On more than one occasion I’ve wondered just how wise it is to hang out in bear country, eating greasy hotdogs next to a salmon spawning ground. And yet every summer we go back to the same old places, nestle down into the paw print covered sandy bank, and sun ourselves with our backs to the thick brush. Bright, right?
But this is Alaska, and it’s hard to get out and about without running into some kind of wildlife. So we risk it time and again, and once in a while we get a good story out of it. None of us have been eaten. So far.
We’r e on the south shore of Tustumena Lake in Kasilof, Alaska, enjoying the beach at Nikolai Creek, where the shallow stream meets the glacial fed waters. I’m lying on my back, shades on, hot summer sun beating down…wait, this is Alaska…I’m lying on my back, huddled in a sweatshirt, fending off the glacial wind and batting at mosquitoes. Twelve of us have come to spend the afternoon roasting hotdogs, swimming in the shallow waters and NOT snagging salmon illegally. We would never do that.
I’ve just successfully tuned out all the kids and sunk into a tropical beach fantasy, when someone yells, “BEAR!” We all turn to see a brown bear ambling up the beach toward our picnic. Huh.
We all know the protocol. We’ve done it many times before. We know to remain calm. We know to move slowly towards the escape route. But…every time…I run.
I’m pretty sure I pushed my children out of the way, stepped on their heads, and hovered across the sand. My children say I guided them into the boat. We’ll go with their version and not ruin it with my own rendition of the truth.
Within seconds our entire party had boarded the two boats, started the engines and…realized we were still on the sand bar.
The bear was still walking towards us along the shoreline. The men had their pistols drawn just in case, as we all piled back out of the boat, onto the beach, in direct line of the bears path. The guys holstered their weapons long enough to shove the boats into the water, we repeated the boarding process in a more orderly fashion, and shoved off the shore.
The bear never even turned in our direction. He sauntered down the beach, ignoring our existence, as we sat offshore eating cookies and snapping photos from afar. The old brownie only stopped long enough to pee on the spot where we’d lounged, then disappear into the brush…where he’d probably been all along.
