Animal Encounter Category—Bronze Winner: A Surfeit of Bears
by Helen Sowers
Finally I was on my own, backpacking in the Sierra. It hadn’t been easy. When I proposed a solo hike, my husband had been adamantly opposed, citing all sorts of dangers. I persisted. I had always wanted to test my abilities alone. Finally I said, “Well, I won’t go. But I’ll always wish I had.” My husband knew when to accept defeat.
I found a sunny meadow with a cold stream. I washed my hair in the icy water. It felt good lazing quietly in the sun after the tent-by-tent crowding in Little Yosemite Valley. Finally the evening sky prompted me to cook my dinner on my small primus. I carefully packed all the food away. No before-bed snacks. This was in a well-known bear area. I put my carefully planned meals into two caches. Then I selected branches on separate trees to hang my food. I had two “Bear Blocks,” my husband’s invention for hauling food out of the reach of bears. I had been intimately involved in testing them. The contraption foiled a number of bears we had encountered. The success depended on availability of good high limbs away from other branches. I found what I believed were good limbs. I ignored several broken branches that I saw lying on the ground. When my food was positioned out of reach of bears, I prepared for sleep. I admitted missing the camaraderie of sharing a campfire. I snuggled into my sleeping bag, looking at the stars and wondering if sleep would come. It didn’t. There were rustlings and snapping twigs. What was causing them? I didn’t remember there being so many night noises when I was camping with others. Finally I dozed. I suddenly became wide-awake. Was that a bear lumbering along near the stream? I froze in my bag. Yes, I could see the outline in the meager starlight. The bear was heading for one of the cache trees. What do I do? I knew that black bears rarely attack humans, but I was alone. I stayed huddled, indecisive, until I heard the bear climbing the tree. I got out of the ephemeral safety of the bag, put on my shoes, grabbed my flashlight, approached the tree and yelled at the bear. The bear growled. I was intimidated. In all our Bear Block testing we had never heard a bear growl, no matter how frustrated it was by the Bear Block. I retreated a few feet. The bear scrambled out onto the limb. The branch broke with a loud snap; and down it came, replete with the bear and my food cache. I had not expected the bear’s weight to simply break the branch. I had not expected the bear would be willing to risk injury in such a fall. Soon I heard the bear tearing into the food bags. All my dinners! All that planning. I retreated, defeated, into my sleeping bag. But at least there was the other cache. I could survive 5 days on that food. After the bear had satisfied its hunger, it left. I was again alone in the dark, cowering. I don’t know if I slept, but several hours must have passed. Was that the bear back? Yes, and it was headed for the remaining cache. This time I didn’t hesitate. If the bear got that food, I would have to go back home ignominiously, admitting to my husband that he was right. I grabbed my down vest, my bamboo walking stick and went toward the tree. I could hear that the bear had already climbed the tree and was testing the limb. I could see the very faintest light in the east, presaging dawn. I don’t think I would have acted if I hadn’t had that promise of daylight. By this time the bear had broken that branch, fallen, and was munching on something. I could make out food packages scattered on the ground. I yelled, “You get out of here!” at the top of my lungs and pounded the 6 foot walking stick in the direction of the bear. The bear retreated about 10 feet. I reached down for packages of food. Oh, damn, my down vest was on inside out. I had to reach inside to stuff the food into the pockets. The bear approached again and I yelled and pounded. It retreated. I scavenged more food, keeping an eye on the bear and yelling and pounding all the time. I was standing on a slight rise. Did the height make the bear see me as a more formidable adversary? The light began to get brighter. The bear and I maintained the standoff for perhaps an hour. By this time I was hoarse. But I had retrieved all the remaining packets. Finally the bear turned and faded into the forest. I had won for now, but I had more nights ahead. After my ordeal I needed the stimulation and sustenance of breakfast. Fortunately bears don’t like instant coffee, although its plastic container had tooth holes in it. After eating, I packed the remaining food and started out. At least my pack was lighter, but I wondered if the remaining food was enough to last for the next five scheduled days. The previous night I had heard some people camping up the stream but, wanting my solitude, I hadn’t approached them. Now I greeted the man and his two teen-age boys, “Did you have problems with a bear last night?” “Why, no we didn’t. It was quiet all night.” Quiet? With all my yelling and pounding? The sound of the stream must have muffled all other noises. They were surprised to hear of my bear encounter. Perhaps, I surmised, given a choice, the bear had considered a lone camper as an easy prey. When they heard my story, the man offered me some of their extra food, spaghetti and a rice dish. I gratefully accepted. As I hiked up the trail, the previous night’s lack of sleep slowed my steps. I found a niche off the trail and curled up on my air mattress, but the strong sun found me and I decided to move on. By late afternoon I reached a large, open granite shelf overlooking a canyon. I gazed out on granite domes shining in the sun, earning John Muir’s phrase, “The Range of Light.” There was a rock-enclosed shelter for my sleeping bag. Best of all was a perfect Bear Block tree at the edge of the drop-off. It was a huge pine with an isolated limb about twenty-five feet up. This distance was beyond my throwing abilities until I climbed a jumble of granite boulders that brought me in range. The second toss of a rock tied to the Bear Block rope carried it over the limb. After supper I could hang my food safely, I hoped. I saved out a hefty portion of 151 proof rum to go in my hot cocoa as my sleeping potion. Tonight I didn’t want to worry about bears. It worked. But again I was awakened by a noise. My flashlight revealed a half-grown bear, not so daunting as the large adult of the previous night. He headed for the tree. His inexperience showed since my yelling and menacing gestures sent him scampering away. He left me in peace for a good night’s sleep. I awoke next morning feeling feverish. Soon diarrhea followed. Maybe the water at the crowded Little Yosemite campground was contaminated. Now here I was, alone, sick at 10,000 feet, with a two days’ hike to the Tioga Pass Road. What should I do? I packed up and hiked a short distance to the Sunrise High Sierra Camp. It was deserted. The hikers doing the week-long route from tent camp to tent camp must not be due for several days. No help there. My fever and malaise increased. By now I was willing to admit there were situations where being a solo hiker was foolhardy. I consulted my topographical map. I could hike down to Sunrise Lake for the night, and the next day I could hike down to the Tioga Pass road. Could I hitch a ride down to a town where I could get a bus to home? Or could I get a ride up to Tuolumne Meadows where I had arranged to meet my son-in-law in four days? I wearily put one foot in front of the other on the trail to Sunrise Lake. Hiking the five miles seemed to take forever, particularly with frequent stops. Finally I got to the lake and found a camping spot. There were more campers than I had seen in the two previous days. I set up my tent. It offered privacy and ephemeral safety from wildlife. After having bouillon for supper I again needed to hang my food if only to get it away from my tent. I almost didn’t care whether a bear got it. I wouldn’t need it if I hiked out the next day. All the trees were dense with no isolated limbs. However, I finally compromised and using one Bear Block hung my food on a tree about twenty feet from my tent. Still feeling miserable, I crawled into my bag after dark. I was awakened by a loud bawling noise. This time a bear had climbed my food cache tree and was indiscriminately breaking limbs trying to reach the food. He expressed his frustration by the almost continuous bawling noise. He broke limb after limb after limb. I thought, if this is what bears will do, the Bear Block system will cause the wrecking of the forest. My curiosity about his technique overcame my malaise. I crawled out of the tent and aimed my flashlight toward the bear. He had not found the branch with the food and continued to vent his anger and break more branches. Finally with one last cry he backed down the tree and left. I found out in the morning he had wrecked the tent of nearby campers to reach their food. They were novices and didn’t follow the axiom, “Never have food near when sleeping in bear country.” I hiked out. My grand defiant hiking trip defeated, not by bears or other wilderness hazards, but by an errant and lowly organism previously acquired from close contact with other humans.
