When a bear walks through the woods at Yellowstone National Park, it draws more attention than a resurrected Beatles concert. People jump out their cars running and screaming like groupies.
On seeing a black bear through the silhouette of branches, I immediately punched the breaks, pushed the car in park, and sprinted into the forest wearing nothing but a beach towel (I had just finished swimming in Yellowstone Lake).
I was not alone in my pursuit of this bear. Fifty other people ran together, and nearly fifty others were already near the bear as they flashed cameras. A forest ranger, armed with bear spray, shouted into a megaphone, “Keep — Away — From the bear!”
Nobody listened. I sprinted barefoot, tightening the beach towel against my hips while my camera bounced against my chest with each stride. Picking the perfect spot for photographs, I huddled next to a family of six gathered under a pine tree.
The mother, breast-feeding an infant, politely asked, “Honey, would you like to borrow my binoculars to see the bear?”
I nodded and greedily grabbed for the binocular case.
Focusing on a black blur, the bear’s sharp shoulders contrasted against the forest. His tan muzzle was stained with berries (or something), and the bear waved his head back and forth sniffing the air. The black bear casually strolled through the forest ignoring the crowd as blue camera flashes broke through the bush and branches. Accepting his celebrity, the bear gave no attention to the “oohs” and “ahs” echoing through the forest and completely ignored the park ranger shouting, “Do not — Attempt — To pet — .The bear!”
Moving its head, the bear caught wind of a scent and gradually headed in my direction as I continued snapping photos.
“You, in the beach towel, get back to your vehicle,” the park ranger shouted.
As the park ranger started towards me, I took off running, but on the way, a pine cone lodged between my toes, and I limped towards my wife waiting for me in the car.
My wife sighed as I climbed into the car. “Really honey? Was a picture that important?” she asked. During this vacation, my wife grew accustomed to my strange antics. The day before I was nearly gored by a bison.
As I settled in the car, I noticed that the black bear was moving towards us. The other witnesses gazed at me in jealousy as I flashed “close-up” pictures, but a park ranger interrupted, “You, beach towel, move your damn car!”
Our rental car was parked illegally with half of the tail end in the middle of the road. As I shifted the car in reverse, my wife warned me about a stone wall behind us. I didn’t listen. Gunning the car, I smashed the fender and blew out the rear tire.
Meanwhile the black bear didn’t jump or appear frightened. He lazily walked past our car as if he had witnessed hundreds of car crashes in his lifetime. The bear was now two feet away from the car, and as I reached for my camera, he had already journeyed under an overpass, disappearing into the dark cover of the forest.
This was my first encounter with a bear, and believe it or not, it wouldn’t be my last.