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Most
bear-safety literature advises against scaring grizzlies. When
hiking in grizzly country, apparently, it is a good idea to wear
a bear bell—a jangly bell that announces your presence to all
bears within earshot. Bears, like humans, do not like to be
around people who wear bells. If you do not have a bell, the
literature instructs you to talk loudly to ensure that you do
not turn a corner and frighten a bear. Frightened bears tend to
maul.
We went for
a short hike in grizzly territory and took this advice to
heart. We had no bear bells, so we opted for the loud talk. It
was tough because we’d just spent hundreds of hours together in
the car and looked forward to a quiet walk in the woods, instead
of more questions along the lines of, “Ok. So name your five
favorite non-Russian ice dancers,” and “Who is a more viable
recording artist, Neil Finn or Sinead O’Connor?” These sorts of
questions are best discussed in the privacy of one’s car.
Speaking of
cars, the bear-safety literature is a little fuzzy when it comes
to describing a sufficient cleaning regimen for your car. It’s
a bad idea to leave food in your car, even hidden under the
seats, because bears have a powerful sense of smell. According
to several sources, though, the trunk can be an acceptable
location, as long as your car isn’t in a remote spot and the
food in your trunk isn’t raw salmon.
I needed
specific information, however. I needed to know whether spilled
Peach Snapple on the armrest required a prompt auto detail. Was
the bear going to smell that artificial peach-scented corn syrup
and tear into the upholstery? Was wiping out the cup holder
with a towel acceptable, or did I need to use a Handi-Wipe?
Moreover, is it bad to drop a fat-free fig bar in an
impossible-to-reach crack between the seats? Can bears smell
the difference between a Fig Newton and a Nature’s Health
Organic Non-Fat Fig Bar? I knew I didn’t have to worry about
bears wanting an organic fig bar, but the last thing I wanted to
do was vacuum fur out of the passenger’s seat and wipe down
ursine drool from the dash, just because a bear thought he was
getting a real Fig Newton.
A park in
northern Montana gives visitors a chance to test the bear-proofedness
of their cars before entering grizzly country. We came across a
log fence enclosure that billed itself as a bear safari,
allowing visitors to drive amongst the grizzlies that were
locked in the compound. We came to Montana for its expansive
wilderness. This vision of ecotourism was not compatible with
their tagline: “Your car is your cage.” Also, I didn’t feel
that our Accord was up to the challenge. Incidentally, some
friends told us that the safari had to close due to problems
with the bears escaping and hiding in the KOA campground that
abutted the log fence. This might be purely a rural legend but
it was easy to imagine.
From an
early age, I was fed stories of bears that rip off car doors
with their bare claws so that they can get at your
mango-flavored facial cream. However, I still wanted to see a
wild bear from a close, but safe, range. Therefore, I planned
to find a small gorge with a road on one side and a bear on the
other, just a little bit more than a paw swipe away.
With this in
mind, we drove at dusk along a remote dirt road in Yellowstone,
hoping to see a grizzly. The days of feeding bears at roadside
or watching them sift through refuse at the dump are over—those
bears sometimes ate people—but the guide books and rangers
implied that we could possibly see a bear if we passed through
their habitat at twilight. I wasn’t sure if I should hope to
see a bear at a safe—but probably distant—range or snap close-up
photos as one sniffed our picnic dinner.
Halfway
along our route, we suspected that we were not in bear habitat
after all. We drove over rolling hills and a quaint narrow
valley—which I half expected (and feared) would funnel bears
directly into our path—but saw nothing more than a bird or two.
Disappointed
at the dearth of bears, we stopped at the crest of a hill so I
could scan the valley with binoculars. The twilight enhanced
the contrast between colors, making the landscape look
cinematic. As I stepped from the car, I was a wavy-haired Luke
Skywalker, leaving my land speeder to check for Tuscan Raiders.
Scanning the horizon with my scope, I anticipated danger.
Thankfully, the attack from below never came. I returned to the
car for a defiant draught of Peach Snapple and continued on the
bear-less road.
The next
evening we spent a couple of hours on another unsuccessful
grizzly stakeout. On our drive back home, we did see a black
bear snuffling at some wild flowers, eyeing either a grizzly or
large brown-furred black bear on the opposing riverbank. We
spent a good half an hour staring at them through binoculars,
trying to figure out if the brown bear was a grizzly or just a
big tease. A few more miles down the road, a mother black bear
and her cub hung out with about 30 people, who tried to get a
close-up of the cub.
Our next
stop after Yellowstone was Grand Teton National Park, directly
to the south. Prompted by a recent bear attack, the park’s
rangers were pushing the catchphrase, “A fed bear is a dead
bear.” A grizzled craving for Cliff Bars, animal cookies and
other snackables is a gateway to future antisocial activities,
such as mauling. Today’s “fed bear” is tomorrow’s delinquent
panhandler. Soon the bear moves on to auto break-ins, then
armed robbery, so to speak. Down the line, the bear becomes
Googly-Eyez Killah.
The park was
filled with pictures of a bear staring at the camera with the
caption, “This bear was destroyed because it ate human food.”
The one-two combination of catchy slogan and pre-execution
photos yields much better results than the “Please do not feed
the bears” signs of the past. Judging by the buzz around the
park, kids love the Fed/Dead mascot. Still, a couple of weeks
after we left Grand Teton, a grizzly attacked a mountain biker.
The biker escaped without serious injuries because a fellow
traveler emptied a can of mace into the bear’s face. (How
about, “A maced bear is a safe bear”?) It’s unknown at this
point whether this grizzly was a “fed bear,” but it was a
surprised bear. The man was not wearing a bell.
Our friend
Margôt had her own bear encounter not long before we visited her
in Evergreen, Colorado. A 300+ pound black bear climbed ten
feet up onto her balcony to get at the peanut butter left out
for the squirrels. With just a sliding glass door between her
and the bear, Margôt had a nasty shock and a splendid view. She
showed us the claw marks on the wall below, caused by repeated
attempts to scale the porch. Paw prints on the unhinged door
that the bear had used as a ramp mapped out the successful
route. This clearly was a “fed bear.” And a bear that risks a
nasty fall for a little gob of peanut butter is a bear that
warrants a thorough cleaning-out of all Snapple residue and fig
bars, Newton or otherwise.
Copyright Jeff Lewis, 2004. |
