I have spent the last hour googling pictures of brown bears. I’m trying to desensitize myself. It’s not working.
Tuesday morning, I popped the garage door open to three grizzlies standing in my driveway. A sow and two grown cubs, one of them standing right in front of that big stupid wide door I had just opened onto the place where the dogs and I had some measure of safety. That expression–the hair stood up on the back of my neck–is not an expression. It’s a thing that happens. A very real thing. Afterwards, I felt as if I’d been struck by lightening. The feeling didn’t go away until later that night. And I thought, way to go body, that’s exactly how you should feel. An encounter like this should make you feel as if something mopped the floor of the forest with you. I don’t ever want to be complacent.
I have a very healthy fear of bears. I’m going to keep that.
I also have a deeply disturbing phobia of brown bears in particular that I would love to shed but don’t know, if I ever will. They’ve smashed through my nightmares since I was a kid. The dream bears have magical powers and abilities. They walk upright and know how to work doorknobs. They drive cars–when they’re not flying. They talk on phones. They stand outside the strange weird dream-office where I sometimes file papers and make me work overtime while one by one I watch them eviscerate my dream co-workers as they try to leave the building. Don’t leave, people! The bear will eat you! And then they all die because nobody ever listens to me.
I want to state now that the purpose of this post is not demonize bears. Live and let live. This is Alaska and there are big things with big teeth all over the place. Deal with it. I abhor trophy hunting and people who would just kill a bear because it’s a bear. People who do that aren’t worth the pile of shit a bear takes in the woods, real or proverbial. Bears are an important part of our ecosystem and are absolutely necessary to remind us we are vulnerable, even in our own yards. We have to see ourselves this way, or we’re not going to survive.
Real bears are scary. Symbolic, anthropomorphical, SAT-proctoring dream bears paralyze me with terror. I might be a ninny.
I tried for an hour to find photos of bears that were neutral. I failed. There is no image of a bear for me that does not show a massive intelligent predator.
Those bears in my yard? They weren’t cute. They weren’t fuzzy wuzzy, adorable or just out for a stroll while their porridge cooled. They weren’t even beautiful. They were dirty and wet and had bad bad looks on their faces. They were out to fuck shit up.
So what happened? I discovered my own magical powers and somehow teleported to the button that closes the garage door–seriously I don’t remember getting to it, just hitting it. The bear veered away at the sound, thank god because our garage door takes something like 36 minutes to roll down and close properly against the floor. I gotta have my husband fix that.
Honestly, I’m a little afraid to go to sleep tonight for fear of what will be lurking in the shadows. I’m also frightened every time I have to take the dogs out to pee. I can’t see in the dark, but I sure hear every leaf wiggle and grass rustle.
They say though, you can smell a bear long before you see it. (I know a few guys like that, too.) But I’m not so sure. That sounds like another Lie #49 my parents would tell me, if I got scared on a camping trip.
I used to go steelhead fishing at Deep Creek a lot with my dad and brother. I remember one trip in particular. There was no fish, but who cared? We were on a beautiful river. Sound of rushing water in our ears, the brightness of gold leaves in our eyes. We stood for hours in a long pool, casting and casting and watching the far bank. It’s one of my favorite memories. When we got ready to leave, finally turned around to gather our gear off the sand/gravel bar behind us, that’s when we saw the bear tracks. Right behind us.
Right. Behind. Us.
A bear had come out of the woods, walked right up to us, checked us out then walked away. We never smelled a thing.