What’s wrong with this picture?
I’ve got a photograph, taken in the mid-1920s, that shows my grandfather, grandmother and my father gathered around an always-hungry black bear in Yellowstone National Park. And, yes, Grandpa is hand-feeding the critter.
Now, Granddad stood over 6 feet tall, and the portly bruin was much more than a cub. If it felt threatened, eliminating my grandparents (or me from ever becoming a twinkle in Daddy’s eye) would pose no problem. But here I am to tell the tale. So perhaps I should ask, “What’s right with that picture?”
Fifteen years after I joined the audacious Miller clan, I recall vacationing in Glacier National Park, in 1964. Part of that special adventure included a hike to the Granite Park Chalet, a remote stone and timber lodge nestled at treeline, where soup and a sandwich topped the dinner menu (in fact the only entrée), and sleeping accommodations amounted to cots, wool blankets and a “honey pot,” housed in bare-bones, log walled dormitories.
But the highlight of that overnight stay was the presentation on Grizzlies by our hosts, including a spotlighted display of the big bears feeding at the chalet’s garbage dump, maybe 100 yards away.
I vividly recall the speaker’s last bit of advice, “Once in your rooms, stay there until morning, since the bears might still be hungry.” Not sure which bothered me most, the concept of an eight-hundred pound grizzly waiting outside our door, or the late summer snow blowing between unchinked logs and piling on the floor. Sleep didn’t come easy. Then again, compared to the last minute guest snuggled on the ground in a mummy bag, about 50 feet from the chalet, my security was Presidential.
When Mom, Dad and I hiked out the next morning, we spotted Grizzly tracks in the fresh powder encircling the gutsy camper. Though we boisterously commented on the scene, the guy never budged. To this day, I have no idea whether he was a sound sleeper, or dead from a coronary.
Regardless, using my family’s personal record as an example illustrates this country’s “progress” from hand feeding black bears in the 20s and 30s, to providing daily grub at open garbage dumps in the 50s, 60s and probably 70s, to complete abstinence with all wildlife today. Back in Grandpa’s day both wildlife and humans interacted with more civility. My how times have changed.
And with that history lesson in mind, perhaps the question we should really pose is why? Why could folks do those things back then and not now? Why weren’t there more serious bear vs. human conflicts? Why wasn’t the bruin in the photo considered a “nuisance bear” and euthanized on the spot? What changed so dramatically? What’s right about this picture, that’s so wrong today?
One glaring fact is population. Back in the mid-20s, the Census Bureau reported 115,829,000 people occupied the same land mass that 191,888,791 folks did in 1964, and an estimated 303,699,985 do today.
Plain and simple: we’ve moved in on the bears, and limited their habitat-stole their home. Not only did we steal their space, we also robbed them of valuable food resources by replacing forest acreage and open space with housing developments, individual luxury homes and shopping malls.
Through unwitting development (blind greed would be more appropriate) we’ve forced the bears-and all wildlife-to become scavengers. Now, if you were a bear, wouldn’t that make you cop an attitude too?
Realistically, bears and all wildlife are opportunists: if there’s food nearby, they’re gonna eat–or try to.
Think about life as a wild animal; their entire being is based upon raw survival. They can’t pick up pizza and beer on their way home, shuffle over to the thermostat and crank it up when it’s cold, or endure the luxury of wondering what’s on HBO tonight (and by the way, did you remember to buy popcorn?).
Instead, they must scrounge for every morsel, seek shelter as best they can-which sometimes means none at all-and dodge predators-primarily mankind (or unkind, as the case may be). It’s no wonder bears get rather testy-downright rude-when we humans ignorantly dangle food sources under their noses and then violently object when they choose to indulge.
Because of human carelessness and the bruins” insolent behavior, last year the Colorado Division of Wildlife labeled more than 50 black bears “nuisance bears” and euthanized them.
But logically who is responsible: the black bears for wanting to survive, or the citizens and guests of our state who ignored the fact that Colorado is Bear Country?
Resident or guest, we must all heed certain precautions, starting with Rule #1: A fed bear is ultimately a dead bear. Once these critters locate a ready food source, they will keep coming back until the source is depleted, or they receive a fatal injection from a dart gun. No amount of animal relocation will alter that behavior-only death, or an easier, more plentiful food source.
As bears leave hibernation in 2008, we Coloradans have a renewed responsibility to prepare for that event. A bear siting, and near conflict, in Pitkin County already made the evening news.
But every year local, state and federal authorities post the DOs and DON’Ts regarding successful co-habitation with black bears. Please, for the bear’s sake as well as your own, grab a copy, read it and understand the recommendations thoroughly, and then give you and your residence the bear test.
Are you doing all you can to avoid encounters around your home by storing trash properly; keeping dog food indoors; cleaning your outdoor grill; and storing birdfeeders inside overnight? When camping and hiking do you store food properly, and remain mindful that ANYTHING with a sweet odor-including deodorants, shampoos, toothpaste-can attract a bear? If not, why not?
Bears have a tremendous sense of smell and depend upon it to zero-in on food. Please don’t experiment with that capability. Let’s make 2008 a banner survival year, for both bears and humans alike.
During the summer of 2003, Rocky Mountain National Park endured a serious bear attack that resulted in injuries to two backcountry campers, and the guilty bear’s demise. I conclude this essay with a piece inspired by that incident, taken from the bear’s point of view. Titled “Bad Bear Prayer,” I hope my perspective helps readers appreciate and understand our responsibility to wildlife.
Bad Bear Prayer:
Bless me, Mother Nature, for I have sinned. I have lusted for the candied aromas of toothpastes, sunscreens, deodorants, shampoos, soaps, and those most enticing granola and chocolate bars humans leave in their tents. Though most of these items provide me little or no nourishment, I cannot resist the temptation induced by their sweet odors. Apparently pursuit of these smells brings out the beast within me; I crave the tantalizing flavors that my brain assumes should accompany these wonderful scents. I am sorry, Mother Nature; I cannot restrain myself.
Because of this uncontrollable urge, I have damaged human property, and inflicted bodily harm to two of those creatures. I fear my actions may provoke the wrath of human condemnation. I may be labeled dangerous, or a killer and, therefore, have to submit to the ultimate sacrifice: relinquishing my life to satisfy those who brand me.
But Mother Nature, I am merely a bear-being a bear-following the instincts you bestowed upon me to feed all summer, so that I might survive winter’s harsh reality and live to further my species. Yet, because I respond to the drive within me, I may be murdered by those sworn to protect me. I do not comprehend.
If humans disposed of humans for being themselves, there would be few remaining, and I would not stand before you, pleading my case. Why can they not recognize that, for them, a day in the backcountry is sport, but for me it is survival? If they desire a night under the stars without the threat of conflict, why do they not pitch a tent in their back yard, instead of mine?
And so, Mother Nature, I ask that you deliver me from evil. I am sorry if my indiscretions reflect badly upon you. That was never my intent. But as you know, I cannot reason or react like a human; I am, after all, just a bear. Please forgive me.
Gary Miller of Estes Park is a freelance writer, author and National Park Service employee.
