Bears

As I was spreading out my bedroll on Brad Kahlund's suburban Colorado living room floor last Sunday, he remarked I should not be concerned with sounds of banging and clanging outside in the middle of the night. "It's just the bears going through my neighbor's garbage can." 

So, I'm sleeping in the woods in the Cottonwood Canyon the next night. The Forest Service campground was closed for the season, so I had wondered in off the road and found a secluded spot on the banks of the Cottonwood Creek. I pitched my tent in a spot that looked like it might get the morning sun. I was still carrying a half-bag of charcoal briquets that Jim had tried to toss out in Seattle. The grocery in the last town I had passed had a sale on individual bacon-wrapped filet mignon for $4.49/lb. I bought a bell pepper, four carrots, some sour dough bread, a bag of tortilla chips and three bottles of Colorado microbrew. I was ready for a cookout!

Without a grill, I had to pile my charcoal in a brazier I constructed from river rocks. Once the coals were hot, I put a flat rock on top and let it heat up enough to fry the meat and the green pepper. In the meantime, I pitched my tent about 50 yards away, remembering one does not cook and sleep in the same location when in bear country. It had gotten really dark in my forested hide-out. Without my headband flashlight, I couldn't see my hand in front of me. It was also getting cold. I seared the meat on a whittled green stick and then set it on the hot stone. The juice and bacon fat ran down into the coals creating the smokey aroma of broiled meat. I was content. Then I remembered the bear in Brad's neighborhood in Durango. And I realized that not just the air around me, but also my clothes and hair, smelled like broiling beef. A park ranger had told me a bear can smell a dead deer from 3 1/2 miles away. That being the case, I was sure my cookout was making bear news as far away as Wyoming. Somewhat less content now, I chowed down hurriedly, staring into the darkness wondering how many bears were within a 3 1/2 radius of my little picnic. 

A common backpacking practice is to haul your food up so it hangs high from a tree. I had prepared for this by tossing a nylon cord over a branch. I now decided I should put my aromatic clothes into a stuff sack and hang them from the branch as well. And I should wash up real well in the creek. Here I was, in the Rocky Mountains, in October, wearing nothing but a headband flashlight, stepping barefoot down a bank toward a glacial creek to bathe in the dark. Excellent planning! 

I balanced my cooking pots on a rock near the fire pit I had dug, figuring the noise would be like an alarm. If I heard clanking pots, I could become alarmed. In theory, the bear would also be startled and run off. I have never heard of this technique working. I crawled into my sleeping bag wearing socks and long-johns, wrapped in the fleece liner of my jacket. Sleep was fitful. I awoke at dawn. The pots were still balanced on the rock. I had a sore throat.

"Bigfoot" ready for the bear