The Bear

The girls and I went running this morning. It was cool and overcast - perfect. I chose the Cow Camp trail - not too far away, relatively flat, eight miles out/back, at least two creeks crossed, maybe more.

We had a great run.

Here's the rest of the story.

The girls and I arrive at the large creek (Pony? Squirrel? I'm not sure which it is) four miles in. We're all feeling great, having fun. The girls are happy to plunge right into the creek to cool their toes and drink. The sun is breaking through the clouds and trees to shine right on them. I pull out my camera and position myself on the small wooden bridge over the creek, just below the girls, and snap some photos.

Maia comes out of the creek and jumps onto the bridge beside me. She stops in her tracks, her tail dropping, and looks intently into the forest directly behind me.

I know immediately this isn't good. Maia has an "Uh oh" look on her face. I stand and turn to follow her gaze.

A bear.

Cinnamon colored in the sunlight. Not too big. About 30 feet away, just down stream, in the undergrowth.

The bear and I exchange quick glances before it turns to leave (thankfully). I command Maia to stay and call Meadow to come to me. Meadow is still clueless to anything amiss, but quickly picks up on the underlying tension in my voice and obeys while scanning the landscape. As soon as I have my hands on both their collars, one dog on each side of me, still standing on the bridge (which I hope makes us look impossibly BIG to the bear), I yell loudly:

"Go home, bear!"

Several times. With meaning. Just as I would to a strange dog who charges us on a walk. I feel both nervous and silly at the same time, calling out so loudly, disrupting the normally peaceful forest. It does occur to me, even in this stressful moment, that the bear is home, that we're the trespassers.

My voice is authoritative enough that the girls know I'm seriously concerned. Maia wants to lead us away from the area - now! - while Meadow is still intently trying to figure out what all the commotion is about.

As I continue to strongly suggest to the bear the he go away, a movement off to one side catches my eye.

A bear cub, black as coal, scrambling up the hillside to get away from the crazy screaming lady by the creek.

Now I'm truly nervous. A momma bear and her cub. Maybe cubs, plural.The worst possible bear encounter.

I can't see either of them anymore, they've disappeared into the forest undergrowth, which is thick is this part of the forest. I can't hear them over the rushing of the creek. I've no idea if they're still moving away, and if so, in which direction. I don't want to cross their path again.

Somehow I manage to hang onto my camera through all the excitement. I don't try to take photos of momma or Boo Boo. I'm not stupid. (Although some would argue that point, given my penchant for these "solo" trail runs.)

I put the leash on Meadow, then let Maia lead us back up the trail toward the car. Maia's tail stays down for about a mile, then, when she decides we're safe, it goes back to its usual high-on-her-back position. I let Meadow off leash again. (I know Maia won't chase a bear; I'm not so certain about Meadow.) We all relax, a bit, although still highly tuned into the forest around us. I keep talking very loudly to the girls, inane things just to make noise so any bear can hear us coming. I feel silly again. The girls form a Malamute Sandwich - Maia in front, me in the middle, Meadow bringing up the rear - the running formation that makes me feel safest.

I had four miles worth of time to consider how we had gotten so close to the bear and her cub. When we approached the creek, the wind was behind us. All of us - me, the girls, the bears - were focused on drinking from that creek. The forest is dry; there are few streams still flowing. With the wind at our backs, Maia couldn't smell the bears or I'm sure she would have warned me sooner. The bears apparently didn't smell us coming over that last ridge, and probably didn't hear us - even though I was talking to the girls about the water up ahead - because of the creek's noise.

Close call.

We all - human, dogs, bears - realized our individual mistakes and beat our respective hasty retreats.

Once again, Maia saved my butt. Without her keen eye, I may not have ever seen the bear and her cub, and so could have put myself in a truly bad position. I also appreciate that she doesn't give chase; she simply alerts me. Yet another example of why I don't go out into the forest without at least one of the girls with me.

One additional small matter of a scatological sort: On the run out, when we reached an area about a mile away from the creek, there was a pile of bear poop full of yellow berry seeds right along the edge of the trail. I can't be sure, but I'm pretty certain that pile wasn't there when we passed on our way toward the creek. The girls went right by it, not even stopping to smell or showing any concern. I, however, turned my bear radar way up again.

The photos were taken at the creek, from the bridge, just before seeing the bears.