Do Animals Sense Beauty?

     This blog comes from a conversation with Landis Ehler and Tori Anderson, two of the Katmai National Park rangers I worked with this summer.  They had spent an amazing night watching the Northern Lights dance and shine over Brooks Camp, while bears fished in the river below.  This had led them to question whether bears ever watched the lights, and whether they did so with any sort of admiration.  At the time, I'd told them that I was sure they noticed the Aurora borealis as an alteration in their environment, but that I had no idea of their capacity to interpret it as "beautiful" in the way that we do.  I hoped, and imagined that the bears saw the lights as more than just an increase in light that increased their foraging ability.  Humans want to be able to identify and empathize with others, transcending species.  The thoughts, feelings, and motives of animals remain largely a mystery, but I started to investigate the question "Do animals appreciate beauty?"

     The results of my investigation are scientific and anecdotal.  The former is more limited.  In science you must have a way to test your hypothesis (in this case, that animals can sense beauty), but unfortunately we do not as of yet have a way to directly assess an animal's feelings on say, a colorful sunset.  Another important aspect of good science is objectivity, and it is difficult to maintain objectivity when studying something so subjective.  However, neuroscience has made significant strides in the field of animal cognition.  In order to understand, we must broaden our focus to emotions in general, and step back far into our evolutionary history.  Emotions help us to survive; fear tells us to run from predators and love tells us to care for our young.  Dr. Jaak Panksepp, an pioneer and expert in this field, says that "Every good feeling tells you that you are on the probable path of survival.  Every bad feeling anticipates the probability of destruction."  Dr. Panksepp and colleagues mapped out seven core emotional systems in our and many other species' brains.  He calls these SEEKING (helps with finding food), RAGE (helps us get our way), FEAR (helps avoid harm), LUST (helps find mates), CARE (essential for raising young), SADNESS/PANIC (helps form and maintain social bonds by trying to avoid loneliness and separation), and PLAY (teaches us to socialize and about our environment).  Panksepp believes we are inherently optimistic, because positive emotions motivate us to survive.

     Beauty inspires positive emotions, and is defined as the quality of being pleasing, especially to the eye.  The cliche we all know is "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."  If beauty is the quality of being pleasing, animals certainly find things pleasing.  "Why wouldn't they?  Pleasure is nature's way of saying 'Good-behavior!'  It encourages us to do it again", says Dr. Jonathan Balcombe, an animal behaviorist with the Humane Society.  He cites examples of animals playing and eating, and cliff-diving monkeys, (for which there is really no other explanation than they were having fun- see video below).

Video from YouTube.

     Most obvious of what is pleasing to animals' eyes are members of the opposite sex.  Males of many species show their strength and health (and hence their desirability as a mate), through bright color and elaborate ornaments.  The more aesthetically pleasing the male is, the better a mate he would make.  Females know this; in this way they arguably recognize beauty.  Birds have taken this to an extreme level.  One of the most well-known examples is the Peacock.  One of my favorites is the Northern Cardinal; the red plumage and orange bill in males is attained from carotenoids in the bird's diet.  In other words, you can see how well a male cardinal is eating by his color, and so can she.  Perhaps an even more interesting example is found in the Vogelkop Bowerbird.  The male of this species is not colorful, however, he spends years building an ornate, colorful, house-like structure, called a Bower, to attract a mate.  What is even more intriguing is that each male prefers different materials and colors, suggesting that each has his own opinion on what is aesthetically pleasing.  For a truly amazing video, please see below.

Picture from Google Images.

Picture from Google Images.

Video from BBC

         Animals not only have an eye for color, but an ear for music.  Again, this often comes back to sex.  The Northern Mockingbird, and many other birds, mimics the songs and calls of other species.  An impressive repertoire is attractive.  Humpback Whale males sing complex songs, the purposes of which are still not understood.  What is known is that these songs evolve over time and that different songs are sang in different areas; a musical culture.  

     Outside of their natural environments, animals display more behaviors that denote the possibility of other species having a sense of beauty.  Specifically, I think of 'Art' done by animals in captivity.  Chimpanzees, elephants, dolphins, and other animals in zoos will draw and paint when given he proper utensils and pads.  Congo, a chimpanzee, was one of the first animals given such an opportunity.  Although his drawings were what we might consider 'Abstract', zoologists noted that he seemed to have intention, and he would decisively begin and finish his works.  If I asked a number of individuals what are some of the first nouns they think of when given the adjective "beautiful", I think most would say the noun form of art among other words.  Art is a common avenue for humans to express what we perceive as beautiful.  Perhaps these zoo animals do the same.  Below is a painting done by an elephant.  It appears to be flowers, which we find beautiful and are also the subject of many paintings done by humans.  

Picture from BBC

     In conclusion, by certain definitions animals do interpret aspects of their environment as beautiful, and animals in captivity have created artwork (which humans use as an avenue for expressing what they find beautiful).  I don't know whether I or other scientists will ever be able to answer the question "Do bears find the Northern Lights beautiful?".  I can say, however, that I have watched bears gaze contemplatively at their surroundings, and I've watched many sunsets with my dogs.  Animals definitely have great capacity for emotions.  As 2015 draws to an end, we can all make the New Year's Resolution of vowing to be empathetic towards members of other species as well as our own.  We have similar neural pathways and we share the same planet.  Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone reading!  

Video by WWF.

Sources:

On Panksepp and the seven core emotional systems:

• http://wsm.wsu.edu/s/index.php?id=1037
• http://discovermagazine.com/2012/may/11-jaak-panksepp-rat-tickler-found-humans-7-primal-emotions

On Balcombe and pleasure:

• http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/04/08/animals-feel-pleasure_n_5110979.html

Two summers in Bush Alaska

    The "bush" wasn't something I'd heard of growing up in Dayton, Ohio.  With a population of almost 150,000 and ever expanding suburban sprawl, Dayton was far, far from the bush.  I grew up within a 15 minute drive of 3 Walmarts, a mall, and later 3 of my personal favorite restaurant- Chipotle.  I'd always had almost instant gratification of material goods and a plethora to choose from.  I'd also never had to worry about becoming dangerously lost; Dayton's parks inevitably led to some sort of development.  I had access to hiking trails, ice cream stands, movie theaters, arcades, shopping centers, etc., as most American youths do, yet I was bored.  I longed for adventure in a faraway land, preferably with fewer people and more wildlife.  I would get my wish, and it would forever change me for the better.

      As long as I can remember, I wanted to go to Alaska.  I picked Alaska for a state project in elementary school, Balto and Brother Bear were two of my favorite movies, and I desperately wanted to see wolves, bears, and eagles in the wild.  Hence, when offered a summer avian internship working for the US Fish & Wildlife Service in King Salmon, Alaska, I quickly accepted. 

     King Salmon has a population of about 350, one grocery store, and 2 restaurants/bars (one of which is only open seasonally).  There is one paved road, the Alaska Peninsula Highway, that runs about 15 miles from the end of the airport runway to the neighboring town of Naknek (population is about 500).  When the road ends, the only ways to travel are by plane or boat. 

     As the plane descended towards my home for the summer on May 5^th, 2014, I gazed out the window at the strangest landscape I had ever seen.  Flat, scattered with ponds of various sizes, and spattered in shades of red, yellow, and green, the tundra stretched below me.  Water was everywhere and the sky promised more; the clouds hung low and the air was humid as I walked off the plane towards the tiny King Salmon Airport.  That night I fell asleep to the whistle-like honking of Tundra Swans and the winnowing of Wilson’s Snipes, sounds foreign to my ears. 

     The beauty of the tundra and the town of King Salmon is more subtle than that of the snow-capped mountains and volcanoes that line the Alaska Peninsula coast.  Walking on tundra is like walking on the softest pillow; the ground sinks beneath your feet.  The land changes colors like deciduous leaves in the fall; blankets of red, orange, and gold.  Kneeling to the ground, one can see the intricacies of the tundra.  With its feathery Sphagnum, cream-colored Labrador Tea flowers, shiny Bog Cranberry leaves, segmented Horsetails, leathery lichens, and a variety of other plants and fungi, the tundra at the microscale looks like another planet.

     The small town of King Salmon is home to some of the kindest people I’ve met.  Everyone in town waves as they drive by, the grocery store cashiers know you, and people share stories of fish, bears, and more.  The few people that live on the wild Alaska Peninsula all have a story; some belong to families whose presence extends back to World War II, some are bush pilots, some fishermen, some federal employees stationed here, among others.  These people are bound by their ability and willingness to live separated from larger society but completely bound to the land and sea.  This is one of the few populations that truly understands humankind’s interconnectedness with and dependence on nature.  Bristol Bay, which includes King Salmon, hosts the world’s largest Sockeye Salmon fishery.  The talk of the town in summer is the salmon run; people depend on the fish for food and finance.  The potential outcomes of the berry and moose harvests, and inevitable interactions with bears (both positive and negative) are also often discussed.  Summers are short and winters are long, cold and dark; resources must be utilized and never wasted.  This is a brave, strong people, and I feel privileged to have spent time among them. 

     Time moves slower here.  Without many of the distractions that life in more populated areas involves (rush-hour traffic, city lights and noise, advertisements everywhere, etc.), one is better able to focus on fostering relationships and finding creative outlets.  My first summer, I had no internet or cable in my cabin, and no Verizon service.  I found myself spending more time outside, reading, and sketching wildlife.  My second summer, spent working for Katmai National Park, I invested more time in artwork.  Not only did I sketch more pictures of wildlife, but I made charcoal drawings, porcupine quill and feather earrings, and casts of bear tracks.  I also went pack-rafting, and fished almost every weekend, catching Rainbow Trout, King Salmon, Sockeye Salmon, and Silver Salmon.  I worried less and adventured more, flying in small, single-passenger bush planes and camping the backcountry.  Stress melted away as the towering volcanoes, powerful Brown Bears, and determined salmon led me to the realization that the only thing I am in control of is myself.  Nature is the best teacher, and the beauty and danger of the Alaska bush gave me a new understanding. 

    As the tundra is a mosaic of different plants, fungi, and lichens, King Salmon is a mosaic of different people, all with a love of the land and sea, and adventure.  From this place I have learned the beauty of simplicity, and the timelessness of the land, sea, and the creatures residing within.  Bristol Bay’s Sockeye Salmon run has occurred every year for thousands of years.  The mountains have stood for even longer.  I am humbled by all of it.  There is a wisdom in this land and in this lifestyle; a community surrounded by wilderness rather than a green area surrounded by a city.  The Alaska bush is simple in some ways but complex in others, quiet yet wild.  It is definitely unique, and for me it has become another home.  

The Drive South

     The boreal forest had grown quiet; the robins and Varied Thrushes no longer sang from the tree tops, the warblers no longer flashed bright yellows in the brush, the White-crowned Sparrows no longer scampered across the ground digging up insects.  The birds had flown south.  It was no secret; it was clear in the falling leaves, in the increasingly cold and dark mornings, and in the spawned out, dying Sockeye salmon.  Summer was over, and winter was quickly coming.
   
     During my last several weeks in King Salmon, I felt like a bird.  Restless, energetic, and somewhat anxious, I wondered if I was experiencing Zugunruhe.  This is a phenomenon seen in many migratory birds; it is the urge to migrate exhibited in nighttime restlessness.  With each passing day, I became more anxious to start my journey south.  Fittingly, I began my migration at night as many birds do, on September 28th.  I flew into Fairbanks to meet up with my mate; we would travel as a pair.

     The need to head south was readily apparent, as a storm had dumped several feet of snow over Fairbanks and was still hanging over the Alaska Interior.  We slowly trod through the snow to Chena Hot Springs.  It was the wildest swimming experience I'd ever had; I swam through hot water, my feet brushing against gravel on the floor, surrounded by rocks and spruce, snow falling.  The air temperature was in the 30s.  Ducks flew over in the twilight, so close I could hear their wing beats.  It was magical.  Our plan had been to head to Denali National Park, but with the storm we were forced to reroute down the Richardson Highway.  We entered into a Winter Wonderland; the snow danced in the wind, and the mountains were all white.  We had a Moose cow and calf trot across the road in front of us, a Beaver swim by our campsite as we made dinner one night, and Gray Jays (also known as Camp Robbers) scold us for not sharing our meal.  As we neared Tok, Alaska, we saw a small patch of blue sky cut out of the gray.  As we rounded a mountain pass, we entered into full blue skies and the snow disappeared.

Chena Hot Springs (Photo from Google Images)

Moose crossing the Richardson Highway.

Winter Wonderland

     We headed into the Yukon on the fourth day of our journey.  The mountains seemed to grow ever larger as we traveled down the ALCAN Highway.  We camped out at Destruction Bay, right next to the beach, and made smores under the Northern Lights!  The next morning soon after we began driving, we came across a herd of 165 Dall Sheep on the side of a mountain.  There were so many of them one could almost mistake them for patches of snow.  We enjoyed counting them, and from a conservation perspective, it is encouraging to see such a big group of large mammals.

Sunset over Destruction Bay, Yukon

Portion of the 165 herd of Dall Sheep.

Along the Haines Junction, British Columbia

     We had not been prepared to leave Alaska yet, so we took a detour to Haines, a southeast Alaska coastal town.  We reached Haines only after driving down mountain passes among some of British Columbia's great peaks.  It was a sharp transition to sealevel, and a breathtaking one.  Towering, jagged mountains with the ocean is one of my favorite landscapes.  Haines brought us sightings of Harbor Seals, seaducks, many, many eagles, and more of the Aurora borealis.  I basked in the glory of the Northern Lights, so beautiful that it almost brought tears to my eyes.  The sky appeared fluid; the lights changing by the second- undulating and pulsating in brightness.  I was mesmerized as it stretched over the mountains and trees.  Perhaps the only thing I was truly aware of whilst in this trance, was how incredibly small I was standing underneath the heavens.

Haines, AK

Bald Eagle in Haines, AK.

I actually took this photo on a different night, but still.

     After a few days, we said goodbye to Alaska for the season and headed back into British Columbia.  We entered the Yukon again briefly, took a dip in Takhini Hot Springs, and afterwards watched the Northern Lights dance again above.  We saw Elk and Caribou, two of my favorite Cervid (Deer) species.  Soon after I restated (we had discussed the subject while in Alaska) that I would love to see Wood Bison (the Northern, forest-dwelling subspecies of the American Bison), we saw a large bull grazing on the side of the road.... And then another one....  And then several more....  And then a herd of over 20!  In total we saw 104 members of what is known as the Norquist Herd.  After another delightful dip in Liard Hot Springs, a secluded natural spring surrounded by moss and spruce, even more excitement came when we read about Stone's Sheep on a sign.  This is a little-known subspecies of the Dall Sheep with a tiny range between southern Yukon and northern British Columbia.  I immediately felt the need to see this animal that moments before I had not known existed.  Its beauty and the possibility of seeing an animal very few others had seen fueled me.  We did not have to wait long.  As we crested a hill along Stone Mountain Provincial Park, a herd of Stone's Sheep were licking salt off of the road.  They looked completely different from Dall Sheep.  Rather than all white, they had black tails, gray backs, and half dark brown and white legs.  We were able to watch the animals at our leisure, and it was a privilege to do so.

Wood Bison bull

Liard Hot Springs (Photo from Google Images).

Caribou

     After some awesome mammal experiences, it was time for some birding.  We were unable to catch up with many of the migrants, but after camping at Swan Lake Provincial Park in Alberta, we woke up to the honking of Canada Geese flying over.  We exited the Mountain Turtle to find Green-winged Teal, Northern Pintails, Northern Harriers, and a Common Snipe.  The quacking of waterfowl and chattering of chickadees and redpolls replaced the silence felt farther north.

     Soon we found ourselves in Jasper and Banff National Parks again.  Here we were unfortunately reminded of the extreme disconnect most of society has with nature as two tourists approached a giant bull Elk.  Not only is it very dangerous to approach a large wild animal, it is also very disrespectful.  Even if wildlife are not visibly stressed by our presence, their heart rates and stress hormone levels are probably increased.  Despite that frustrating situation, we saw many Elk, deer (White-tailed and Mule), Bighorn Sheep, Mountain Goats, a Moose at Moose Pond, and a Black Bear, all while traveling in the shadow of the Canadian Rockies.

Jasper National Park, Alberta

Bighorn Sheep ram in foreground and ewe in background.

Elk bull running.

     After leaving the parks, the next day we found ourselves in the middle of the mass Snow Goose migration in Saskatchewan.  These birds breed in the Arctic, then head south to both coasts of the US, as well as parts of central US and Mexico.  Their population is booming, because they thrive in agricultural areas like Saskatchewan.  We stopped the car.  I stood, looking up in awe, at the thousands of birds flying over me.  They called loudly as they flew.  As I looked around, every pond in the fields around us seemed to contain mixed flocks of Snow Geese, Greater White-fronted Geese, Tundra Swans, and ducks.  We saw many more Snow Geese flocks, in such great numbers they blanketed the ground like snow, as well as a field full of Sandhill Cranes, and a large flock of Red-winged Blackbirds settling into a hay field to roost for the night.

Snow Geese

Many, many more Snow Geese.

Sandhill Cranes

Red-winged Blackbirds.

     After a long trip, we were happy to enter Montana on October 15th.  Soon we saw Pronghorn, which I always watch in admiration.  They are the fastest land animal in the Western Hemisphere.  The predator that fueled their evolution of speed, the American Cheetah, no longer exists.  The only animal that can outrun them today, in fact, is the Cheetah.  They are the sole member of their family, and look more like African fauna.  Back in the land of Pronghorn, raptors, and blue skies, I found myself looking into the eyes of a large, new life bird, the Ferruginous Hawk.  Its bill was eagle-like, and I was excited to observe this species for the first time.  We explored the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge, and watched a herd of several hundred Elk court.  I had never heard Elk bulls bugel, but on this night I finally had the privilege to.  The sound is as wild and beautiful as the call of the loon and the howl of the wolf.  I am still longing to hear the latter.  These are some of nature's greatest concerts, and the quintessence of wilderness.

     We are now home, and I am left to reflect on the amazing experiences this year has brought.  I am incredibly blessed to be able to explore these places and see these species. I also have a wonderful partner to go on adventures with.  Below, you will find a list of all of the species we saw on our trip, when and where we first sighted them, and how many (often approximately) we saw.  Although our trip south has ended, life is a constant adventure, and we can still find intimate moments with nature every day.  We have only to look around us.

-Jess

Close Encounters of the Ursine Kind; Lessons I've learned from Bears

I felt as though I was being watched.  I turned around.  I saw her immediately, staring right at me, not 20 yards off.  My heartrate quickened, and I began to tremble.  The golden colored, subadult female Brown Bear started to walk toward me….

     Bears.  I knew their general biology (large, omnivorous mammals, hibernators, extensive maternal care, etc.), but until I came to Alaska this was my knowledge base.  My experience was limited to zoo trips and several sightings of both Brown (Ursus arctos) and Black Bears (Ursus americanus) in Yellowstone National Park.  There is a growing population of Black Bears in Eastern Ohio, but it is still so small that many residents of my home state probably do not know it exists.  The species is classified as endangered there.  Conversely, the striking statistic often quoted for the Alaska Peninsula is that there are more bears (Brown) than people.  If you spend a summer on the Peninsula as I have done, sharing the same main protein source as bears (salmon), you will undoubtedly interact with these non-human neighbors.  These creatures are powerful not only in physical strength but in their influence on human minds and cultures.  If you look inside a bear's mouth (preferably not by the way I'm sure you are thinking about), you will see that aside from enlarged canines, it's teeth look similar to ours.  They are omnivores like us.  If you examine a bear's tracks, you will notice that they are five-toed like ours, and have smaller front than hind paws, like our hands and feet.  Sometimes they stand and even walk on their hind limbs like us.  Finally, if you spend time closely watching a bear, you might see certain behavioral similarities as well.  At this point I've spent a lot of time watching bears, and along with a mysterious wild wisdom, there is something strangely familiar in the eyes of a bear.  

     In many Native American cultures, the bear is a symbol of the wild, emotional side of ourselves.  Bears are typically solitary animals except for mothers with cubs.  Mystery surrounds the being that wanders the mountains alone; we can relate to a need at times for solitude and introspection.  On my trips into the Becharof National Wildlife Refuge wilderness last summer, bears were often the only other mammal seen each day, and aside from a mother with two cubs, each was alone.  I didn't know anything about these individual bears, except that they were powerful and deserved respect and distance.  My coworker explained how each bear has its own personality, and might respond to our presence differently on one day over another because “Bears have good and bad days too”.  If a smaller bear is chased numerous times by a larger bear, it might be more likely to stand its ground or become aggressive towards us (although this is rare).  Some bears would run immediately as they saw us or picked up our scent, others would stand and watch us.  It was clear that both we humans and those bears could feel the tension between our species.  We tread an invisible line; a delicate balance formed from a long history of competition and combat. 

     Bears show intense, arguably emotional, responses to different stimuli.  From the raised platform at Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park, I’ve been able to observe wild bears closely for hours.  I've watched a bear slap the water with anger after having a fish stolen from her, a mother charge a much larger boar (male bear) without hesitation as he came too close to her cubs, and many other conflicts.  I've seen a cub cry for its mother after being left in a tree, and I've seen footage of a mother in severe distress as her cub was killed by a boar.  I've also watched bears play; jumping on tree limbs and wrestling with each other for hours.  I've seen desperate hungry lunges at fish and genuine pleasure while stripping the skin off of a Sockeye Salmon.  I've seen pain and amazing recoveries from severe injuries.  

The boar on the left came too close to the sow that the bear on the right was courting.

The sow at the top right is growling at the other because she stole her fish.

The fierce look of a mother bear (her 3 cubs are outside of this frame).

Two young bears play in Brooks River.

A look of hunger and triumph.

Enjoying salmon.

Hungry cubs grab at a fish mom just caught.

Below: Contrast the face of Brooks Camp Bear #410 Four-ton, who is 26 years old, with Bear #500 Indy, a young subadult female (who is also who walked toward me in my introductory narrative).

One of many stories of perseverance and survival: Bear 130 Tundra suffered what appeared to be a superficial facial injury as a yearling cub.... (Photo by NPS)

She lived with only a scar to show.... (Photo by NPS/Mike Fitz)

It wasn't until after her death that biologists realized that her injury was not superficial.  130 Tundra had been living with a major skull deformity, perhaps from a blow to the head, that likely caused severe pain (Photo by NPS).

     Through these experiences, watching the lives of bears and interacting with them on occasion, I’ve learned a lot.  I will discuss three important lessons.  The first is to be strong.  This may seem immediately obvious, but it runs deeper than being able to knock a tree over.  130 Tundra and others have recovered from major injuries, showing resiliency and perseverance through struggle.  Bears continue on even when they are in pain.  

     Second, bears have taught me to face my fears, to stay calm in potential danger.  When I first came to Alaska and started to read Stephen Herrero’s Bear Attacks: Their Causes and Avoidance, the fact that bears are dangerous animals that can kill people began to cause a sick feeling in my stomach; fear.  Training in bear biology and behavior, how to react when encountering a bear, and bear spray and firearms helped build confidence, but I still nervously anticipated my first encounter.  It was on my second field mission to take a survey of bird species and abundances.  I had seen bear trails and scat on my first, but no bears.  I was canoeing the Kejulik River with my coworker to our field site.  It was cold, wet, and windy; so miserable that both of us had ceased speaking and my thoughts were of warm places and a longing to be curled up in my sleeping bag.  I heard “Bear”, in a serious tone and looked ahead to see a giant dark figure on the shore downstream from us.  I shook not from the cold now, knowing that we would have to canoe by the bear.  The mighty creature took one look at us and then turned and ran up a hill with such ease that I was entranced by its power.  We saw many bears on that trip, and I’ve seen many bears since, but there are several encounters that stand out in my mind.  

It is a humbling moment to have eye contact with a large, sentient, nonhuman being; both of us are mutually aware of each other, and both of us are curious and afraid.  In addition to facing my fears, bears have taught me humility.  I am reminded of my small size (in both a literal and abstract sense) when in the presence of bears.  Returning to my introductory narrative; I was on my way back to Brooks Camp after a walk on the beach and had walked into the forest to examine a beaver pond when I turned to see a young bear.  She was obviously a curious subadult by her small size and approach; head up and an unsure walk.  I talked to her, repeating “Hey bear” and “Stay back” in as firm a voice as I could manage.  I had to make several turns, returning to the beach before she finally lost interest.  I will never know her motivations beyond curiosity, but she looked lonely and confused by my hostility.  Subadult bears are chased away by their mothers and must learn to survive on their own.  I hoped that I had helped to teach her an important lesson; to stay away from humans. 

The subadult female after she had stopped following me.

There is much we can learn from bears.  If the bear represents our wild side, then are we left confused like the subadult female?  Do we fear the darker side of our own nature, or do we turn and look it in the eye?  We will likely never completely understand, but we can acknowledge our different sides and grow.  The very essence of wild is intangible, and therefore unattainable.  We are left to wander, respecting the bear and learning when to use its power.