Shake hands with Randy Cross and you might not notice the battle wounds, a byproduct of his line of work.

The scars – a series of half-inch-long red welts, as well as a few deeper, older, angrier fissures – were all carved into the flesh on his hands and wrists by Maine black bears.

Little bears: Little wounds.

Bigger bears … you do the math.

“This one came from a 34-pound yearling,” says Cross, a biologist with the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife’s mammal group. He points at a 6-inch furrow that deserved stitches … except for one thing.

“I was in the field,” he says. “I had to keep working.”

For Cross, “in the field” means he’s out in the woods, tracking down and checking on each of the bears the state has outfitted with radio telemetry collars.

Those bears – the ones Cross says are “on the air” – provide a valuable research tool for the state’s biologists. Cross and other state employees snowshoe into a number of dens during the winter, interrupt a documented sow and her cubs, and find out how Mother Nature’s treating them.

Much of the time, Cross takes visitors from the media with him. The allure, of course, is simple.

Bears are pretty cool.

And baby bears?

“All little animals are cute,” Cross says with a smile. “I figure baby bears are as cute as they come.”

Photo opportunities abound. And if Cross gets a chance to share a bit of information about a misunderstood creature like the black bear, he’s happy

On Thursday, Cross led another small group into the woods of LaGrange as part of the state’s long-term monitoring project.

Since 1975, the state has put almost 2,000 bears “on the air,” and continues to check up on them from time to time.

Therefore, it’s important to get out there, strap on the snowshoes, and find out where the bear you-know-whats in the woods.

Sometimes, these fact-finding missions are pretty routine. Other times, they get a bit more interesting.

Just ask Gina Montemerlo. Montemerlo, a graduate of Unity College, has held a number of wildlife-oriented jobs across the nation. This winter, she’s working as a field assistant, along with Kendall Marden, under Cross’ tutelage.

In the woods, everything has a nickname, Cross points out. Even a common ax is called “Big Hammer.” While trekking through the woods, Montemerlo is called “Sky.”

When the location of a bear’s den is pinpointed, she becomes “Mole.”

As in, “Where’s Mole?”

The answer, of course, is simple: She’s in the hole.

As the smallest of the three, Montemerlo often draws the task of crawling into the den with a flashlight and a pole with a syringe attached, and subduing a territorial momma bear.

On Thursday, the holes were bigger, and Marden went in.

Cross – scars and all – waits topside, and tries to corral any scampering bears.

Apparently, that’s one of the benefits you receive after 21 years in the bear science field: You get to choose who crawls into the hole. And it doesn’t have to be you.

Cross said the “Mole” job is pretty hairy at first.

Montemerlo says her boss is right.

“This is my 16th den,” says the lean self-described “city girl” from Connecticut.

The first was the worst, she says.

“I was scared,” she says. “I was shaking. But I think it was all past fears. You always hear a lot of negative things about bears and to be scared of them.”

Montemerlo isn’t frightened any more. And on Monday, “Mole” ended up crawling into a pretty luxurious den.

“It was just like a little hobbit house,” she says.

Cross has heard plenty of stories about bears. He discounts most of them as myth.

Among the misconceptions: Bears slumber all winter long and are unaware of what’s going on outside their dens (Cross says any man-made, unnatural noise will quickly rouse a bear); and bears stink (“If you put your nose down in their fur, they smell slightly sweet,” Cross says … after independent research, I concur).

And danger? Well, Cross has something to say there, too.

“[Crawling into a den is] not nearly as dangerous as it appears,” Cross says, remembering the humor of a longtime DIF&W employee who trained him 21 years ago.

“[My boss] said, ‘They’re not classified as a carnivore, but it’s not readily apparent when you’re right up close, is it?'” Cross says, before adding the punch line. “Of course, they are considered carnivores.”

But they don’t want to hurt humans. They don’t even want to see humans.

In the den, Cross says, that becomes apparent. Bears may swing their paws, and may make blowing and jaw-popping noises. What they won’t do, he says, is attack.

“To them, we’re the scariest creature on earth,” Cross says. “We’re like the one-eyed purple people-eaters. That’s how they see us. Though they could come out of that den and put a big hurt on all of us quick, they still don’t do it. It’s almost as if they don’t know.”

Cubs stay with their mothers for two winters, and Cross’ visits to the dens holding mothers and yearling bears have provided some excitement over the years.

Mothers are tranquilized and later given an antidote. Babies – like the 4- or 5-pound, 2-month-olds Cross checked on Thursday – are left conscious, and get to play a bit. Yearlings also get a short, state-induced nap.

“You could put a saddle on a 50-pound yearling and ride him from here to Toledo,” says Cross, who has rounded up several such critters who escaped before receiving their injection.

And then there are the brand-new, 2-month-old cubs, like the two males Cross welcomed to the program on Thursday.

Picture teddy bears. Give them real fur, and real eyes, an ear-piercing yowl … and very, very sharp claws.

The mother, a 9-year-old, was born into the research project. Thus, her cubs joined the club.

“She got drafted,” Cross says. “She was born into the wrong family.”

After 21 years, Cross still gets a charge out of seeing and handling the baby bears.

“They’re cute, and their appeal doesn’t go away,” Cross says. “But the fascination for me with the project is the whole game. I like collecting data. I like following the bears throughout their lives.”

“It’s hard to believe, but I held their great-grandmother,” he says, gesturing at the cubs.

Another reminder (mostly because I don’t plan on fishing alone come June 29): The Eastern Maine Sportsman’s Show is scheduled for March 21-23, and if you stop by the Bangor Daily News booth, you’ll have the chance to join me in the aforementioned drift boat.

Here’s the deal. Keep an eye on this paper for the entry blank. Bring it by our table (and stop to visit for awhile). Cross your fingers.

That’s all there is to it.

One lucky winner will spend a whole day floating the East Outlet of the Kennebec with guide Dan Legere, owner of the Maine Guide Fly Shop in Greenville … and me.

I’d let you take your whole family with you, except for two small problems: First, drift boats don’t hold that many people, especially if one of them is me … and second, you haven’t seen me flail around with a fly rod.

A quick disclaimer: If you’re related to me (whether or not you choose to admit it) or if you work with me here at the NEWS, it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to win the trip.

Other than that, feel free to mark the show on your calendar and stop by for a visit.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.