By Stan Walchuk Jr.
Pete and I had been slowly picking our way up a remote mountain valley. The valley had narrowed. Alpine slopes ran down to the graveled stream bed that we rode on, which was actually smooth going considering the rugged mountains on either side. A ridge came down from the right and ended abruptly as a fifty foot cliff with the stream being forced around it in a curve. Half way around the bend my horses ears perked forward and his head came up. We could not see around the bend but the wind came from that direction. Something did not smell right. And we were in grizzly country.

With one smooth motion I slipped my bear gun from the scabbard and rested it across the pommel. I checked the progress of the four packhorses behind me, and Pete with the packhorse that he led. Everything was fine.
“Giddup.” And Donny walked out like the obedient horse that he is.
No sooner then we rounded the cliff then a grizzly faced us from fifty yards off. He turned, climbed the low stream bank, and slowly walked up a grass and willow slope. He checked our progress every few steps as we continued to work our way up the stream bed.
“There’s a grizzly to our right.” I pointed at the bear. “Keep riding past me, I want to get a picture.”
The bear was now sixty or seventy yards off, calmly watching us ride by, nonplussed with the seven horse parade. Pete rode past with the packhorses and I steadied the camera for a shot. I had asked Pete to continue riding as I did not want the bear to feel pressured, and now we rode away from the bear. As I viewed the bear in my camera he turned and began walking towards us. Odd, considering we were riding away from him. Any threat that we would have created should have passed.
The Grizzly worked his way back down the willow and grass slope to the stream bank, and although we were riding away, with me at the rear, the bear was gaining ground, walking faster as he came closer. Down the bank he came and he looked determined.
“Pete,” I said “He’s coming at us, keep riding.” I was hoping our effort to ride away would put the bear at ease but the plan was not working. We were in a bind. The bear was gaining ground, and as he drew closer he seemed to stiffen with a fast paced walk. In a moment the horses would discover an angry grizzly on their heels and all hell would break loose. We were in for a wreck and someone was going to get hurt.
I bailed off Donny and the bear was in my rifle sights in a flash, but I did not want to shoot. As the horses retreated I walked backwards, hoping it was a bluff. But it was not a bluff. The bear came faster and faster with a stiff legged trot and a determined look that meant business. No teeth snarling and no galloping with lightning speed, just a single mindedness that had as much chance at being side tracked as a locomotive.
“He’s coming at us, get ready!”
At thirty yards I yelled, “Hey!”
At twenty five yards I yelled again, “I’m gonna have to shoot!”
At twenty yards my gun went, “Click!” Nothing! I levered in another round and noticed a full, unfired round fly through the air.
At fifteen yards my gun went, “Click!” It was the most terrifying click of my life. Blood rushed to my head. Focus! Focus! I levered the action again. I had a premonition. I slid my finger down along the side of the breech and felt the bump of the trigger safety. I pushed it. Ten yards…..

I have just finished reading a book about life on the African Safari by Peter Capstick called ‘Death in The Long Grass’. In this book he documents countless tragedies of human life maimed and lost by lions, leopards, cape buffalo, elephants, rhinos, hippos, and crocodiles. This book leaves the impression that somewhere on the dark continent someone is being shredded or swallowed about every five minutes. This is an abrupt contrast to the geographic channel where lazy lions could care less about camera wielding tourists who snap photo’s within breath smelling distance.
This contrast in predator behavior is apparent with Grizzlies too. If I tell you five horror stories about horse trips and grizzlies, and then you turn on the T.V. and watch grizzlies getting their bellies rubbed in a zoo, or swatting salmon within ten feet of a photographer, you will likely accuse me of exaggerating, or worse, being a big fat liar.
I don’t care. I’m like a nurse. I’ve heard it, seen it, done it all. And its all true, both sides of the story.
In many instances, Parks and other areas encourage passive relations between bears and the humans that they might otherwise fear. But there is a lot of country and many trails out there where bears scrounge, squabble, and fight for a living. With the good number of grizzlies we are experiencing in many areas including the Kootenies and the far north, the bear that you meet may be a protective mother, hungry three year old, or
cranky oldtimer. It could have less respect for you then a tiger in a round pen.
* * *
I could tell by the smiles that the father and his two sons had a good trip. After some pleasantries the father said, “What’s this horses name?”
“Junior.”
“He saved my life.”
“Oh, how’s that?” Junior is an exceptionally calm, reliable horse and riders tended to fall in love with him but I thought that the possibility of saving someones life was a bit of a stretch.
“Well, we were headed out with the pack string and I was at the back. Suddenly the horses stopped. I could hear Corey yelling at the front but I couldn’t see anything. I thought I heard him say ‘bear’ so I was getting a little excited. I yelled to Duane, somewhere in the middle, to see what was going on. He never answered so I began to pull my gun out of the scabbard just incase. Then someone yelled “grizzly!” So I jumped out of the saddle as I was pulling out my gun, but my gun got stuck, and then I lost my balance and fell flat on my back with my foot hung up in the stirrup and my gun flopping around half out of the scabbard. Then a gun boomed a few feet ahead. I thought I was a dead man for sure. I just knew I was going to be dragged to death or swatted by a grizzly, or both. But do you know what Junior did? He just stood there looking at me. Unbeliveable. I still can’t belive it.
“Did you shoot the bear?”
“ No, he just shot to scare it away.”
I had a feeling about Junior when I bought him. I paid more for him then I should have but what’s a few hundred dollars when faced with these situations?
* * *
We were in the remote central Yukon. It was our honeymoon, and Marlenes first pack trip. We struggled painfully the first day, pulling horses out of bog holes and re-packing so many times that by nightfall, when we finally found a bit of hard ground and some grass, Marlene was so exhausted that she literally stumbled about with exhaustion in her effort to help set up camp.
But now, a few days later, we were on some gorgeous, sweeping mountain plateaus. Marlene was back at camp. I tied Yukon, my horse, who had never been to the Yukon before, to a scrub tree and set out on foot, climbing up to the open alpine, headed for a bump where I could sit and enjoy the view. As I was walking along the grassy plateau, dodging around armadillo sized boulders, something caught my eye. Fifty yards to my left, walking parallel with me, just emerging from a shallow draw, was the tallest, skinniest, meanest looking bear I had ever seen. This grizzly looked like a giant beat up weasel and worse, he saw me the instant I saw him. Worse yet, he turned towards me, took a brief, hungry look, and charged full bore. Much worse yet, I had no gun, only my recurve bow and arrow. I had two choices. I could lay down in a fetal position, tuck my head between my legs and kiss my butt goodbye, or, do something else.
Next to me was an apple box sized rock. I jumped on the rock to gain height, knocked and drew an arrow, aiming at the charging bear and screamed a stream of language ( you can guess what I was saying) at the bear as he ate up thirty yards in an instant. His ears were layed back and there was no hesitation in his charge, but at the last few moments, as I drew my bow and focused on where to shoot, I could sense a hesitation or a confusion in the bears facial expression. Incredibly, only a few feet away, the bear swung just wide, and I swung my bow, following the bear but not shooting. It happened so fast that my cursing sentence ended with ‘thank you God’.
I am not sure why the bear did not swat me off that rock. My theory is that he thought that I was something good to eat, maybe an odd shaped caribou or something, but the persistant screeming and a better view once he got to within pants pooping distance created enough uncertainty to let me be.
There is such a huge difference between the behavior of a young bear and an old boar that they are like different animals. It is like comparing a clown with Adolph Hitler. Old boars are much wiser, more powerful, and meaner. A main food source of boars is young bears, cubs and any others they can catch. Once I thought I was doing a great job sneaking up on a big boar. It was early morning in the forest and a dull light. As I got closer I realized he had seen me long ago and was actually watching my approach, waiting for an easy meal, I suppose. Then I found he was eating a smaller bear that he had killed. The dead bear looked like a banana skin with the banana gone. It was a tense situation. I have a lot of respect for big bears.
My favourite grizzly story is very personal because the big sow really should have killed me. This bear truly did give me my life. But there is no room here to tell the story, maybe some other time. Happy trails!