Brooks Camp Field Report, July 2023: Holly Gets the Last Word

                                                                            Holly                                                                                  (Photo by Lynne Lewis)

    Of all my seasons at Brooks, this one has proven to be the most difficult to describe.  In part that's because it was structured in a different way from most, in three relatively short parts that ended at the time that the season would normally just be getting under way for me.  Also, it was my last one, and I knew from the start that it would be.  And finally because, while I was still patrolling, the focus had shifted from looking for and dealing with bears to helping to train the next generation of Brooks bear techs.  Rather, two of the three tours were focused on training, while the stint in the middle involved me keeping an eye on camp as the sole bear tech while the rest of the team did some training on the Katmai coast (where the bears are more plentiful in June).

    Not that we didn't have some exciting moments with the bears in camp.  We did, and I'll get into that a little further on.  But mostly my focus was on trying to pass along some of the things I've learned about the bears of Brooks River, and the strange world of having to argue with them.  Fortunately for me (and it's hard to overstate how fortunate I felt) the new crew were motivated and quick learners.

    Beyond a few nuts and bolts matters (basic radio procedures, the fundamentals of drawing and deploying bear spray, etc.), bear management is a difficult thing to try to teach, in part because it is so hard to codify.  I will try to explain why:  In the minds of bears, what mom did and did not do when they were young weighs very heavily.  Nonetheless they are (of course) smart and curious goofballs, and there is no telling what weird stuff they will come up with. On top of this we must throw in a big bunch of humans wandering willy nilly around camp and environs, 80% of whom lose 90% of what common sense they might otherwise have whenever a sow with cubs is nearby (and if bears are in short supply, they will lose that potential common sense when any bear is nearby).  And on top of that, many of the things that bear management has to do (e.g. treating defensive bears like they are predatory/dominating bears) are the direct opposite of what is the right thing in terms of bear safety.  So how do you train someone for something like this?

    Mostly, I told stories as we patrolled camp.  At this point there's hardly a place in camp where I have not had to argue with a bear or otherwise had some bizarre, dangerous, bear-centered occurrence take place.  In many  places it's many dozens of times.  Camp feels almost haunted to me now with all those memories residing in all those spots, all the more so given that there are so many that most of them blend into each other.  And indeed this was one of the biggest challenges for me, pulling a narrative that is coherent enough to be useful out of the brown, furry blur in the back of my brain.  Fortunately, there were enough occasions that were simultaneously simple enough and extreme enough--and still clear enough in my mind--that I was able to make use of them.  Nonetheless, I always had a feeling of frustration that there were so many more that I could have dug up and made good use of, were the memories not so hopelessly intertwined. 

    Mostly I wanted to impart a sense of just how bizarre bear management can be, and how much one needs to think situationally, that is, to the extent that one has time to think at all.  In the early morning and late evening you may be able to deal with bears in a somewhat straightforward way, but in the middle of the day when camp is always full of people, and not infrequently has multiple bears scattered in and around it, the situation is often much more complex.  This is further exacerbated by it often having been, say, several minutes since you heard over the radio where that other bear by the lodge bathhouse was heading, and the bear you are currently chasing out of camp has decided to run in that very direction.  And there are matters like figuring out how to deal with a group of visitors who are currently in the process of surrounding a sow and cubs on the beach, and deal with it in a way that doesn't end up stressing the bear family even more.

    Of course there were no stock answers I could provide.  My main intent was to stimulate thinking, and to impress on them that an optimal solution was often, if not mostly, going to be an unaffordable luxury, especially when a scary/stupid drama is unfolding all too rapidly before their eyes.

    While there were bears around during all my time at camp this year, on the whole they were late in returning to the river, and I wasn't able to get in much time working with real bears in real time with the new crew.  Fortunately things picked up the last few days, and I was at least able to demonstrate a few important points and, best of all, see that Brooks has a genuinely excellent team for 2023.  It simultaneously made it both easier to say goodbye, since I knew camp was in good hands, and harder in that I so wanted to do more bear wrangling with that bunch.  Even though I am aware that there is a sense in which the need for bear management is unfortunate, and that the dangers are very real, words cannot describe how much I love bear wrangling with a motivated, able, and fun loving team.

    910 was the only bear that gave us any serious pushback during the times that I was on duty.  As is her style since she left cub-hood behind (she was a problem even then, but in a different way), her pugnacity was expressed with a nonchalance worthy of Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier.  In that way her style is the direct opposite of the flamboyantly emo aggression which 284 often expresses toward bear management.

    910 performed her understated aggression on me on two occasions, roughly ten minutes apart.  The first was in the high grass at the edge of camp at Overlook, the other was at the edge of camp between the leach field and Cultural Trail.  In both of those instances she walked toward me with the intent of entering camp and with absolute confidence (at least outwardly) that I would step aside and let her pass, in spite of my all my yelling, not to mention the canister of bear spray aimed directly at her nostrils from only a few yards away.  In both instances she casually turned aside and moved away from camp only a second or so before I sprayed.  As always she made it look like this was her intent all along and without ever betraying any acknowledgement of my mere existence.  Her two understudies (one being her own cub and the other her adopted niece) followed, no doubt looking forward to someday antagonizing bear management on their own.

    For bears and bear techs, the tradition lives.

    My last day on duty was a late shift, working with Anna Crosby and ending at 10:30 pm.  It was intense enough in terms of bear activity and wonderful moments with friends that it went by much too quickly, and was too much for me to hope to describe here.

    My last bear was called out by Cory Cravata, and I found it standing between the lodge office and the bridge gate, looking somewhat bemused by camp and the people standing not far away on the dining hall porch.  It was a adult male, with all the qualities that made it obvious that it was an adult male but not so blocky yet to be a "fishes the base of the falls"dominant type.

    I walked toward him and, about five yards out, snapped my fingers while pointing toward the edge of camp behind him.  Immediately, but without hurry, he turned in that direction and left.  

    Hazings are by no means always like that, but it sure is nice when they are.

    Did I get lucky or was I in the zone?  It was some of both. I actually was feeling in the zone at the time, given the alchemical mixture of bear action combined with the deeply positive conversations with friends I'd imbibed that evening.  And with bear management, as with sports and music and relationships and many other things in life, when you are dialed in, surprising things happen.  On the other hand, I'm all but certain that this bear was not used to camp, but had experienced humans previously to some extent.  Especially for younger adult males, this is a combination that can make for straightforward hazing.  

In any case, it was a perfect one to end on.

***

    I left camp in the late afternoon two days later, taking a Park Service landing craft to Lake Camp where Susan met me to drive me home to King Salmon.  As I waited on the boat with a couple of friends, just a few minutes before we set off from Brooks Camp, Holly dropped down to the beach by the visitor center.

    As many of you know, Holly is my favorite Brooks bear, and has been since I've known the bears well enough to meaningfully have a favorite.  Having stated some of my reasons for her being my favorite bear in these field reports, as well as to countless people in person, and in other venues, I won't do so here.  But I have to note that I was telling my friend just moments before about her Most Favored Bear status in my heart.

    I had seen her a couple of times during the week, but had not entertained the slightest hope that I would see her one last time before departing.  But there she was, coming along the beach toward us.  I watched as she walked by, with me occasionally uttering single-syllable notes of astonishment.

    After passing us she made a gentle left turn, headed into the trees, and vanished from sight.