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Ed Jasper was a man’s man.  If there was ever any doubt about the matter, Ed was the first one to clarify the fact.  Fort Stockton has no shortage of men who take bravado to an art form, but Ed stood out even amongst that distinguished group.  He was famous for having a couple too many in the Lucky Lady and spouting off, “I got 50 pounds of swingin’ meat.  Balls like mayonnaise jars, and hair on my ass like shag carpet.”  

No one was ever of a mind to confirm those claims, although Trixie was quick to note that the Piggly Wiggly carried a variety of sizes of mayonnaise, and shag carpet doesn’t look all that good in a mobile home, it certainly wouldn’t be something to be proud of on one’s ass.  But times were different back in the late 60s and most folks just took Ed and his claims with a grain of salt.  They did, however, sit up and take notice when Ed went to Cactus Chev-OLDS and bought himself a brand new 1968 Chevrolet C20 CST Custom Camper pickup truck.

Then, when he drove back to town with a 1966 Del Rey Sky Lounge Camper installed in the bed of his new truck, there was quite a bit of chit chat around the nail bin over at the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store.  Seems that Ed got a deal on the camper from a former brother-in-law over in Fort Davis who needed the cash to pay off an attorney due to a pickle he’d found himself in.  And by pickle, I mean an underage girl working at the Taco King he’d taken a shine too over in Alpine.  “The fact that she could suck a bowling ball through 40 feet of garden hose does not negate the fact that she was only 16,” his attorney chided him.  He was able to plea bargain the case down to seven years probation, 500 hours of community service, and a healthy cash settlement for the girl’s  father who had to approve the settlement.

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A judgement as favorable as that does not come cheap.  The Del Ray Sky Lounge Camper was one of the first assets to be sold off.  His cousin’s loss was Ed’s gain.  He no more had the Sky Lounge mounted in the new Golden Anniversary Chevy C20 pickup than he was over at the Western Auto picking out a new Winchester .308 rifle.  “I’m headin’ to Alaska.  Gonna kill me the biggest damn bear I can find.  Might even have the sumbitch mounted and put it on display right here in the Lucky Lady,” he proclaimed the night before he headed out to the Great White North.

The wood paneled cabin of the Sky Lounge was loaded with enough supplies to give the heavy duty suspension a run for its money.  Cases of Lone Star Longnecks were stacked everywhere, stacks of PLAYBOY magazines were in every nook and cranny, and the cabinets were filled up with beef jerky, Van Camp Pork & Beans, and small cans of Vienna sausages that Ed would snack on throughout the day.  Folks along the way thought Ed always had a cigar in his mouth, but it was actually one Vienna sausage after another sticking out the corner of his pie-hole, spittle and sausage gelatin running down his chin like a small disgusting river cascading over his neck and on to the blue collar of his soiled shirt.

Once in Alaska, camp was set up in a picturesque location beside a lake.  Ed would grab a fistful of Longnecks, a fresh can of sausages, a PLAYBOY that he hadn’t enjoyed in a while and head up topside, taking in the view of the snow capped mountains and Miss November.  Being in the middle of the wilderness, if one thing led to another, there was no one around to keep nature from taking its course.

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Early on the morning of the third week, about 400 yards from the Sky Lounge, is when he had the encounter that would change Ed for the rest of his life.  In the distance, maybe 50 yards deeper into the forest, Ed spotted a brown bear.  It was just the trophy he’d been waiting for.  Laying perfectly still, sighting in the scope on his Winchester, and holding his breath as to not make a sound, Ed squeezed one off.  Not like he’d squeezed one off on the deck of the Sky Lounge so many times before. No, this was a perfect shot that took the brown bear down instantly.  The bear was dead before his head ever hit the ground.

Ed was up and running towards the kill.  Nearly out of breath by the time he reached the dead animal, he was admiring the size and beauty of the bear and never even heard what was behind him.  A black bear, half again as big as the brown bear, towered over Ed, tapping him on the shoulder.  Ed turned around, shocked at the sight in front of him.

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“You’ve made a mistake here, friend.”  The black bear said.  “A mighty big mistake.  You see, this brown bear you’ve shot and killed is my cousin.  I cannot abide what you have done, and must exact my pound of flesh.”  Ed looked pretty worried.  “I’m going to give you two options and let you decide your own fate, a privilege you did not extend to my cousin.  I can either maul you to death right here, right now.  Or, I can bend you over that tree stump over there and I will have my way with you in the roughest way you can imagine.  It won’t kill you, but you might wish it had.”

Ed, mulling over the two options never really even contemplated that he was having a conversation with a bear.  It didn’t take him long to choose Option B, at least getting out of the Alaskan wild alive. What followed cannot be adequately described without verbiage that would haunt the reader, or using images only found on the dark web.  But it is safe to say that the interior of the Chevy truck did not look nearly as pristine going home as it does in the current pictures.  Ed threw away the PLAYBOYs at a rest stop outside Spokane.

Back in Fort Stockton, several months went by.  He never mentioned a word of what happened in Alaska to anyone.  Kept pretty much to himself.  But he almost immediately began planning the next trip to Alaska the next fall, where he vowed to track down the black bear that had defiled him and kill it.

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Late that September, without even saying goodbye to anyone in town, Ed made the trip north again.  Stopping only to sleep at rest areas or eat something out of a can, he was in Alaska in only a few days.  Back at the same campsite, all he wanted was to track the black bear and seek his revenge.  Only three days in, not too far from where he’d shot the brown bear a year before, he saw the black bear lumbering down the trunk of a tree where he’d apparently been sleeping.

Ed lined up his scope.  He adjusted for wind speed.  He relived the experience he’d had with the black bear that made his blood boil.  He squeezed off one round from the Winchester .308 and dropped the black bear instantly.  He felt relief, like a score had been settled.  He walked over to the dead black bear, not even sure how he’d get it back to the Sky Lounge, much less drag it all the way to the deck on top for the trip back to Texas.

Standing over the beast, he felt a tap on his shoulder.  He looked up.  It was the biggest grizzly bear he’d ever seen.  “That bear was my cousin,” the grizzly said.  “You’ve got two choices.  I maul you to death right here right now, or I take you to that stump over there for the roughest sex you’ve ever experienced.”

Afterwards, Ed crawled back to the Chevy pickup on his belly, mangled and bleeding, his clothing torn to shreds.  He made his way into the camper and did the best he could to tend to his wounds.  He stayed in the Sky Lounge for days, till he had the strength to crawl into the cab and make his way back home to Texas.  It took him weeks to make it back to Fort Stockton, having to stop every 50 miles or so because he could not sit for any longer than that.

Back home, nobody ever saw Ed.  They’d see the gold and white Chevy truck parked at the Piggly Wiggly, or getting gas over at the ESSO station.  But Ed was like a ghost.  The whole time, he was planning the next trip to Alaska.  It took two years before he was physically well enough to head north again.  It took that long for him to be able to eat solid foods. More determined than ever, he made the trip all the way up the west coast in about a week.  He had the determination of a man who’d been wronged in every way a man can be.

At the campsite, he enjoyed several Longnecks and the view day after day.  It was as though this was going to be a celebration, almost a rebirth.  A way to take his life back.  Reclaiming his soul, in a way.  A week after arriving, he took the Winchester into the forest, lay in the ground, and waited.  On the third day of lying in the ground, buried in leaves, nearly freezing at night, the grizzly wandered right past Ed, no more than 30 yards in front of him.  Ed made a slight noise, purposely getting the grizzly’s attention.  He wanted the bear to know what was about to happen.  Looking into each other’s eyes, Ed pulled the trigger and dropped the grizzly in its tracks, putting one right between his eyes.

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The sense of satisfaction that came over Ed was almost euphoric. He was elated as he stood upright for the first time in three days.  That’s when he felt a tap on his shoulder.  Behind home was the tallest, meanest, angriest polar bear he’d ever seen.

“You really don’t come up here for the hunt anymore, do you Ed?” the polar bear said.

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