Bear Encounters
ENCOUNTER #1
A friend and I were on a seven-day hike in the backcountry of Yosemite. It was off-season, and we hadn't seen a soul as we hiked through Lyle Canyon. There were thousand-foot cliffs on either side of the valley, and ahead in the distance Mt. Donahue rose to over 13,000 feet.
A river meandered back and forth along our route, and we had made camp nestled in the U-shape of one of its turns. Our food was bear-bagged in a tree about 15 feet away. It was a beautiful night, and dispensing with tents, we had just climbed into our bags when we heard a crashing through the brush, much too loud for squirrels or rabbits.
We jumped up, threw more wood on our dying fire, and saw a mother bear and cub trying to get at our food. We banged our sierra cups, yelled... but the bear was intent, and our actions were ignored.
After maybe ten minutes, another bear emerged into view. This was a male, the biggest black bear I'd ever seen. It began fighting with the sow, presumably over the right to our food.
We were no longer making noise. By the light of what now was a bonfire, we watched from ten feet away as these two massive animals clawed and snarled. It seemed like hours, but in reality the sow and her cub were chased away in minutes.
Then the male bear turned its attention on us, growling, froth still on its muzzle, and walking errect took several steps in our direction. We just stood there, surrounded by uncrossable river on three sides, and a frothing ursus approaching from the fourth. I had a buck knife in my hand, which felt about as lethal as a paperclip.
After easily and thoroughly intimidating us, the bear focused his attention on our hanging food. Over the next two hours, he twice more growled and rose toward us on his hind feet. Eventually, lifetimes later, he broke the rope that was holding our food and left our camp with his prize.
ENCOUNTER #2
I was on a solo hike in the Sierras, traveling off-trail to preserve my solitude. I found a clearing big enough to pitch my tent, and then wandered about fifty yards through dense brush to find a tree suitable for bear bagging.
That night I was awakened by the sound of breaking branches, and correctly assumed that bear was trying to reach my food. I debated attempting to scare it off, but the thought of wandering through that thick brush at night gave me pause. Especially since I was off the beaten path. Besides, I was only 2 or 3 days from the nearest trailhead and that length of time would be a manageable fast.
A particularly loud crash told me my food had been liberated from the tree, and I heard the tearing of packaging and the chomping of goodies. But not content with its score, the bear then made its way to my backpack, propped about 10 feet from my tent.
At this point I decided to make a stand for my property, and began hurling quickly gathered rocks from the opening of my tent. Chalk up one for the homo sapien! The bear left, and when my adrenalin rush subsided, I fell back asleep.
In the morning, I began my foodless hike back to civilization.
ENCOUNTER#3
I used to manage the mental health services in the Railbelt Region of Alaska. To remove the stigma of "that new shrink in town," I also joined up with various local organizations. I was Vice-President of the Healy Lion's Club (roar, roar, roar), on the Fire Department Board, and served as a trauma technician for the ambulance service. It was in that latter capacity that I responded to a bear mauling early one morning. In the book, 'More Alaskan Bear Tales,' the victim of that mauling describes his encounter:
"I was a little startled, but not too concerned about being in danger. I've read quite a bit about bears and figured if I didn't react, the bear would move on. I relaxed, standing perfectly still. As I was glancing around, the brush exploded and I saw a ball of fur hurling towards me like it had been shot out of the bushes. I reached down and pulled out my revolver, a 3.57 Ruger single action. By thge time I drew and cocked my gun, the bear had practically reached the end of the barrel. I pulled the trigger, hitting the bear somewhere in the chest.
"Still the bear charged forward, grabbing me by the lower right leg as he ran by. He picked me up, swung me over his head and actually threw me like I was a feather pillow. I landed on a rock several feet away, barely hitting the ground before the bear was on top of me, chewing my upper right leg.
"Miraculously, I hadn't dropped my revolver and managed to get off another shot; but I was shaking so uncontrollably that I completely missed the bear. I struggled to cock the gun again, fired and hit the animal in the stomache, about a foot from my face. A huge hole opened up it s abdomen and blood poured from the wound, but the injury only angered the bear more. It grabbed me by the head, picked me up and shook. As I heard the bones in my face cracking, the bear dropped me. I fell on my back, staring up at the bear directly over me with its mouth open. The grizzly saw me move and came down for my head again. But as the bear lowered its head, I lifted my right arm, cocked the gun and jammed the pistol clear into its mouth. I pulled the trigger. The timing was perfect. When I fired that final shot, the pistol and my hands were in the bear's mouth.
"The bear shook its head and shuddered. It reared back and took a powerful swing at me with its paw. And, almost as if the bear knew what had caused the hurt, it tried to knock the gun out of the way, but I clasped it tightly with both hands. Then the bear straggled over the ridge and down into the brush."
When I arrived with the ambulance crew, thevictim was still conscious. His nose was mostly hole and cartilage, one eye dangled out of its socket, and his leg was bleeding severely. He lived, as can be surmised from his above narrative, but he looks different than he used to. We never found the bear.
A friend and I were on a seven-day hike in the backcountry of Yosemite. It was off-season, and we hadn't seen a soul as we hiked through Lyle Canyon. There were thousand-foot cliffs on either side of the valley, and ahead in the distance Mt. Donahue rose to over 13,000 feet.
A river meandered back and forth along our route, and we had made camp nestled in the U-shape of one of its turns. Our food was bear-bagged in a tree about 15 feet away. It was a beautiful night, and dispensing with tents, we had just climbed into our bags when we heard a crashing through the brush, much too loud for squirrels or rabbits.
We jumped up, threw more wood on our dying fire, and saw a mother bear and cub trying to get at our food. We banged our sierra cups, yelled... but the bear was intent, and our actions were ignored.
After maybe ten minutes, another bear emerged into view. This was a male, the biggest black bear I'd ever seen. It began fighting with the sow, presumably over the right to our food.
We were no longer making noise. By the light of what now was a bonfire, we watched from ten feet away as these two massive animals clawed and snarled. It seemed like hours, but in reality the sow and her cub were chased away in minutes.
Then the male bear turned its attention on us, growling, froth still on its muzzle, and walking errect took several steps in our direction. We just stood there, surrounded by uncrossable river on three sides, and a frothing ursus approaching from the fourth. I had a buck knife in my hand, which felt about as lethal as a paperclip.
After easily and thoroughly intimidating us, the bear focused his attention on our hanging food. Over the next two hours, he twice more growled and rose toward us on his hind feet. Eventually, lifetimes later, he broke the rope that was holding our food and left our camp with his prize.
ENCOUNTER #2
I was on a solo hike in the Sierras, traveling off-trail to preserve my solitude. I found a clearing big enough to pitch my tent, and then wandered about fifty yards through dense brush to find a tree suitable for bear bagging.
That night I was awakened by the sound of breaking branches, and correctly assumed that bear was trying to reach my food. I debated attempting to scare it off, but the thought of wandering through that thick brush at night gave me pause. Especially since I was off the beaten path. Besides, I was only 2 or 3 days from the nearest trailhead and that length of time would be a manageable fast.
A particularly loud crash told me my food had been liberated from the tree, and I heard the tearing of packaging and the chomping of goodies. But not content with its score, the bear then made its way to my backpack, propped about 10 feet from my tent.
At this point I decided to make a stand for my property, and began hurling quickly gathered rocks from the opening of my tent. Chalk up one for the homo sapien! The bear left, and when my adrenalin rush subsided, I fell back asleep.
In the morning, I began my foodless hike back to civilization.
ENCOUNTER#3
I used to manage the mental health services in the Railbelt Region of Alaska. To remove the stigma of "that new shrink in town," I also joined up with various local organizations. I was Vice-President of the Healy Lion's Club (roar, roar, roar), on the Fire Department Board, and served as a trauma technician for the ambulance service. It was in that latter capacity that I responded to a bear mauling early one morning. In the book, 'More Alaskan Bear Tales,' the victim of that mauling describes his encounter:
"I was a little startled, but not too concerned about being in danger. I've read quite a bit about bears and figured if I didn't react, the bear would move on. I relaxed, standing perfectly still. As I was glancing around, the brush exploded and I saw a ball of fur hurling towards me like it had been shot out of the bushes. I reached down and pulled out my revolver, a 3.57 Ruger single action. By thge time I drew and cocked my gun, the bear had practically reached the end of the barrel. I pulled the trigger, hitting the bear somewhere in the chest.
"Still the bear charged forward, grabbing me by the lower right leg as he ran by. He picked me up, swung me over his head and actually threw me like I was a feather pillow. I landed on a rock several feet away, barely hitting the ground before the bear was on top of me, chewing my upper right leg.
"Miraculously, I hadn't dropped my revolver and managed to get off another shot; but I was shaking so uncontrollably that I completely missed the bear. I struggled to cock the gun again, fired and hit the animal in the stomache, about a foot from my face. A huge hole opened up it s abdomen and blood poured from the wound, but the injury only angered the bear more. It grabbed me by the head, picked me up and shook. As I heard the bones in my face cracking, the bear dropped me. I fell on my back, staring up at the bear directly over me with its mouth open. The grizzly saw me move and came down for my head again. But as the bear lowered its head, I lifted my right arm, cocked the gun and jammed the pistol clear into its mouth. I pulled the trigger. The timing was perfect. When I fired that final shot, the pistol and my hands were in the bear's mouth.
"The bear shook its head and shuddered. It reared back and took a powerful swing at me with its paw. And, almost as if the bear knew what had caused the hurt, it tried to knock the gun out of the way, but I clasped it tightly with both hands. Then the bear straggled over the ridge and down into the brush."
When I arrived with the ambulance crew, thevictim was still conscious. His nose was mostly hole and cartilage, one eye dangled out of its socket, and his leg was bleeding severely. He lived, as can be surmised from his above narrative, but he looks different than he used to. We never found the bear.
