We Alaskans

What to do when a quick road-trip stop turns into an unexpected bear encounter

 

I just wanted to stretch my legs.

Halfway into the long drive from Fairbanks to Anchorage, on the very last part of a monthlong journey, I was eager to get home. A few hours from my front door, I had one last adventure in front of me.

I like stopping at Lower Troublesome Creek Campground. It's quiet, lacking that tourist hustle. That day, June 1, was no different. Just two people — state employees tending to the outhouses — left as I pulled in, the driver nodding at me as they took off.

A sign said the river was 0.6 miles away. So I started walking.

Within a few steps, I entered a sea of ferns. Looming plants eclipsed the view along the narrow path.

With such low visibility, I knew I could easily startle a bear. So I made noise, alternating between whistling, singing songs and yelling the classic "hey, bear" that I learned as a kid.

Halfway to the river, I had a feeling to turn around. So I paused at a small creek, dipped my fingers into the water and promised to return another day.

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The walk back was maybe a third of a mile. Being at Troublesome Creek must have inspired me to sing "Trouble" by Cat Stevens.

Trouble, trouble set me free; I have seen your face, and it's too much, too much for me —

My song cut short.

I saw its rear end first. A black lump on the trail. Then it turned, moving its head out of the ferns. I gasped.

The black bear and I looked at each other. Only about 15 feet of trail separated us. Maybe some part of me had an inkling there was one around. Oh well; too little, too late.

I knew that you shouldn't run from a bear. So I took a few slow, cautious steps backward, until the bear was once again blocked from view by towering ferns. Then I booked it down the path, running most of the way to the river (we'll come back to this).

At the river, I caught my breath. The bear hadn't seemed aggressive. I felt fairly, somewhat, a little bit, confident it hadn't followed me.

I had my cellphone, and by some luck had service, so I called my boyfriend. He was three hours away, but hearing his voice made me feel better.

"There's a bear between me and my car," I told him. I cried for a good minute or so. Then I hung up and started looking for an alternate route back.

No luck. Only dense brush. I knew the bear could be anywhere by now. And the last place I wanted to have a bear encounter was wedged between stubborn willow shrubs.

I cursed my poor planning. I hadn't ventured far, but in Alaska, bears are always close by. Usually, I bring bear spray. Usually, I have a knife on me. Usually.

I returned to the trailhead, called my boyfriend again.

"You might have to go back the way you came," he said.

Dammit. He was right.

A few more minutes passed and I steeled my resolve. I grabbed a huge stick, started rustling the brush, trying to sound much larger than I am. I wanted the bear to be afraid of me and run. So I began to scream, alternating between war cries and what I envision a mother werewolf would sound like if she were defending her werewolf babies.

Slowly, cautiously, I walked down the trail, screaming like a maniac. I dreaded every step, but kept creeping forward. What else could I do?

Movement around the corner. And then I saw him: A man walking toward me. He was smirking. At me. He had definitely heard my war cries. He was wearing a white shirt that had, of course, the outline of a bear. "Polar cub," it said.

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"There's a bear on the trail!" I spurted out, my voice full of adrenaline.

"Nope, just me," he chuckled.

"No — there was a bear, just 15 minutes ago!"

"Well, I didn't see one," he replied, striding by me.

I laughed, all nerves, and gripped his shoulder as he passed by, perhaps subconsciously needing to be grounded. Yes, I was safe.

I put down the stick and walked much more quietly back to my car. Another vehicle had stopped, and I was so happy to see others walking around, oblivious to my intense afternoon.

An hour had passed since I had gotten out of my car to stretch my legs. I started up the car and continued home.

I'm from Fairbanks, and I can honestly say I've only seen one bear north of Denali in my entire life. But since moving to Anchorage four years ago, I've had a couple of bear encounters, some scarier than others.

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So, this time, I wanted to know: How did I do? I called up the Department of Fish and Game Anchorage-area wildlife biologist Dave Battle, who gave me a mixed score on the bear-safety meter (which I invented just now).

"You mostly did fine," he told me after I recounted the story. "I would recommend not having run."

Even though I thought the bear couldn't see me, perhaps it could, he noted. Or maybe it could hear me running down the path.

Bears have a natural response to start chasing prey if someone starts running — which I knew, and apparently my work-around of stepping out of view wasn't a very good idea.

"If it does draw a chase response, you can't outrun the bear," Battle said.

Instead, I should have stayed still. "The first thing to do is start talking calmly, wave your arms, stand your ground," Battle said.

Since the bear wasn't showing much of a response, the goal is to be neutral, said John Hechtel, a retired biologist with Fish and Game and a member of the Staying Safe in Bear Country Society.

"See what the animal does," Hechtel said.

If the black bear started moving away, I could have also slowly backed away, too. But if it started approaching, I should have stopped, and stood my ground.

If the bear continues to approach, become more assertive, Hechtel recommends. Get louder, throw rocks or sticks or use a bear spray deterrent.

This advice holds true for both black bears and grizzlies, Hechtel said.

If I had seen a grizzly, the situation would have been more dire, Battle said. Many of the defensive maulings in the state come from grizzlies, and there have been three so far this summer.

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If a bear attacks, the two choices we have are playing dead or fighting back, depending on whether the bear is defending itself, or is "messing with you," Hechtel said.

Generally, black bear attacks are not defensive in nature, Hechtel said. And that means that if they do attack, playing dead won't help. Instead, fight back, punching it in the muzzle or face.

Most grizzly attacks are defensive, so playing dead is the general advice. Lie flat on the ground and cover your neck with your hands.

But there are always exceptions, Hechtel notes.

Any bear that is calmly approaching you, or breaking into a campsite, you should try to intimidate, Hechtel said. If a bear isn't defending itself, then playing dead won't matter, no matter if it's a grizzly, he said.

Hechtel was a little more forgiving about my running away. It's not ideal, he said, but if the bear couldn't see me, it may not have mattered. "It's not something I'd beat myself up about," he wrote in an email later.

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In such a nerve-racking situation, it can be scary to overcome the flight response. Having a deterrent like bear spray — even if you don't end up using it — can give people the confidence to stand their ground, Hechtel said.

"You've got to mentally rehearse," Hechtel said, to be ready to overcome your fear and stand your ground.

It was also fine that I took that same path back. But the demon screams were not needed, both Battle and Hechtel agreed. The point of making noise, at that point, would be to alert the bear of my presence. My screams could have provoked it into feeling threatened, Hechtel said.

"Try not to panic or be overly afraid. Usually you can make mistakes and still be OK. If you do the right thing you're even safer," Hechtel concluded in an email later.

Laurel Andrews

Laurel Andrews was a reporter for the Anchorage Daily News, Alaska Dispatch News and Alaska Dispatch. She left the ADN in October 2018.

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