Bear

When my stepfather prepared to vacation in the wilds of Alaska and possibly encounter bear, he packed a big gun. When I prepared to hike the backwoods of Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks, I packed a bear bell, bear spray and knife. We both encountered bears that summer and much like our preparation, our reactions were quite different.

My stepfather tells of the day he was fishing in the clear, cold Alaskan river famed for icy beauty and the salmon that apparently leap willingly to their death at the hands of fly fishing tourists. Standing in the swirling waters, wearing hip waders and all things Orvis, the men fished and swapped stories. Suddenly, breaking the calm of day, the bear crashed through the pristine woods. Within moments, the party of some twenty men vanished, save two. In one fluid motion, my stepfather grabbed his weapon and as he was moving into position to save his friend, the bear caught his eye. In an instant, the river stilled, the glint of steel came from blue eyes instead of cold barrel and the bear ran back into the pine woods as my stepfather calmly held his ground and his gun.

Many miles and cultures later in Montana, my friend and I traveled up a lonely, steep cliff. Nearing the top, my companion decided to sit out the remainder of the hike. I took the bear bell in one hand, the bear spray in the other, loosened the pocket containing the knife and headed on to my destination. At the top of the 6400 foot summit, the path opened onto a meadow blooming in a profusion of wildflowers. I was alone and the only sound was the wind whistling through the crevices of stone and rustling stray branches. Limber mountain grass swayed in natures’ dance and the sun assaulted my soul. Stepping forward to round the curve, I headed into my reward – a panoramic view of the valley below. I imagined the quilt of green and the sun’s reflection off the cool lake. I could sense the vastness of the horizon and the insignificance of my presence.

The growl was low. I stopped. Was it the wind? Paranoia? Hunger pains? I stepped forward. The growl was menacing and not imagined. My heart raced but no faster than my feet flying in retreat. I rang that bell and ran back down the path. For hundreds of feet down the mountain, I only heard the rings of the bell, my frantic heart beat and what were surely the sounds of my exploding lungs.

I thought of these different encounters as my stepfather again prepared for a return to Alaska with big gun in tow. A trip to the firing range and I held my first gun. My eyes automatically squeezed shut as the gun kicked back in my hands. I smelled gun powder and could almost hear the paper target flying in the air as bullets sprayed. Sweat ran down my face and escaped from my palms. I imagined bear.

Would I shoot - could I shoot? I simply didn’t want to run away. Bears emerge in colors beyond brown and in name beyond grizzly or black. For now, gaining confidence is my big gun and as I become more comfortable holding its power, I hope to at least stand my ground.