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.