My parents emigrated to Canada from Fiji in 1969. Shortly after they arrived, they made friends with a family that were kind enough to take us camping -- one of these early trips was to Killbear. On the first day there, both families, with the exception of my father went to the beach. On our return, Uncle Alex asked my father how his day was...my father replied that his day was fine except around noon 3 dogs wandered into camp and tried to get into our food...so he chased them away...Uncle Alex was a little puzzled but we set about making dinner followed by a campfire and marshmallows...after the fun was done, we all went to bed in the tent trailers...the dogs returned later that night and as my father began to exit the trailer, Uncle Alex grabbed him by the arm and said "Whoa Mal, those are bears not dogs !" My father, being from Fiji, had never seen bears before.
