Units 4 & 5 – The Black Canyon-Buffalo Plateau Wilderness
Looking at a map, one can be misled into thinking the Buffalo Plateau-Black Canyon Wilderness is small, by Yellowstone standards. The reality is that Montana’s Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, bordering the Park to the north, adds well over one million acres of land to the 137,000 acres within Yellowstone. This is big country. This is wild country. This is also the country that gave me my first bear-in-camp-at-night experience.
It was a black August night, and I was camped in the meadows of Upper Pebble Creek, a high mountain stream pouring down from three impressive ramparts on the far Northwestern border of Yellowstone Park: Meridian, Sunset and Wolverine Peaks. I was on the first night of a 4-night solo backpacking trip into this, one of the wildest and most scenic parts of Yellowstone. My evening’s routine was the same as most spent in the backcountry. I’d cooked a simple dinner, rinsed the dishes and hung my food up in the campsite’s food pole (standard feature at most Yellowstone backcountry campsites) before grabbing my camera and setting out to explore my surroundings. My sense of solitude, with an entire mountain valley all to myself was exhilarating and satisfying. Wildflowers, especially Indian Paintbrush, were everywhere. The meadows were a psychedelic smorgasborg of every conceivable color superimposed upon the green of the native grasses. It seemed as if upper Pebble Creek Meadows must be the most sublimely beautiful mountain valley in the world.
I made my way back to the tent as darkness fell. Once in my sleeping bag, I tossed and turned for a couple of hours, trying to get comfortable on the slightly rocky spot I chose. This turned out to be a blessing, as it was fortunate I was awake for what was about to happen…….
I remember being very near sleep when I suddenly became aware of footsteps and heavy breathing breaking the silence of the forest. Startled, I sat upright and reached for my can of cayenne pepper bear-deterrent spray. I knew what was out there. Only one type of animal in Yellowstone sounds like that. Which species of bear, black or grizzly, I didn’t know and it didn’t matter for either in my camp at night was bad news. The seriousness of the situation was immediately apparent and I tried to clear my head and think about my options. I began talking loudly and menacingly, trying to sound bigger and badder than I was. I put into use a technique I’ve thought would be helpful in just such a situation, talking loudly on two different pitches, to try and sound like more than one person. Undaunted, the bear approached the tent and sniffed around it for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute or two, then headed over towards the camp’s fire-ring and food pole.
I turned on my flashlight for a moment, only long enough to see the time. It was 1:04 am. I took comfort in the fact that the bear was now a couple of hundred feet away, yet I wondered if it would now try to get at my food bag, hanging from the pole. As it turned out, the food ended up being safe, but my comfort didn’t last long, for in just a minute or two I could hear the bear coming back. The footsteps and heavy breathing were unmistakable and getting closer. The bears’ behavior was the same as before. It would sniff a little at my tent, with me inside yelling all the while, then back off several feet before coming closer to sniff again. This cycle repeated itself over and over again and I began to really worry.
One thing that struck me as unusual was how this animal seemed to show no reaction to my voice. I’m used to people and even animals reacting to my voice, usually running from it when it’s harsh, or perhaps coming closer when it’s soothing. But this animal seemed to go about it’s business regardless of my shouting. Needless to say, this was unsettling and added to my fear.
It’s hard to understand exactly how I felt at this time, partly because I was experiencing so many different feelings. Although I value every minute spent in wilderness far beyond time spent in other places, I also would’ve rather been somewhere else at that time. Anywhere else. Although I was fascinated by what was happening, and a part of me was admittedly thrilled, the experience also had a dark, hard edge to it that was unnerving. The huffing and puffing didn’t sound friendly and a vast, dark forest lay between me and the nearest help.
Physically, I was in a state of super-excitement. I was visibly shaking. There were butterflies in my stomach like I’d never felt before. I was too determined to survive to get emotional, yet I felt like crying and knew that I could at any moment. All my life I’d been fascinated by bears. I’d read everything I could ever get my hands on about them. Bears were one of the reasons I was in Yellowstone to begin with. Bears made Yellowstone wild. Yet, I felt a certain anger at this menacing presence outside my tent. Didn’t this animal know that I was one of the good guys, a lover of wilderness and a defender of it’s cause? Either on purpose or subconsciously, I didn’t think about being a trespasser on the bears’ domain.
Even though I was alternating between yelling and listening attentively, my mind was racing, for brief moments, far beyond the scene at hand. I though about my family. I knew the people who loved me wanted me to stay in control of the situation. I knew that, in some way, their thoughts were with me, even though it was impossible for them to know what was happening at that time. I had a brief vision of the pain a horrible demise alone in the backcountry could cause those who loved me, then blocked the vision out of my mind. I wouldn’t accept it. I would survive, with my life, my body, and my gear intact.
It was now 1:23 am., and I realized I may have to take a chance on doing something to get the bear to go away, or else it may press further and further, with disastrous consequences. By now the bear was sniffing at the tent from different sides and seemed to be everywhere at once. Going out of my tent, to meet the bear face-to-face and spray it with pepper spray was not an option. Besides possibly provoking the bear and displaying the fact that I was alone, it also took more courage than I could muster. Whatever I was going to do, I had to do from inside the tent. So, at a point when I knew the bear was to the right of my tent door, I unzipped the door from the left, stuck my arm outside the tent, under the rainfly, and gave a quick burst of pepper spray in the direction I thought the bear to be. Immediately, I heard it’s heavy footsteps running off several feet, but apparently I’d missed it’s face, for before I knew it the bear was back, more aggressive than before, sniffing hard at my pack, which was leaning against the tent, between it and the rainfly, to the right of the door. This was causing the tent to bend inward, and it could soon collapse.
What I did next was not thought-out or planned. It was instinctual reaction to a presence that threatened me. I hit the pack, with my fist, as hard as I could, through the tent wall, causing the pack to, in turn, hit the bear on the nose. At that instant the animal ran off, never to return.
I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in my sleeping bag, keenly aware of every little sound the forest made, hoping and praying the bear wouldn’t come back. One can easily imagine the fear drifting in and out of my mind as I lay alone in this situation. Several decisions were made, a deal was cut with God, and some new insights were gained. Most important was how it occurred to me that this was yet another example of Yellowstone’s great gift to mankind. Here I was, in the modern age, and I was able to have this experience in a way that was absolutely real and primeval. It was like death itself stood me in the face and then ran when I swatted it on the nose! And it all happened in real life, not on a movie set, stage or make-believe. This was reality, not virtual reality.
This was Yellowstone reality. And this was Yellowstone Wilderness.
