Here There Be Predators

I come into the peace of wild things.

Wendell Berry

After last week’s post I was reminded by my readers that gear matters. How we protect our campsite and food matters, and hikers have a lot of opinions and ideas about how to do that best.

As usual, whenever I post about gear I receive an onslaught of comments and responses, often offering tips and advice, which I appreciate. I had expected people to weigh in on the matter of bear protection, but instead I received stories and photos of ravaged campsites where other hikers had failed to take precautions with their food.

My most memorable such event occurred in a crowded campground in Yosemite. I was sleeping comfortably in my camper when I was awakened by flashing lights and a ruckus occurring across the road. I looked outside just in time to see a bear running off as the rangers shined their light on it and chased it away. I was not surprised. Bear warnings are everywhere in Yosemite, but these campers had left food out on their table, as if they were welcoming their invited guest, a black bear.

The next day we stopped and chatted with the ranger about the event. He said that the bear had previously been relocated to a more isolated part of the park but had returned. That meant a certain death sentence for this animal, and the team was preparing to make that happen. This saddened me, for the problem was caused not by the bear but by careless campers, another good reason to take precautions with food at night.

I was reminded by Eric Wollberg, communications manager for the Pacific Northwest Trail Association, of the Opsack, a heavy duty odor proof zip-lock bag that many hikers use as an alternative to heavy bear proof products. I use one inside my canister or Ursack and several smaller ones for various toiletry products and other items that might signal a bear by their odors.

The only thing I do not wrap up in odor-proof plastic is myself. There I am alone in my tent at night, and I am food. I do not know how tasty I might be, but that is the reality whenever we enter the wilderness, and that is part of what makes the experience so wondrous. Predatory attacks, even in grizzly country, fortunately are extremely rare, but they do occur, which is why I carry bear spray and protect my food in a canister or Ursack. One of many drawbacks that technology has brought to the wilderness is that we forget that we are in a wild place, and in wild places dangerous things can happen, however confident we may feel with a cell phone by our side.

The middle syllable in wilderness, –der-, means “animal” and is the derivation for deer. Wilderness literally means a place of wild animals. This wildness is the reason I return year after year to mountain trails, taking whatever precautions I can but also accepting that just by hiking alone I am accepting some risk.

My most frightening encounter with a wild animal occurred while backpacking in the Bighorns. I had made camp by a lake and was sitting on a log writing in my journal when I heard a shuffling noise not too far away and looked up to see a very large bull moose examining my campsite, first inspecting the tent, then coming around to face me just about five feet away from where I sat and towering far above my head. He lowered his giant rack and pawed at the ground, snorting. I remember the sound of my heart beating and wondered if the giant animal could hear it too. He could have trampled me to death at that moment, but instead he simply ambled away, as if he had made his point.

This is why I return to the mountain trails year after year, so that I can hear my wild heart beating in my chest, so that I can look into the eyes of wildness and know that I am alive because this animal allows it. No amount of plastic or Kevlar will protect me from this experience. I am grateful.