Bear Encounter - Another One of My Crazy True Stories
Last fall, I took my daughter up to Yosemite for one last time before the cold weather made camping impossible. She had been wanting to climb Half Dome with me for the last year, and I had laughed it off saying that she was just too young and Half Dome far too difficult a hike. As she insisted, I told her that I would take her up half way and that if she could do it without complaining, I would take her to the top as soon as the cables were put back up in summer. She skipped to the top of Nevada Falls, leaving her mother in the dust. The next day, she climbed to the top of Upper Yosemite Falls with me. Clearly, I've got my hiking buddy!
But, that's not really the amazing part of the story. That was only my maternal brag session.
The night after climbing up to Nevada Falls, I cooked dinner over the fire, then we climbed into our tent for the night. Just as I've experienced in every prior camping or backpacking trip in my entire life, I woke up at about 3am needing to use the bathroom. I laid there for at least 45 minutes trying to decide if the need to urinate was sufficient to keep me awake and therefore required that I climb out of my warm sleeping bag, put on all of my clothes and boots, and hike out to the restroom. Eventually, I knew that sleep would not overcome the pain in my bladder. I had to get up. So, stealthily, I unzipped the mummy bag and began to put on my 15 layers of clothes, my beanie, my hooded parka, and my boots. How I was going to find my backside under all these layers that I might actually sit on the toilet was still to be determined. As quietly as I could so as not to awaken my daughter, I unzipped my tent, climbed outside, and zipped the tent back up. I stood straight and took one step toward the restroom facilities. And stopped. There, in my campsite was a large black bear, no more than 10 feet away and immediately between me and the toilet. Had it been light and had other campers been awake and milling about, I might have done the brave thing and yelled while hurling rocks to get the friendly omnivore to exit my campsite. Unfortunately, I had no such odds in my favor, so I partially succeeded in unzipping my tent again before swan diving through the door. Now, I recognized that no tent fabric was going to protect me against a bear, but I found something oddly comforting about not seeing that I was alone with a creature weighing six times more than me. Perhaps it was the ol' ostrich philosophy, but it was all I had to work with at the time.
I laid awake the rest of the night trying to gain enough courage to peek outside and try again. Such courage finally mustered itself with the rising of the sun... and the rock climbers. It was a long night.
That morning, I found several new gifts left for me in my campsite. There were a great many Powerbar wrappers (The weren't mine, honest!), and I inherited a brand new bottle of sunblock. We were even left with one new cliff bar still fully intact with the wrapper on. We were grateful for the bear's peace offerings, and I was pleased that I'd seen the big guy up close and personal. I have to admit though, I think I still prefer to meet my bears when I'm in my car and they are going about their business in a different direction.
But, that's not really the amazing part of the story. That was only my maternal brag session.
The night after climbing up to Nevada Falls, I cooked dinner over the fire, then we climbed into our tent for the night. Just as I've experienced in every prior camping or backpacking trip in my entire life, I woke up at about 3am needing to use the bathroom. I laid there for at least 45 minutes trying to decide if the need to urinate was sufficient to keep me awake and therefore required that I climb out of my warm sleeping bag, put on all of my clothes and boots, and hike out to the restroom. Eventually, I knew that sleep would not overcome the pain in my bladder. I had to get up. So, stealthily, I unzipped the mummy bag and began to put on my 15 layers of clothes, my beanie, my hooded parka, and my boots. How I was going to find my backside under all these layers that I might actually sit on the toilet was still to be determined. As quietly as I could so as not to awaken my daughter, I unzipped my tent, climbed outside, and zipped the tent back up. I stood straight and took one step toward the restroom facilities. And stopped. There, in my campsite was a large black bear, no more than 10 feet away and immediately between me and the toilet. Had it been light and had other campers been awake and milling about, I might have done the brave thing and yelled while hurling rocks to get the friendly omnivore to exit my campsite. Unfortunately, I had no such odds in my favor, so I partially succeeded in unzipping my tent again before swan diving through the door. Now, I recognized that no tent fabric was going to protect me against a bear, but I found something oddly comforting about not seeing that I was alone with a creature weighing six times more than me. Perhaps it was the ol' ostrich philosophy, but it was all I had to work with at the time.
I laid awake the rest of the night trying to gain enough courage to peek outside and try again. Such courage finally mustered itself with the rising of the sun... and the rock climbers. It was a long night.
That morning, I found several new gifts left for me in my campsite. There were a great many Powerbar wrappers (The weren't mine, honest!), and I inherited a brand new bottle of sunblock. We were even left with one new cliff bar still fully intact with the wrapper on. We were grateful for the bear's peace offerings, and I was pleased that I'd seen the big guy up close and personal. I have to admit though, I think I still prefer to meet my bears when I'm in my car and they are going about their business in a different direction.