The Yaak Valley Embodied

By: Bud Journey

A male grizzly bear creates a surprise encounter for the author. (Photo: Bud Journey)

Last Wednesday, I was working on a tool shed at our cabin in the Yaak in northwestern Montana. The light was fading, and I was getting a bit tired, so I turned around and headed back toward the cabin, hammer still in hand. I froze. Just across our small, mostly dry, pond was a cranky-looking adult male grizzly bear. He was looking straight at me, exhibiting an air of keen interest and intent, defending his space. I gripped my hammer (uselessly) and subtly eyed the back door of the cabin, 30 yards away. I did some quick calculations in my head. A grizzly can run in the neighborhood of 35 miles per hour, and I can run . . . well, I can no longer run a 4.7 forty, but I can walk -- after a fashion. Those calculations suddenly made the 30 yards to the cabin seem a bridge too far -- if the situation did, indeed, turn into a foot race. I was suddenly left with resorting to what I should have been thinking from the beginning: going into bear-encounter-mode. So I ran through the litany in my mind: don’t run, don’t be aggressive, don’t look straight at the bear in a threatening way, stand up tall and move arms away from body to portray an image of maximum mass, stand still or move slowly. After several moments of non-action from the bear, I carefully took one small step toward the cabin door, then stopped. The bear stayed. I took another careful step. Again, the bear held. I repeated the same action all the way to the door. The bear seemed to be satisfied that I was clearly not a threat to him -- and he was obviously not hungry.

The grizzly bear takes a seat, and lets the author snap a few photos. (Photo: Bud Journey)

I stepped into the cabin and looked out the window. The bear was still there but the tenseness in his body was less evident; he sat down on his haunches and looked around. I grabbed my camera and took a few photos, but the light was so low that I only got a few crappy, low-light shots. I dramatically increased the ISO in my camera, but even that was not enough for decent pictures. So I put the camera away and watched the bear grow indistinct, as the failing daylight washed away the view. The bear still hadn’t moved, as the evening completely turned black outside.

I have included a couple of my soft-focus images. At least you will be able to get a feel for just how big this bear was: a gentle giant (in this case). Still, I slid the latches closed on the doors for the night. I was fully aware that circumstances protected me on this day, but on another day, I could be viewed by the bear as simply an old man with flaccid muscles, who would be a nice, tender snack. I like sharing my territory with grizzlies, but I have no delusions about how loveable they are.

Alfred E. "Bud" Journey was a full-time outdoors photojournalist during the 1970s, 80s, and 90s, including an 8-year stint as the Montana Editor for OUTDOOR LIFE in the 1980s. He has won numerous writing and photography awards in both the Northwest Outdoor Writers Association and the Outdoor Writers Association of America.