During the last summer of my stay in Dawson City, Yukon (1975-76), I accompanied Captain Dick Stevenson (for whom I worked as Riverboat Manager) on a bear-catching outing. A large brown bear had gotten into a campground directly across the Yukon River. The game warden had set up a trap—a baited cage on wheels—but the mechanism was not working when Stevenson and I arrived on the scene. Keeping an eye on the bear, we cut short pieces of rope from canoes tied atop cars; Dick spliced them together; and then, handing me his rifle, he climbed up on the back of the cage and tied one end to a trip lever. He took back his rifle, sat on the ground behind the contraption with the other end of the rope in hand, and motioned me back. When the bear again ambled inside for more meat, Dick stood up quickly and yanked. Down came the gate, and up when a cry from the crowd. I wrote the article shown here as a result and ended up working as a Newspaper Stringer for another publisher.