Cub Scout

A long-awaited bear encounter.

In the several years since I’d moved to Montana and started walking in the woods, the only bear I’d seen was fleeing from the Bozeman police, crossing 11th on Koch. But I’d listened to plenty of other people recount their encounters, my envy mixing with a twinge of disappointment for not having shared the experience. Still, I knew it was only a matter of time and miles until I came face-to-snout with a bruin. I had just never been in the “right” place at the “right” time. And given the nature of my wanderings, I knew that a meeting would likely be up-close and personal.

One day in late May, I found myself camped in the foothills of the Tobacco Roots, in a spot where I had long been captivated by a nearby rock formation. This particularly large granite formation jutted from the valley floor on private land. I had a plan to follow a ridgeline, avoiding the open ground—I’d arrive at them unseen & unbeknownst, and leave without trace. Armed with pseudonyms, my bear hat, and a can of pepper spray, I set off.

I picked my way up the ridge, climbing every outcropping I came across. As I descended from a a knob near the top, I froze at the sound of a breaking branch. In front of me stood a grizzly cub, a little smaller than me, and unmistakable. It had the most stunning outline, as it stood in front of the old trees caked in thick, lime-green moss. Its coat was as dark and rich as a melting peanut-butter cup, its muzzle the exposed peanut butter. I needed to act. I didn’t know where Mom was. Did she know where I was? My gut told me, as I pulled my bear spray, that the safest spot to be was anywhere except for where I was standing.

Turning back toward the outcropping—my only escape route—I stole one last glance at the bear. My heart was pounding as I walked away. It is not advised to turn your back to a bear, but blindly navigating backward over the rocks would’ve been worse. Reaching the “safety” of the rocks, I grasped for higher holds, drowning in adrenaline and mixed emotions.

At the summit, I finally turned to face the trees, my senses straining. I willed myself to calm down, part of me wishing I had been braver, that I had been able to stand in that “right” spot longer, and another part knowing I had done the right thing. Regardless, I would no longer have to envy my friends when they told tales of up-close-and-personal bear encounters. I now had my very own to recount.