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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
Krazee-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.
Mr.
Lewis can be reached at jeff@babblog.com.
Copyright
Jeff Lewis, 2004 |
