My First Vacation in Bear Country

A grizzly bear killed a cyclist yesterday morning near the southern edge of the Flathead National Forest, some 200 miles south of where I am camping in Glacier National Park. I didn’t read that story until my mom shared it early this morning.

Yesterday, some five hours after that attack happened, I was passing the time on my 40-minute drive to Many Glacier quickly approaching the precipice of petrification just thinking about the threat of bears. I would only overcome that solidifying aversion by taking a leap of faith on how to approach the unknowns of a bear country hike.

The only deep-rooted strategies at my disposal to face that particular unknown before reaching the trailhead for Grinnell Lake were primeval: flight, fight, and freeze. And you can guess which of those three I was leaning towards at that point.

In the month leading to that drive, however, I had slowly accumulated thoughts, perspectives, and stories to consider death by bear mauling as less of an inevitability. I had listened to Headwaters, Glacier National Park’s podcast, twice through, where they both repeatedly brought up how serious the threat is while also describing the best deterrents:

1. practice food storage safety,
2. remove the element of surprise by calling and clapping as you go, and,
3. as a last resort if a bear is charging you, carry bear spray.

I felt comfortable with food storage since I did not need to cook on a two- to three-hour hike. I had practiced regularly calling out to my surroundings on a 26-mile bike ride to Canada the day prior. And I bought bear spray from one of Glacier’s stores. On top of getting those steps out of the way, I continued communicating to nearly anyone I could about my trepidation. A more experienced hiker even provided an effective reframing of bear sightings in an attempt to calm my nerves. He said it’s actually much more akin to seeing a cow minding its business and trying to find food. I am surprised to this day how effective that comparison is at alleviating my discomfort.

As the drive concluded, these observations led me to finally deprioritize my base instincts and go on my first hike. Seeing the national park was the reason why I had gone through so much planning, so I had to at least try, right?

So I parked at the Grinnell Lake trailhead, ensured my bear spray was in a readily-accessible spot on my person, and was excited that two other young hikers let me join them for the ascent.

Me approximately four miles into the Grinnell Glacier Viewpoint trail, overlooking Grinnell Lake

For someone who has lived 26 years in swamps on the east coast, the hike was otherworldly in its beauty and unforgiving in its expectation of your physical fitness. I’ve got photos now I hope to show my kids and recreate with them at some point. That new faith in the inherent safety of activities if you are smart about your stay in bear country led to some powerful memories which will drive me to experience more of the same, both solo and with those close to me.

Then I read that story this morning of someone pursuing a travel itinerary that sounds eerily similar to mine, but now, they are dead. All outlets quote authorities describing this grizzly’s behavior as abnormal. Some outlets report bear spray was used while others do not — the investigation is ongoing, so it’s hard to know one way or another. Local media sources promulgate new threads of discourse gone unmentioned in Headwaters and my conversations with others. To paraphrase a couple:

• The bear population is doing so well, bears are getting forced out of sanctuaries like national parks and expanding to more populated areas.
• The impressive population recovery of bears means population control by hunting should be allowed again.

As I should expect from reading the comments section on any online article, people were even deriding the deceased for vacationing in bear country — going so far as to mention candidature for a Darwin award.

This news and commentary rebalanced my weighting of those powerful memories versus the threat of loss of life when thinking about going out again. While this balance certainly could mean I cut some of my final days in Glacier to opt for an area of the Western US that’s less prone to bear attacks, I think the allure could still stand for me in the future. I can practice the same recommended deterrents, come back to an environment like this again with a larger group, and ensure it’s still during the most popular season for human visitors. That feels like an appropriate next trip.

Then again, I might forego the need for those precautions by avoiding bear country entirely. After all, it can feel surprisingly likely to join the two people of the projected three million who visit the western Montana area this year that have died by bear attack.