Griz in My Biz
Bear encounters in the heart of Yellowstone.
A few summers back, a friend and I planned our second annual backpacking trip, and it was a big one. Six days and five nights in some of the most heavily populated grizzly-bear country in the West: Yellowstone Park. As a relatively novice backpacker, I was nervous—and rightfully so. As it would soon turn out, the bears would be hungry, numerous, and very active.
The first day was uneventful, but on the approach to camp that evening, we saw more bear scat on the trail than I’d seen in my lifetime. With fading light, we pitched our tent, ate dinner, and secured our food and anything else with a scent—I even nixed body lotion. We were giggling in the tent when we heard several women nearby, shouting loudly: “Go bear! Go on bear! Get out of here!” They’re probably just going to poop, we thought, since it’s not unusual to hear people loudly announcing their presence as they walk a fraught 100 yards away from camp. But the yelling continued, and we soon realized that there was a bear in camp. We scrambled out of our tent and found a group of four women standing on the trail, yelling in the direction of a brown hump a stone’s throw away. The bruin was intently digging glacier-lily bulbs, ignoring the ladies’ shouts. It was parked between the women and their tents, and they weren’t about to walk past it. The bear must have also sauntered just a few feet from our tent, and we hadn’t even heard him!
We were giggling in the tent when we heard several women nearby, shouting loudly: 'Go bear! Go on bear! Get out of here!'
Our hearts were pounding, and fear was mounting. We were trying not to spiral, as the women continued their attempts to get the bear to move on, but to no avail (we later learned they were seasoned backcountry campers, in the Park to study mountain goats). Despite their yelling, they assured us there was nothing to worry about: “Just go ahead and go to sleep, you’ll be fine. The bear doesn’t care about you.” Yeah, okay… not a chance!
After about 20 minutes, the bear stood up on his hind legs to check us out. HE. WAS. HUGE. His head was the size of a car tire. I suggested we walk to a nearby lake to give him some space, and maybe he’d wander away. Soon, there we were, standing at the lake, watching the fish jump, waiting for a giant boar grizzly to walk past us and leave camp. How am I supposed to sleep tonight? was the only thing I could think.
Mr. Giant-Ass Grizzly left shortly after, finally allowing us access back into camp. And no—I did not sleep well at all. Every cracking twig became an approaching bear, and I looked outside the tent numerous times, pointing my bear spray at anything that moved. My own hiking partner was probably praying for a bear to take me, so she could get some damn sleep of her own.
With just a few miles to go, we spotted another grizzly on a nearby hillside. It was playing with something large, light-colored, and fuzzy—throwing it into the air and chasing it.
The remaining nights went without incident, and we were feeling less traumatized as we spent our last day hiking out. But with just a few miles to go, we spotted another grizzly on a nearby hillside. It was playing with something large, light-colored, and fuzzy—throwing it into the air and chasing it. We knew our paths would cross, but we were tired and exhausted, so we foolishly decided to proceed, making a ton of noise so the bear would hear us approaching. As our luck would have it, though, we came around a bend and there was Mr. Juvenile Grizzly, sauntering up the trail toward us. We started yelling at the bear to turn around, which he did. We waited maybe five minutes, then continued down the trail, going slowly to give the bear space. But it clearly wasn’t enough. Less than ten minutes later, we came around a blind turn and there he was! Just sitting in the grass beside the trail, with a fuzzy blonde mohawk on his neck and upper back. Again, we decided to continue walking, and we crept slowly past him, with our bear spray at the ready, yelling at him to stay put. He was unbothered, looking at us quizzically. Once we were past, however, he stood up and began following us. We turned and yelled at the beast, and he obligingly went the other direction… phew! We later reported the incident to a ranger, who scolded us for not turning around.
Once returning home, it took some time for my nerves to calm down. During the trip, when I felt a bear attack was imminent, I swore I would never backpack in griz country again. But slowly, my brain purged the fear and panic I felt, replacing it with confidence that my close encounters better prepared me for the next trip, and nostalgia for the most beautiful, unspoiled, and wild country I have ever seen in my life.
