was standing over the bear I pulled my range finder out and ranged the tree I’d been standing beside - it was 11 yards up the hill. I called and texted some buddies the good news and told the brief version of the story, still incredulous. It was a good, average sized bear, but not an XL. 4 hours later I set the second load on the truck and headed for home, still trying to figure out what kind of buzz berries the dry (100% confirmed dry) old sow had been smoking to act like it was that big and tough. When I got home I taped the cape at 5’9” nose to tail tip ( I never know if it’s tail tip or base) and the meat and hide I’d packed out weighed in combined at a few ounces shy of 170 lbs. I really don’t know what the live weight was but I’d guess 185-200lbs
After a cooler malfunction and other issues, I ended up with well over a gallon of rendered bear oil, a bunch of roasts (think street tacos!) and a good amount of burger. Best of all, I managed to closely avoid a severe case of Sudden Onset Brown Pantitis syndrome, but the experience allowed me the platform to bring awareness to this often undiscussed condition. While you may not be able to control the circumstances that may result in a bout with Pantitis, may I humbly suggest you get yourself some brown pants just in case, you just never know.
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