"Hey, mom, why does it smell like urine out here?"

(the beginning of the camping trip)

We chalk it up to one too many off-the-porch urinators, and we unload the car into the two-bedroom cabin that my parents have rented for a week at Allegany State Park, nestled in The Middle of Nowhere, NY.

Allegany is truly a beautiful park. There are rolling hills, dense forests, lakes, and lots of wildlife. Raccoons, deer, skunks and porcupines, mostly. But this trip, the front gate was distributing "Bear Danger" literature. Only once over the past fifteen years has anyone in my extended family seen a bear in the park, but apparently something happened to warrant the "don't feed the bears" signs that cropped up this spring. We're amused, but not concerned.

After unloading the gear into our bedroom and saying hello to my parents' cats (one of them is diabetic and couldn't be left home alone, so both of them got to go on their first camping trip), we plant ourselves in folding camp chairs on the porch.

"Um, why does it smell like raw sewage?"

We're about 150 feet from the restrooms, which are actual restrooms with real plumbing and showers, but the wind is blowing in the other direction. It smells like an outhouse on a hot day. But there isn't an outhouse on the hill. We're confused, but continue to hang out on the porch and socialize with my aunt and cousins who drive over from their cabin about two miles away. Fart jokes are made.

Well into our conversation, the wind shifts again, bringing the smell of low tide to our driveway. My cousin suggests that something died nearby. We look under the cabin (well off the ground), don't see anything and hope the wind dies down.

Meanwhile, the folks down at the bathroom facility are catching a whiff too. Many postpone their venture into the building as it "smells like something died in there." Little do they realize that it's not actually emanating from the building. It's coming from across the street.

The next day, my uncle drives down to the park with my grandmother to visit for the day. She's outfitted in a matching aqua blue shorts and floral shirt ensemble, complete with white Keds. Adorable. We have lunch and are hanging out on the porch when the stench returns.

My brother decides he's had enough and is going up the hill to investigate. My grandmother decides to go with him. So the two of them wander up the hill, looking around for the source. The height difference alone (my brother is over 6', and my grandmother is about 5'2") makes this highly entertaining to the rest of us, who are yelling directives off the porch based upon the wind shifting.

Soon, we have a winner.

Bill and Numa stand over their find for a few moments, and then Bill calls back that there's a dead doe ten feet behind him. Oh, and there's a big pile of bear crap nearby.

They return to the porch, which rapidly becomes homebase for Operation: Is It Really Bear Crap? Discussions ensue to determine whether the color, texture and size of the supposed bear poo matches what our panel of experts thinks is appropriate for said poo. Binoculars are brought out to try to view the crap from the porch. While the crap is obscured by a fallen tree, the deer carcass is within view. The binoculars are passed around.

Dissatisfied with our field scientists' excrement analysis, we deploy a second team. This time, I lead the expedition. Accompanied by my grandmother.

Sleeve over my face, and not knowing exactly where it is, I trudge up the hill, trying not to step in whatever waste is on the ground.

We find it. I am not convinced it's from a bear. We return to the porch, where I share my scientific observations and inconclusions. There is some debate based upon our new findings. As the deer is relatively intact and has been dead for a few days, it's hard to say whether it died of natural causes or was attacked.

The panel decides to delay reporting on this evidence to park officials as it does not want to create panic or an attraction in our front yard. My brother is sent out once more to mark the crime scene with fluorescent pink plastic ribbon (yes, my parents had this with them). Panel experts determine that the best time to report the dead body would be during the week, after the weekenders leave and things are quiet.

I question this decision, especially as I load the car on Monday and keep wishing I had Vapo-Rub to put under my nostrils (ala the Silence of the Lambs autopsy scene).

The rest of the weekend brought close encounters with raccoons, deer, and even a brand-new baby deer. No further evidence of bears was seen.

Of course, there's still time. My parents are there until Thursday.