A tale of bruins vs Rita’s ruins
After a short trip, we parked on the inside of a swooping riverbend and announced that the last one to cast a line was an egg sucker!
Since I was seven years old, our family had camped out downriver from Johnson’s Crossing and enjoyed a few days of some of the best grayling fishing you have ever experienced.
As I grew older and more educated about bush survival, and observed the amount of bear scat in the area, I knew we were pushing our luck. Hungry spring bears are no joke, and my luck finally ran out one day.
I was in my early 20s, full of confidence, and piss-and-vinegar. We had headed downriver in my 16-foot Lund boat. Tagging along was my boyfriend at the time (we’ll call him Joe). It was a gorgeous spring day, overtop of a sparkling, fast-flowing river contoured by steep clay cliffs and thick, overhanging forest.
After a short trip, we parked on the inside of a swooping riverbend and announced that the last one to cast a line was an egg sucker.
The Teslin River flows from Teslin Lake into the mighty Yukon River and is home to several species of fish. A shiny Yukon River grayling was my very first catch at the age of five. To this day, it is my favourite fish to catch on a fly rod. I also enjoy eating the tasty white meat over a campfire.
As we started to reel in grayling and enjoy the afternoon, the voices in my tackle box started speaking to me again. They are very possessive, and persuade me to do things that I cannot be held responsible for.
I could have just enjoyed the rest of the afternoon catching grayling in the sun with everyone else. But I had bigger fish to fry. I knew of a jackpot back eddy, about half a kilometre downriver, that had previously seen me catch the biggest inconnu whitefish I had ever seen in the Yukon.
As soon as those voices started snickering at me, there was no going back. Goodbye common sense, it was nice knowing you.
I happened to have a very rare, heavily-weighted silver spinner that the owner of Sports North had given me before I left. The company no longer made that particular lure. I was excited to try it.
I threw on my backpack and large tackle box, grabbed my fly rod and casting rod. I announced that I was going for a short hike to find another spot. My family knew there was no stopping me, despite the whole bears, being alone, type-one diabetes thing. Idgy, the family Jack Russel cross-mutt from the shelter, who had spent hundreds of miles with me in the bush, decided to stay back this time.
The hike through the bush was brutal. I was packing about 40 pounds of gear and going through thick spruce and a thick mat of spongy moss. I was singing out loud, as I normally do, and snapping off a lot of branches. As a rule, I always carry an 8-inch buck knife on my belt and make lots of noise, so that any wildlife knows the circus has come to town.
What I thought should have been a 15-minute hike turned into lots of cursing as I was barely making my way through walls of trees, eating witch’s hair and tripping over logs. Finally, the dense forest started loosening its hold and I could hear the trickling river up ahead.
The trees thinned and turned into 8-foot-tall willow bushes. As I scanned the terrain, I heard the low growl that would send my blood to my feet.
You don’t have to wonder what it is; when you hear it, you know. The growl could have boiled up from the ground beneath me. It shook every nerve in my body and every tiny hair was standing on end.
It wasn’t just the awareness that there was a bear in the vicinity; it was the fact that he was so close he could have whispered in my ear. It is true, though: it’s everything you can do to not mess your pants. That feeling when you are standing on top of a mountain, or blown up in a body of water that could swallow you instantly. That feeling that you are so small and insignificant. In this moment, you are nothing. Mother Nature rules all.
So, this is what it feels like to be prey.
As I started slowly looking up to assess the severity of my situation, I first saw the 6-inch knives for claws, as they swatted the ground not more than 15 feet away. He was completely camouflaged by thick willow bushes. Despite the Pocahontas banshee calls and pathetic song choices I used throughout my hike, here we were.
I was cautious to not make eye contact as I assessed “Yogi” through my peripheral vision. My eyes were level with the top of the hump on his back – I realized I was face to face with the 1,000-pound king of this land, a spring male grizzly bear. And I had just disrupted his afternoon.
It’s amazing how many thoughts go through your mind when you are about to lose your life in such a horrible way, at such a young age. I remember the slight sigh that escaped from my lips as I looked towards the sky thinking, “So this is it for me. Grizzy bear bubble gum.”
In that very moment, it came to me that I had one shot to convince this monster that I was the bigger, badder monster.
My instinctual fight reflexes were highly attuned back then, and still are to this day. I pulled every source of anger and rage and topped it with a combination of crazy. I was here to tell him that if he eats me, it would be like eating a bad mushroom and he wouldn’t be leaving with all his body parts.
I realized that, with the amount of gear I was packing, I looked a lot larger than I was, and used that to my advantage. I puffed myself up like a rooster, started yelling like a crazed cockatiel and began swatting the branches above my head while jumping, which caused all kinds of chaos from my tackle box.
Now, if ever there was a WTF face on a bear, that was it. I still was very careful not to meet eyes with the large bruin, as this could have changed the outcome drastically.
The branches above me snapping loudly, mingling with my shrieks and banshee cries. The bear did not advance. Despite almost peeing my pants, I must have been extremely convincing that I wasn’t to be messed with.
I started backing away slowly while maintaining my batshit-crazy status. The bear was clearly confused, as he was also backing out of danger, along with his puckered face. Once I was beyond his visual range, I slowly turned, whimpered and forced myself not to run. All of a sudden, that thick bush, which had been so dense and frustrating to get through, was just coming down in front of me.
As I frantically mowed my way back through the forest, by the river’s edge, while trying to balance myself and not pass out, I heard a buzzing coming downriver; and it seemed that Joe (the new boyfriend) had come looking for me. I bellowed at him, “Get everyone in the boat! There’s a bear!”
I arrived at the family fishing site with enough energy to fuel an army and promptly instructed everyone to get in the boat, as I had no idea if this bruin was still angry and following me.
To be honest, I really didn’t want to look back. All I knew was that I did not want my family on the same side of the river that he was on, especially smelling of fresh grayling. I was far too frantic to look up and assess everyone’s expressions, but I bet they were epic.
We made our way across the river with everyone intact. My mother announced that I was white as a ghost. Until this point, I had logged hundreds of miles on foot in the bush,by myself, with the family dog, and had never run directly into a bear, so my world of adventure and security was a bit rattled.
I still think back on that day when that bear “allowed” me to live. By all of the laws of nature, I should have been a spring snack.
You can plan all you want about what to do in a bear encounter, but each one is different, and there are too many variables – male or female bear, sick or injured, cubs or no cubs, den or food nearby, weapon or no weapon, open field or sheltered area.
You must assess your situation in seconds. I do not recommend rolling yourself up as a burrito sacrifice, or pissing off a grizzly with bear spray. Thinking back on many events where I came across fresh tracks while in the bush by myself, or hot on a trail of steaming bear dung, on horseback, I shiver as I remember how many close calls there were, even when I had no idea.
I do pack a pew pew now. I feel God has a bigger plan for me, as I should have been a petrified pile of bear dung sitting amongst the moss by the Teslin River shoreline.
I did lose my special rare lure in that tree I was swatting at. One day, perhaps, I’ll go back and retrieve it, but that would be another story for another time.
I am glad I’m here to tell this one.
