I was invited as bear deterrent

Part 1 of a hopefully two-part bear hike adventure

This feels like the sort of piece I should write before it’s too late. You see, I’m going on a hike in griz country (Montana vernacular for “grizzly bear territory”) in ten days, give or take zero. There’s no telling how said adventure might go, so enjoy me on Substack while I last.

Speaking of bears and Substack, I recently shared the following as a Note (Substack’s social media feed). It’s unexpectedly becoming one of my favorites, mostly for the responses.

People have gotten the kick they were supposed to get out of it, and one reader invited me to join her family if this is the way I’m treated in mine.

A few disclaimers:

1. My dad is one of my best friends and doesn’t mind a good roast at his own expense. And he would, I am positive, stand between me and a charging grizzly bear. On second thought…you would, right, Dad?

2. I wasn’t invited as a weak-link bear sacrifice. (But I also wasn’t invited as Dad’s beloved daughter with whom he is over the full moon to share this experience. I was invited as a convenient fourth human to beef up our numbers for safety.)

3. My favorite trail snack is jerky, teriyaki flavor. Feel free to send.

In preparation for said potentially eventful hike, I’m staggering my way up local hikes to, you know, train. And realizing that I may need to acquire new hiking books that will accommodate the custom insoles I wear these days as a consequence of my forties bringing me the foot problems and sometimes-too-long sentences of a sexagenarian.

We’ll be carrying bear spray in hand and the four of us will have plenty to talk VERY LOUDLY about on a many hour hike. Fun fact: When I was growing up, people used bear bells while hiking to theoretically and considerately alert bears to their presence so they (the bears) could stay away. Turns out, per the AI search result there’s no way of opting out of on Google, bear bells can actually attract curious bears. That’s a bummer of a thing for people to have found out the hard way.

Speaking of “bummer,” it reminds me of the guy who hiked to a lake near my hometown in Montana. His hammock nap was interrupted by a black bear taking a bite out of one of his bum-cheeks, I’m not sure which one. The bear likely thought it was a hanging bag of trash which this human certainly was not, no matter what any exes might think of him. I dare you to not think of this story when you hear people talk about things “coming back to bite you in the butt.”

While trying to find that news story to link it for your reading pleasure, I came across this other story. A woman in Alaska tromped through the snow to use the toilet facilities of the yurt where she was camping with her brother. She’d just sat down when she was bit on the bottom by a cinnamon bear very literally holing up in the outhouse. You’re welcome for giving you something else to fear about port-a-potties and outhouses.

Back to the hike:

It has been suggested to me from commenters that I jockey for position #2 or 3 so as not to be the first to encounter the bear, or the last to get sneaked up on from behind. But I know a guy who, a few decades ago, had a grizzly bear barrel into him on a hiking trail FROM THE SIDE. No warning, just boom, launched him something like 12 feet into the air before, um, exercising his claws and teeth upon him. My friend survived, miraculously, but it does highlight that no trail position will be safe.

The only thing to do is to go into it as an adventure. And document every single part of it, especially any bear encounters and bear attacks, for a hopeful Part Two photo-journalistic essay about this hike. As I will be hiking with three men in their 70s, I plan to include a blurry finger in at least a corner of every picture and take pictures of everything much too close. That’s my dad’s favorite photo technique.

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As you can see, the entire point of this article has been to encourage all of us to say an immediate and enthusiastic “yes” to the adventures with which life presents us. Even when you have no idea you were invited only because of your standout qualification of being a human, or how it’s all going to go.

Like, whether you will survive or whether there actually will be snow for the last ⅓ of the hike. This last point of information comes from another of my dad’s friends, Clark, who is very familiar with the hike but who interestingly didn’t ask to join the expedition. Maybe he knows things we should know about our hike into ‘griz country.’

Isn’t life cool, and are people interesting? See you (hopefully) in the next one…

P.S. Would you go, what trail position would you jockey for, and what would you pack for snacks?

Update: I survived!! There’s a part 2!

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