*Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Every human should have a bear story.”
Here’s mine:
By the third or fourth day at bear camp at Kachemak Bay State park in Alaska during summer 2021, I desperately needed some quiet time. Days spent socializing, smiling at idle chatter, and imbibing at boisterous group meals had left my social battery severely depleted.
So when our camp guides were informed that there was a particularly large bear in the area, and guide John decided to escort my group to the bear tower for the fourth time that day, I bowed out. I needed to shut my eyes near the firepit, take in the scenery, and maybe jot down some notes.
Our bear camp was cordoned off with a perimeter fence on the beach, and bears knew not to approach it. Supposedly. So as the group ambled away, the guides reminded me to stay in the perimeter, and not wander off.
As if.
I walked to the refreshment tent for a hot cup of coffee and eyed the hot chocolate. Mm. Never a huge fan of the sugary beverage, it somehow appealed to me in the below freezing wind chill. I walked back to the firepit area with my hot chocolate and settled in to relax.
(Note: I had forgotten the rule of never bringing any snacks or sugary beverages out of the refreshment tent. Black coffee and water only. Bears have a great sense of smell, if you haven’t heard).
Sipping my beverage, about ten minutes later I heard the walkie-talkie screech.
“Must have been a false alarm. No bear here. We’re headed back.”
I opened my eyes in annoyance, as I had expected more time to myself. Oh well, I thought, better than nothing. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I spied something moving down the beach towards me. A big something.
Yup.
Completely alone save for the chef and the yoga instructor in their tents, I had a front row seat to an extremely large Alaskan black bear walking straight toward our perimeter. He was very very close to me. I was frozen, and could not speak or move.
I heard my name being hissed. My group had arrived back, and was beckoning to me. Forgetting that I was holding hot chocolate, I crept toward them on the trail behind the tents. By this time, the bear had left the beach, so our guides were hoping that he was headed for the tower.
We tiptoed along the trail, whispering. Suddenly John gestured towards my mug.
“What is that?”
“Hot chocolate. I’m sorry, I forgot I was holding it.”
He shook his head, grabbed it, and passed it down the line until it reached guide Mark, who immediately turned to bring it back to camp. We followed this process with our heads and turned to see that same black bear right behind us, looking very alert and interested.
John instructed us to get down low, and he kept his hand on his bear spray. The bear eventually ambled away to the tower, and we got to observe him from a safe distance.
That evening it was agreed upon: the bear had been following the scent of my hot chocolate.
*Theodore Roosevelt said no such thing. But he should have.
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