My Favorite Bear Story

FOCUS ON NATURE After Two Breathless Confrontations, Our Author Bares All about . . . Well, a Bear

As I made my way through the narrow canyon leading to the secluded mountain pond about 5 o'clock that balmy spring morning, there was barely light enough to see. Camping the night before along northcentral Arizona's Mogollon Rim, I had built a makeshift blind near the pond so I could photograph Merriam's wild turkeys. Nearing the pond's earthen dam, I heard woofing and jawpopping sounds coming from the other side. I figured I had startled a herd of javelinas. I crawled up the incline for a peek at the wild pigs. But what met my gaze was no pig. It was a cinnamon-colored black bear less than 10 feet away and, seemingly, looking me right in the eye.Judging by the size of the battle-scarred veteran, I estimated it to be close to 300 pounds. With 2,000 to 3,000 bruins inhabiting Arizona's high country, I should have known I'd meet up with one eventually. But not like this.

Shocked, I fell back to a squatting position on the ground as the bear rose threateningly on its hind legs to tower above me. Just as I thought it would attack, the animal caught my scent on the breeze, then, abruptly, fell back on all fours and vanished into an oak thicket.

When I regained my composure, I crawled inside my blind, my heart still pounding. Now, thinking rationally, I wished there had been ample sunlight to photograph my unexpected visitor.

That term "black bear," by the way, misleads a lot of people. Not all of these animals are black. In fact, less than half of the state's black bears are black. Mostly their colors range from My friend, the bear, had returned. This time I was determined to capture it on film. But as I moved slightly to focus the lens, the bear detected the motion, turned quickly, and looked in my direction. Then when I depressed the shutter release and the motor drive whined into life, the bear cocked its head and started toward my blind, stopping a few feet away.

I did not move or even blink. My only thought was that black bears are omnivorous. Plants and insects make up most of their diet; the rest is usually carrion. But the way that bear looked at me, I was sure it was pondering the idea of adding me to the list.

For what seemed an eternity, it made no move, just stood there peering at me through the blind's narrow opening. Then, as if appeased by the sudden silence, it slowly backed off and strolled to the water's edge for a drink.

After a while, its thirst quenched, the bear casually walked up onto the dam where we had met earlier in the day. Pausing momentarily in the remaining light, the old bruin gave me one last chance for some photographs. Then, with a parting glance, it silently lumbered away into the darkness.

I have returned to that pond numerous times, but I've never again seen the black bear. It still comes and goes, though, because I've seen its tracks. You never know, we just might meet again, another spring day. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be better prepared. M shades of brown or cinnamon to blond.

After filming a turkey hen with its poults and a bull elk wading majestically into the pond for an early evening drink, I decided to pack up my gear and quit for the day. But I dallied to watch the arrival of four drake mallards swooping in for a landing on the water. Though there remained little light, I stayed to photograph them. Suddenly, just as I started cranking, the mallards exploded into flight. Something was coming.

I sat motionless. Then out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement some 10 yards away.