A Beary Interesting Hike

Day 306: Yesterday's MeadoWatch hike offered up a little surprise. I left home early in the morning to be on the trail during the cool of the day, and had been looking for bears on the slopes as I came up the Lakes Trail, but hadn't seen any sign of one except for one deposit of scat early on. When I got up to the monument at the junction with the Skyline Trail, I sat on the stone bench to take a short break. I'd been there for a few minutes when a piercingly loud marmot whistle (the loudest I have ever heard!) knifed through my eardrums. With no one else around, I stood up as I said, "Jesus, marmot! Deafen me, whydontcha?" and then I saw why the marmot had sent out the alarm. A scrawny yearling bear loped at speed up a draw not thirty feet from me, turning and heading down the Skyline Trail when I made my presence known with a startled, "Oh, bear! Hi!" Bear went over the side and into the valley to the east about fifty feet further on, crossed the creek, started up the other side of the valley but thought better of it when two hikers came to the edge of the slope to see what was going on. The bear then turned south and tried to climb up a steeper slope, grabbing onto a rotten stump for an assist. The stump collapsed under the animal's weight and dumped poor bear onto his hindquarters about five feet downslope. He recovered from the indignity with something less than good grace and disappeared around the knoll to the west. By this time, I'd gathered a crowd of visitors who were curious about what I was photographing, but only the two on the far side of the valley actually saw the bear. Still, it was time for some bear education, so I spent the next half hour talking to visitors, letting them know that this particular bear was both young and very thin and therefore might require a little more caution in a potential encounter. That said, my sympathies were with the poor bear who was obviously not having a good day, even without the presence of too many humans on his patch.

Ursine Idyll

Day 293: Team Biota wasn't the only party enjoying the meadows today. We happened on this family moment while driving out of Paradise late in the day. Cubby and mom were enjoying a dinner of wildflowers. The little guy was fairly independent, trailing behind his mother at some distance, but finally caught up to her in time to pose for this distant shot. I suspect mom is the sow who was hanging around Paradise Valley late last fall. Even rangers can't resist bears! We weren't the only carload of uniformed personnel who stopped to watch the show.

Botanizing With Bears

Day 244: Visitors to Mount Rainier National Park should be aware that they may see researchers going about their work in sensitive off-trail areas. A wide range of scientific research projects are being done throughout the Park, including seismic monitoring, air and water quality sampling, rare plant and phenology studies, amphibian studies, documentation of lichens, monitoring of benthic species, glacier and stream studies and so on. In order to obtain a reliable cross-section of data, these scientists often must go where the public is not permitted. In this photo, we see one of the Park's nutritionists test-sampling the corms of Erythronium montanum (Avalanche Lily) for caloric value. Just a reminder: research data can be skewed by a single footfall. Please stay on trail.

Trail Encounter

Day 307: While hiking out of Sunrise yesterday, a call came over my radio that a bear cub had been sighted in Berkeley Park with the mother nowhere to be seen. People in the area were advised to give it a wide berth and to be on the lookout for mom. Bears in the Park are not normally aggressive, but a sow protecting her offspring is another story. Getting between mama and a cub is not a good idea! Since I was only planning to go as far as Lodi Creek (the point at which the trail takes a bend after descending from the intersection with the Skyscraper Pass trail), I figured there was no chance I'd encounter the bear. Berkeley was a mile or so beyond my projected turn-around point, and the likelihood of a bear covering that distance in the span of time it would take me to reach the creek was minimal. In fact, I did not see a bear en route to the creek. I found it on my return, approximately half a mile above Lodi Corner. Given time and distance, I suspect this was a second cub, and (s)he was thoroughly engrossed in eating wildflowers as I approached.

It has to be said that I have had more bear encounters in the Berkeley Park area than anywhere else in the Park. Several years ago, I rounded a cluster of trees and was startled to see a sow about 50 feet away (as near as I'd ever been to a bear in the wild), chomping on a mouthful of plants. This little cub was somewhat closer than that. I spoke in a normal tone of voice to alert him/her to my presence. (S)he looked toward me and went back to eating. I put in a radio call so that rangers above me could warn any other hikers entering the area that a cub had been sighted (but not mama), and as I moved slowly forward, the youngster showed a little more curiosity about me, raising his/her head and taking a few steps in my direction, acting as if (s)he might approach me more closely for a sniff. I said firmly, "I don't think you want to do that, bear," and took a few more steps toward the cub. It rewarded me by turning its head away and grudgingly moving to concealment behind a rock. I passed without event, eyes scanning both sides of the trail for any sign of mom.

I later learned that visitors had reported seeing an adult bear near Skyscraper Pass in the morning, but the Sunrise rangers believe that the mother has cut the apron strings and that the cub(s) are now on their own, "learning how to be bears." Had she been in the area, the sow's maternal instincts might have kicked into gear if she'd seen me as a threat to her offspring, but for today, it was just Cubby and I, both enjoying a cool walk in the subalpine meadows above Berkeley Park.

The Greeter

Day 65: We enlisted the help of a special volunteer to serve as greeter at the Ed Center for last night's Park Christmas party. The event was attended by about three dozen guests and featured children's activities, a silent auction (my hand-knit socks were a big hit), door prizes and enough food to throw us all into hibernation until Spring. Bear was not allowed to partake of pulled pork and may have been somewhat disappointed at being stationed next to a bear-proof bin.

Bear Went Over The Mountain

Day 7: As often as I have tried to photograph this carving of Bear, the Healer, I have never felt the results did him justice until now. He came to me from one of my heart's sisters, carved by her from hop hornbeam (a singularly hard wood) at a time when my spirit was in dire need of his energies. He worked his magic well, and therefore photographing him became a challenge. I wanted a representation which carried a sense of warmth and well-being, and of ancient power, and my captures were notoriously flat and uninspired. Today it occurred to me to place Bear in a tableau of craggy mountains where he could have a broad view of the world and those who struggle down below. Warmed in the light of sunrise, he rouses from his sleep and goes a-prowling, alert for those who need his healing energy.

Sad Story

Day 203: I don't happen to know the legend depicted by this story pole, if indeed it tells a genuine tale, but the characters are prominent figures in local history. The base shows Coyote, a mischief-loving prankster who often matched wits with Raven who, although almost obscured by moss, surmounts Bear in the center. I can't immediately recall a legend which involves the three together, but I'm sure there must be a few. I do remember when the pole was freshly carved and newly painted, and being sad when we drove by one day years later and it was laying on its back as if waiting for the forest to reclaim its heart of cedar. I was glad when persons unknown stood it upright again and retouched the peeling paint, to have it reestablished as a landmark on the road to Mount Rainier, a mile or so outside the Nisqually gate. I did not notice the moss encroaching until one sunny morning it caught my eye and I remarked in passing, "Dang, that shapeshifter Raven's gone and got himself a green bill. I see you, Raven. You're not fooling me! You're not a Grosbeak." But Raven never shed his disguise. In fact, it kinda grew on him until his whole head was green.

As is the case with many creative works, this tale wanted external support. The characters, although strong, could not stand without a hefty plotline to back them up. Hmmmm...I think I just came to the moral of the story while on that last quest for metaphor. That's Raven for you: leading you to your own conclusions.