by Leonora Ross
Winter can take its time here in the mountains. Last year, we had snow in June, and summer felt like an advertisement for an island vacation on the cover of a shiny brochure you wished you could but didn’t have money to go on.
But when the robins start belting out their lovely songs on the high treetops, and no hazardous black ice threatens your health each time you leave your front door (whether on foot or in your car), it beckons the wanderer to explore.
Little tourist towns bustle with visitors. Campervans with huge red maple leaves painted on the sides – driven by mostly European tourists – flood the highways, eager to discover the Great North, strong and free. We are proud of that anthem here; it is just as free as it is wild.
As an avid explorer of trails throughout the year, I love the crisp, peaceful ambience of the forest on a winter hike. And it usually goes without encounters with four-legged creatures of the furry-with-sharp-teeth variety.
Yet there’s something about the antigravity and energy of summer. You have much less gear on. You may smell like sunscreen mixed with bug spray and carry half your body weight in water and snacks, but there’s the sense that you can accomplish things. Climb to the pinnacle of those daunting cliffs and prove something grand. Yes, there’s a certain smugness that creeps in and makes you believe you may just be a tad invincible.
Nothing bursts the bubble of such narcissistic thoughts faster than an encounter with a bear on a trail.
Anyone who’s encountered bears while hiking will tell you it’s a perfect paradox between the ultimate buzz and the abdabs. Regardless of how much we allow ourselves to believe what we read about being and doing anything, bears don’t read, and they’re not keen on us ‘being and doing anything’ on their turf. It’s about respecting nature and realising that in the wild, you’re at the bottom of the chain.
In British Columbia’s misty forests, berries grow in thick bushes next to the trails. It’s thrilling to walk in a drizzle, hear the patter on the leaves, and photograph rain-speckled berries. But you need to watch your step; the path to the unrivalled view at the top is often decorated with steaming reddish-brown heaps filled with berry seeds. That, of course, means bears are around.
I’m not familiar with European customs concerning hiking safety, but here in the Canadian wilderness, we have vast and dense forests and healthy bear populations. That’s a marvellous thing. However, exploration comes with responsibility.
Many folks carry a bear bell, but unless you have one heavy enough to knock a bear out with your pro baseball pitcher-like skills, it won’t be of much help. I prefer to put music on. Sounds carry far in the woods, and since bears have poor vision but acute hearing, making noise is the most effective way of letting them know someone’s coming (they don’t appreciate surprises). They usually do move out of sight, but sometimes they don’t. The safest way of hiking is in a group. When that is not an option or a preference, it is essential to have bear spray on the ready, even with all your other precautions.
Bear spray can be tricky. It’s not like lightweight pepper spray (which I also carry for smaller encounters with, say, cayotes or, heaven forbid, cougars) that you pull out and press a button. Bear spray comes in a rather intimidating package that you can clip on a belt or slide into a quickly accessible backpack pocket. It’s slightly smaller than a can of bug spray and takes a bit of know-how and clear thinking to operate: turning the nozzle the wrong way could end badly for you on many levels.
Some time ago, I had to replace my expired bear spray. Note: you should never throw it away. There are places you can drop off the old cans for safe disposal. Sellers are required to demonstrate the proper use of the bear spray to a customer. This serves as a reminder that it really is meant for serious business.
While waiting in line, an amusing interchanging of words occurred between the salesperson and a customer, who had obviously never used bear spray before but made a stellar effort not to appear clueless. He asked numerous relevant and irrelevant questions, and the woman behind the counter answered them as best she could. I was impressed by how well she kept her cool.
In fairness, his offence wasn’t against her; he was reluctant to accept that a can of bear spray was so expensive (compared to the value of his life). Bartering over the price proved worthless, so he pulled the last rabbit out of his hat:
‘Say I run into a bear and use only half a can of bear spray. Would I get a refund for the rest?’ he asked.
‘No, that won’t be possible,’ the salesperson replied.
‘But why not?’ came his surprising surprise.
Not batting an eyelid, she nailed it. ‘Sir, if you use only half a can of bear spray, you won’t be able to return the other half. You’ll be dead.’
Human nature is always full of delightful anecdotes.
Learning to operate a device that could potentially save your life is one less obstacle before reaching the summit. If you fail to use the bear spray in time or don’t have any, that will leave you with yet another dilemma in the survival game: how fast can you run or climb a tree? Knowing when to do either one of those is vital.
There’s an old joke that says you must read the signs in bear country. That means knowing the difference between bear stools. Black bear stools have lots of berries in them. Grizzly stools have bear bells in them and smell of pepper spray.
Don’t be afraid out in the wilderness. Be prepared and enjoy yourself.
Category: Featured, Nonfiction