Bear naked

It was the darkest of nights, but I hope no one was watching.

Any passers-by, casual onlookers or peeping toms would have gazed on a most unusual sight – a nearly naked grown man (yours truly), dancing around the woods, waving his arms and shouting in tongues. But my farmer’s tan, boxer shorts and expletive-ridden dialogue were by no means the most shocking thing in that ponderosa forest. Standing just on the other side of the ring of trees was a 300-pound black bear, sharp-clawed, huffing and ready to rumble. This Durango male looked positively scrawny and hopelessly vulnerable by comparison.

Let me say here that I’ve always considered myself to be “Bear Smart.” I’ve spent a couple seasons in the Alaskan bush, shared space with grizzly and brown bears, and ridden herd on enough black bears to have successfully earned my “bear badge.” Our old homestead in the Animas Valley was a bear supermagnet. Two giant crabapple trees, a quarter-acre veggie garden and a small orchard routinely transformed our slice of heaven into an ursine buffet. Through the years, I chased off more than a dozen black bears and cubs, rousting them from outside bedroom windows, atop roofs and inside kiddie pools. At the same time, I watched helplessly as Team Bruin polished off tomato crops, gobbled up prized cabbages and deflowered entire trees of ripening fruit.

Once, I had the mixed pleasure of returning home to find my English mother-in-law sobbing, blathering and pointing in a fit of bear-induced horror. A large sow had somehow wandered onto my daughter’s trampoline, happily parked itself inside the safety enclosure and was bouncing the sunset away. “Call the authorities,” dear old mum sobbed in lilting tones. “I fear that Skyler’s been eaten alive.” Not to worry, my toddler was quietly playing (with a teddy bear) upstairs. The point is, all those run-ins pale in comparison to my most recent encounter.

More than a few days ago, the Sands clan found itself holed up in a favorite campground in New Mexico’s Sangre de Christo range. After a day of wandering through granite outcrops and wildflower-studded valleys and arroyos, the family bid the day adieu and crawled inside the tent’s nylon flap and into our sleeping bags. The curtain of night dropped and all three of us blissfully slipped into the dreamscape, our bodies numb with fatigue and our bellies happily full of Hatch chile. Unfortunately, dreamtime would be short lived.

“Whoomph,” sounded loudly just outside our tent’s front door and woke me minutes into my slumber. A chorus of scratching then tickled the soundscape and loud footfalls hit just on the other side of the tent’s thin veil of fabric. As another humph hit, I unzipped my bag, righted my boxer shorts and darted through the front door only to be greeted by a loud crash. I girded for battle, fully prepared to face a pack of Santa Fe teen-agers in the act of making off with our beer cooler. Instead, I met the yellow eyes, hulking form and hot breath of a full-grown New Mexican black bear.

My options were limited, so I manned up, flexed in the moonlight and dug deep. Seizing on my inner woodsman, I walked assertively toward the beast, clapped my hands, growled, and barked all manner of expletives in an effort to run off the animal. The oblivious boar shrugged off my advances, ignored my bare-chested machismo and went back to the cooler, tossing it around like a small lunch box.

So I upped the ante, took advantage of my opposable thumbs and utilized technology to level the playing field. An errant bocce ball, leftover from the evening’s revelry, found its way into my right hand. I took aim, shouted “Git!” for emphasis and chucked the heavy globe directly at my adversary’s head.

As the projectile floated through the air, the bear’s large eyes seemed to widen. Just as the colored sphere was about to make contact – Blam! – the entire world flashed to white.

I was completely blinded as my eyes swam and my body lost equilibrium. But as the darkness returned, my sight readjusted. The bear (clearly stunned by the sight of my naked glory) had turned tail and bolted. I rubbed my eyes in alarm, but it was my ears that unraveled the mystery. A voice called from the neighboring campsite (somebody had been watching).

“What the hell did you do that for?” a woman holding a camera said in a gruff voice. She fired off another shot (also accompanied by a flash) as the bear made its retreat. She then checked the camera’s screen, shook her head in disappointment and added, “I’ve been feeding that bear for three nights and finally got him close enough for a good photo. But you, mister, just ruined my best chance.”

Crawling back into her pop-up, she added, “Thanks a lot.”

Like the black bear, I also skulked back to my den and crawled into the tent a little wiser for the experience. Both of my girls were still snug and happily hidden in dreamland. And I zipped back into my bag with the cruel knowledge that I had just faced down the most dangerous animal in the woods. I quietly prayed that her bait basket was empty and that she would stay inside her camper for the remainder of the night.