Before I tell you my bear story, I need to tell you a very short deer story…Back in the spring of this year, during a hike in Shenandoah National Park, something really neat happened to Laura and I while we were on our way down from a summit (I can’t recall which one). Laura, whom was hiking in front of me (she usually takes the lead), turned to say something to me. She halted mid-sentence and pointed over my shoulder. I turned to see a deer walking about 10 yards behind me… simply following us down the mountain. We had no idea how long it had been there. Whenever we stopped to look at it, the deer would stop and look back at us. And when we would start back down the trail, it would resume following us. The deer continued to walk behind us for about 20 minutes. When the time came that we turned and it was no longer there, I felt a little sad… I liked having the deer taggling along behind us.
Now let me change the story a little… give you a new version… one not so neat. One where what is following you is not something you want behind you, especially when you are far away from everything and everybody else.
Laura and I went up into the park today for what was going to be a drive in the mountains. In the vicinity of Loft Mountain (in the southern section of Shenandoah National Park) we decided to change our plans and embark on a short hike. The trail wasn’t a long one so we figured it would be ok not to have our normal packs or boots or anything else we take with us when we hike. After a long steep uphill trek we made it to the top of a ridge where outcroppings of rock provided breathtaking views of the valley below (see the photo above). We sat there for a while; letting the constant breeze coming up the side of the mountain keep us cool.
The trail was a loop trail, meaning the way down was different than the way up. We prefer loops (and lariats) over “out and backs” since you get to see different scenery on the return trip. My guess is we were about half way down the downhill leg of the loop when we turned a corner to find… you guessed it… a bear. It was on the trail, not very big, and it noticed us just as quick as we noticed it.
Now usually when a bear is encountered on the trail, the bear skedaddles. We had two problems right away. Number one, the word skedaddle was not in this bears vocabulary. And number two, this bear was a young one… no longer a cub but still young enough that mama was most likely nearby. Right away the words of a ranger I talked with many years ago went off inside my head like a voice over a loudspeaker. “If you come across a cub on the trail, you can rest assured that mama is not very far away and most likely already knows of your presence. If she feels you might be a threat to her cub, she is probably already coming for you.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned to Laura (who was behind me this time). “What do we do?” she whispered. “Turn around and walk very fast” I said. In unison we turned, and proved to this bear that we had superior intellect since we obviously knew the meaning of the word skedaddle.
This is when the third problem arose… we had been hiking downhill, a very steep downhill, and now we were hiking UP a very steep and rocky trail with a dire need to move very fast. I turned and looked over my shoulder hoping to see buddy bear gone, or heading off in some other direction. That’s when problem number four reared its ugly head… the bear was following us. My pounding heart jumped up into my throat… all I could think was “Here we are… out in the middle of freaking nowhere… with the only direction open to us being a steep uphill climb, with a bear on our tails."
I will admit I was a bit concerned (ok… I was scared).
If I had my pack, as I usually do when I hike, I would simply open it up, pull out every granola bar and piece of food I had, rip open the packaging and make a pile of yummy bear treats so large that it would stop a grizzly in its tracks (if there were grizzlies east of the Mississippi). This is one of the methods I was taught for diverting a bear’s attention away from you (the human) while you (the human) continue to prove your superior vocabulary by skedaddling. But, of course, I had no pack, no nothing, heck we didn’t even have our hiking boots. This was an unplanned hike that had gone terribly wrong.
I was also painfully aware of the fact that if this bear decided to run we would be in even bigger trouble… no way to outrun it on the uphill. “Please be a lazy bear” I began to think. And the thought of a possible mama bear not far behind this one was more than I wanted to think about. So, we doubled our pace, which was already killing us, figuratively, in hopes that the bear who was following us did not want to do the same, literally.
The uphill to which we were contained was definitely not meant for anything but a slow climb. We turned again, the bear was still there. I turned to find Laura bent over, holding her knees, no breath left. “I can’t…” she uttered. I grabbed her hand saying “You have to keep going… we can’t stop”. On we went, continuing to climb the steep rocky slope. A little while later, after skedaddling almost all the way back to the top of the ridge, we halted. No breath, legs like rubber, and gasping for air. Running up this trail was something beyond our abilities, but somehow we did it. We stood there and tried to recover, keeping an eye back down the trail. No bear. We felt our breath starting to return. No bear. Laura says, “I guess we'll have to go back up and over the top and then down the other side”. “Yep” I said. We looked down the trail again. Bear! This persistent bear was right behind us… again. We took off at breakneck pace.
I have to stop here… it’s late and I am tired… and this story is a long one… part two will follow… tomorrow night. I know what you are thinking... did we live or did the bear have us for lunch?
