Every morning and evening late into this fall, I scanned trees in my neighborhood of Government Hill for bears. Sometimes, in the dark, I clapped or sang loudly as I walked home.
When I told people about this, their response was typically one of two things. Either they'd get a faraway look in their eye, and say, "Government Hill. It's so close to downtown, but it feels so far, like an island. Nice neighborhood, though." Or, they'd look surprised. "Bears?! In Government Hill? Really?"
Yes. The black bears finally went into hibernation in the last couple weeks, but like many bears in Anchorage, they were out late this year due to unseasonable warmth. Although there were a number of sightings, the bears did not appear to become habituated to people. This may have been due, at least in part, to Government Hill residents' innovative use of an online application, Nextdoor, to trade information about the bears.
Recent Government Hill bears
As a new Government Hill resident, I needed to talk with my neighbors to get some background. I called Stephanie Kesler, president of the Government Hill Community Council and longtime neighborhood homeowner, and was surprised to learn this was not the first season of bear sightings. Last summer, there was a female early on, and later a large male black bear. He didn't charge anybody, although one elderly resident kept watch and tried to dissuade him from getting too comfortable.
"She'd wait until [the bear] had gone off fishing for the day, and then she'd go over mid-morning to Suzan Nightingale Park and take apart his bed. He'd come back that night and make his bed and spend the night there," Kesler said. This repeated every day throughout August: the bear made his bed with branches and padded it down with leaves; the resident took it apart. Still, there was no overt confrontation, and eventually the bear went away.
Then, early this past summer, the female black bear returned, this time with four cubs.
Nextdoor
After moving to Government Hill this fall, I quickly received an invitation from a new neighbor to join Nextdoor, a private social networking app designed for neighborhoods.
As someone with too many social networks to log into already, I was loathe to add another. Still, I figured it would be the neighborly thing to do to at least give it a shot, and I'm glad I did. I first received a series of emails letting me know my neighbors were welcoming me, one at a time, which felt good.
Kesler said of the app, "It has been a remarkable tool that everybody, once people get on it, use -- even people who aren't particularly computer friendly or don't want to be on Facebook. It's a private social network."
Kristen Smith, a Government Hill resident, Nextdoor member, and avid dog walker described using the app to connect faces of people she'd often see while out walking her dogs with their names and homes. She had seen Nextdoor used predominantly for communication about wildlife, but also as a watchdog tool when some neighborhood kids were stealing apples from someone's tree. "I think it's a great tool and I'm glad I'm on it; it gives you a great sense of community."
After signing up, I soon received a message about an upcoming Community Council meeting, followed by a map of homes participating in Halloween trick-or-treating, and then the bear alerts.
"Three bears in a tree" read the subject line of one alert, followed by the time and street coordinates. "JBEAR and Co." read another another, referring to the nickname of the sow. One Nov. 6 alert said in bright red: "Urgent alert: Bear cubs in trees at Brown's Point Park. Dog walkers beware."
Nine people 'thanked' the resident for this post, similar to liking something on Facebook, and 29 people commented. Comments included reminders and solutions for effectively managing trash, including putting cans in the garage, or keeping trash inside until the morning of pick up.
There were several queries about working with the city toward a long-term solution, namely bear-proof trash containers. Understandably, many residents expressed concern, both for the bears' and human safety.
"I decided I needed a stronger headlamp so I can see them," Kesler said. "I changed my running route." Instead of running through a dimly lit park, Kesler started running along lighted roadways so no one gets surprised. According to Kesler, though, the bears had a healthy fear of people. They were skittish, and would take off when they heard loud voices. Dave Battle, assistant area biologist in the Anchorage area for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, underscored this point, "We haven't heard anything about any aggressive behavior."
Smith connected with another dog walker and they planned their walks together when bear alerts were issued. "Her dog is great because he growls when there are bears," she said. She also began checking Nextdoor alerts before leaving the house, and generally tried to make lots of noise during her walks.
Of the black bears, Smith echoed many of her neighbor's sentiments on the Nextdoor app: "They're cute and fuzzy and it's fascinating, but now we're going to have five adult bears potentially, and it's going to get increasingly difficult to keep those bears alive. You have to be on your toes and have to be aware."
Taking off
There are 142 residents in the Government Hill using Nextdoor, up from 20 when the app was introduced in 2013. Kesler said it took a while to work with the Nextdoor developers to get the boundaries of the community set, but after that the app took off.
"Neighbors started sending e-mails to invite neighbors," she said. "It was the perfect example of the network effect...this summer it was our primary mechanism for tracking where we saw the bears."
Bear alerts on Nextdoor have dropped off. "I would suspect that they've gone into the den. We haven't had any calls about them to my knowledge in the last couple of weeks, " said Battle.
Still, living in the city of Big Wild Life during an unusually dry late fall, it's always good to keep our eyes peeled and alert neighbors to sightings, or educate about best practices when it comes to coexisting with wildlife.
Alli Harvey lives works and plays in Anchorage.
Correction: An earlier version of this story misspelled Stephanie Kesler's name.