Bears

I can’t say “bears” without thinking “beets and battlestar galactica.” High fives if you do the same.

I have a history with bears.

From the time I was a little girl, traveling around the country with my family in a camper, I was exposed to them. One of my favorite books as an eleven-year-old was about a family that moved to Alaska and how they learned to live among grizzlies without getting eaten. For a child so afraid of so many things, I’m amazed I even read a book like that. I wish I could remember the name of it.

One of the places we went every year was Yellowstone National Park, known for its bears, both black and brown. The browns are fairly shy, not usually hanging out where the people are. Black bears are a different story. Maybe they’re smarter than the browns, but the blacks have learned to equate people with tasty food—not that the people are the food, but that they have food and are willing to share. This is truer than ever today.

Back when I was a kid and we were driving through a main road in the Park, black bears would hang out on the side of the road, like panhandlers at an intersection in town, knowing that where more traffic was, more food was likely to be. And of course, people love to be up close to wild animals, so they stop and take pictures, often throwing food out their car windows to get the bears’ attention. Some people actually get out of their cars and see how close they can get. We once saw a family where the dad had his two kids stand close to a bear while the mother fed it slice after slice of bread and the dad took pictures. I’m not sure what their plan was for when they got to the end of the loaf. This is how the human gene pool gets muddy.

I don’t remember ever seeing a bear in my home state of New Jersey, though I imagine there are a few in the wilderness parts. Did you even know New Jersey has wilderness? That place has a lot going on. Newark plus black bears—it’s hard to imagine. I grew up in a beach town, which is definitely not a natural habitat for black bears, so I literally never worried about seeing one, but just last week beach-goers in Destin, Florida, shared video of a black bear swimming ashore. I guess you just never know.

Ten years ago when we lived in a lovely Northern Virginia suburb, one morning I looked out back to see a bag of garbage dragged down the hill toward the woods, trash spread everywhere. I went out to clean it up and found an empty black-bean can crushed with large tooth holes in it. That was no dog; it was a bear.

Then one day (same house), Pete the dog was barking and whining, which he never did. Elijah opened the door onto the deck and Pete took off down the stairs to the back yard. He got to the bottom of the stairs and stopped short, staring for a second, then shot back up the stairs and into the house. Elijah walked out to the edge of the deck to see what had Pete so upset, and there was a black bear right there in our suburban yard. They walk among us.

We moved to the mountains of Western North Carolina, which I think is the east coast bear capital. We occasionally saw a pile of scat at the farm, but not enough to be worried.

Then I started hiking with a group of over-50 ladies. The group was started by my friend Linda, and it was full of fearless achievers. I was the outlier. They called themselves Feisty Women Hiking (they’re on MeetUp, if you’re ever in the area and want to join them). These women were not afraid of anything, and Linda was the least afraid among them.

We hiked together for three years and came across bears many times. My idea was always to back away slowly with arms raised to make yourself look big. That’s what the “experts” say to do. Linda’s idea was to get as close as possible while videoing the experience with her phone. Here’s a bear I saw eating a neighbor’s trash while I was on my way to Linda’s house (taken from the safety of my car):

Those big green cans on wheels are like a Golden Corral sign to resident bears.

One time during C*vid when we were supposed to all be staying home (two weeks to slow the spread, you know), all the hiking trails were closed in the Asheville area. There was literally no place you could go. In desperation to get outside, Linda and I met at a local outlet mall and walked around the outer perimeter of the parking lot a few times to get our six miles in.

Another time we walked up the roads behind Linda’s house on Sunset Mountain in the Grove Park area of the city. As we were walking along, I heard a rustling up the steep bank on my left. I glanced up and said while picking up my pace a little, “Oh my word there’s a bear right there” and with that the bear slid down the bank and wound up on the road right behind us. I kept going without looking, thinking if I were going to be eaten I didn’t want to see it coming, and Linda stopped to video, following the bear across the road and watching it slide down the next bank. I was glad to have her distract it so I could get away.

The neighborhood around Linda’s house was popular with cyclists too. One day we were walking down the winding road when we saw a cyclist stopped on the side of the road. Just then a bear and her cub came out of the woods on the opposite side and just lollygagged around on the road for a bit. The cyclist wasn’t moving until the bear was gone, not wanting to be chased and caught. If you’re ever in that situation, know that a bear can run faster than you can cycle, especially uphill.

I stopped where I was, watching the unfolding drama. Linda was not that smart. She kept walking toward the bear—and the cyclist, who tried to walk her bike a few steps forward past where the bear stood. Bear wasn’t having it. She put her head down and raised one paw, slapping it on the ground, her way of saying, “You’re in my space and I’m not happy about it.” Still Linda moved forward.

Just then a car came around the curve and broke the tension. Cyclist took off, bear and cub went back in the woods, and Linda stopped thrill-seeking.

Another day we were walking in that neighborhood when we came down a steep hill, and around a sharp turn there sat a bear in the middle of the road—just sitting there enjoying the lovely day. This was the only way back to Linda’s house, and we could not pass the bear where it was.

Linda approached as she always does and the bear remained in place. I started backing up the hill, giving myself a head start in case the bear came toward us. Linda put on a little more pressure and the bear turned and glanced at her. Linda pushed just a bit more and the bear swung her head around and let out a terrifying growl, at which Linda started backing up saying, “Okay, bear. It’s all yours. Stay as long as you want.” She does have some sense; it just takes a while to get to it.

This whole train of thought about bears came up because of what happened last night.

While we are building a house on our farm, we are renting the parsonage, which is right next door to the church. Behind the house there is an eight-foot-wide strip of grass and then a big fenced-in playground. On the other side of the church there’s a four-lane highway, and a tall fence between us and it. This is all in a suburban neighborhood with WalMart right across the street. Not the kind of place bears normally hang out.

I was standing at the sink doing dishes about 7:45 pm when a yearling black bear came right past my window. I said right out loud, “What on earth?” By the time I dried my hands and found my phone he was in my neighbor’s yard and heading for the woods behind her house. This was my only photo:

You’re welcome for that fine piece of photographic evidence.

Of course this experience got me wondering what a black bear was doing in such an unconventional place so I went to the Google and here’s what I learned:

During May and June (I’m sure they go by a calendar) mama bears kick their yearlings out. They have brand new cubs plus they’re thinking about breeding again, and they know their parenting limits. So the yearlings get the boot.

This one was a little bigger than a large golden retriever, with more meat on him. Maybe 120 or so pounds. His head didn’t have that blocky adult look yet, but he definitely wasn’t just a cub.

The girl yearlings are allowed to stay in mama’s territory, but the boys have to get out completely and make their own way in the cold, cruel world so there’s no chance of them mating with mama or a sibling.

My guess is this bear was a young male who was in full freak-out mode. Newly banned from home, missing mama, didn’t know where to go or what to do. I kind of feel sorry for him. It makes me understand why we have teddy bears.

Update: listen, this is not a place you see wildlife. I feel like we live in the city with all the traffic and whatnot. But two days after the bear, I was again doing dishes (maybe it’s me; I’m the problem), and a child raccoon came ambling along the playground fence. It wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t an adult either.

What is going on? Who is letting these adolescents run hither and yon? I need to get back to the farm where the wildlife is familiar.