How to Fend off a Black Bear Attack

If you happen to see a bear, but it does not see you, quickly and calmly leave the area, or make a wide detour around it.

If you happen to have a close encounter....

1) Talk calmly and firmly to the bear, remain calm. Bears can smell fear.
2) Back away while still facing the bear - do not, however, make eye contact. Similar to hippogriffs, black bears may interpret it as a sign of aggression. Give the bear plenty of room to escape.
3)  Whatever you do - don't run. Running is likely to cause the bear to give chase. You may have run track in high school, but bears can hit 30 mph. The bear will win. The same goes for climbing trees, and despite what the lego model at the Ohio State Fair may lead you to believe, bears are excellent climbers.

Seen at the State Fair - demonstrates poor survival strategy

I'm not entirely proud to report that during my first encounter with a black bear, I only managed to follow one piece of this survival advice - by which I mean I managed to avoid ending up in a tree.

Molly and I were finishing out a longer day on the trail, when my Achilles tendon began to ache. I became slower and slower, practically hobbling by the last mile as the sun was getting closer to setting. To make matters worse, we were expecting some heavy storms that night as the cold front came in.

"We're within a mile of camp, go ahead" I told Molly, knowing storms make her anxious and we'd already figured out setting our tent up after dark was a poor choice. "Set up the tent, get stuff ready, I'll see you at camp."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking at my ankle dubiously and clearly hesitant to leave.

"Yeah, do it." I said, and after taking a moment to consider, she quickened her pace and rapidly moved out of sight.

Having been a runner before I was a hiker, I think of miles as short little things. Miles are knocked out in six or seven minutes. Backpacking is an entirely different beast though. Each mile is more like an impossibly long eternity and you try to cram up to 15 of them all in one day.

Hiking alone wasn't too bad. The woods were eerily quietly at first without Molly there - no conversation, not even the sound of her footsteps crashing over rocks and through the layer of past year's fallen leaves. But the eery turned to a peaceful stillness and I thought, I could really do this, I could hike solo. 

And then the crashing returned. I heard a the snapping of sticks and the sounds of something approaching. I wasn't even concerned, the AT intersected with another trail, Pine Knob Loop at that point. It was probably just another hiker. Or maybe it was even Molly; had she turned down the wrong trail or thought this was the off trail for our campsite?

I stopped. I stood. I considered. I peered into the woods. I was about to call out her name, to check, and just then, the bear emerged. My first thought was, 'wow, that's a lot smaller than I imagined' and my second reaction was a sudden swell of panic rose which rose up inside me. Here I was, alone and injured, on a mountain, miles away from civilization, five to ten feet away from a bear. There was no nice bulletproof glass between us like at the zoo, when you just get to stare at the bear and coo over how beautiful it is.

Holy. Crap. Why did I choose this? I brought this upon myself! Usually, the black bears here are skittish. If they hear you coming, they avoid you. I had snuck up on him.

All of the advice for dealing with bears that I'd read sped through my head in a flash. And then, I ignored it. All of it. I turned on my heel and walked rapidly away, which would almost be alright... if he hadn't seen me. In actuality, the bear and I practically made eye contact. I was not quiet by any means as I spoke-shouted a fervent prayer to the almighty.

Please God, Bless that I will make it to the campsite safely. 
Please God, Bless that I will make it to the campsite safely. 
Please God.... over and over again.

The bear wouldn't have needed to smell the fear on me, because it already manifest in the wavering of my voice. That mile was infinite. I had begun to worry too that I had somehow passed the campsite when I saw a figure running toward me brandishing something - Molly, it was Molly, rain jacket tied snugly around her waist brandishing her big Cutco knife (it was still in it's sheath).

I was so glad to see her! I burst into tears.

I stood there, in the middle of the trail, crying. The tough, wilderness-ready person that I thought I was, any image of that, crumbled away. I felt more like the cowardly lion than Bear Grylls. I was hyperventilating, probably the closest I've been to a panic attack in my entire life.

"Judith, Look into my eyes, deep breathes, look at me, are you okay?" The words tumbled out of Molly's mouth like one drawn out sentence. I could tell she was concerned, but also uncomfortable with the situation, "Is it your ankle? Is it that bad? We can go home early if you need to, it's okay. Are you okay?"

I gasped out an explanation about the bear and the onset of darkness and the bear and the bear again... and then let out a couple more chocked up sobs.

"You saw a bear?!" A grin spread across Molly's face, "I know now is probably not an appropriate time to say this, but I am so jealous!"

Of course. Of course she was. I could only laugh.

No homework happened tonight...only cakes

Brandy's cake (she's turning 21 whoot whoot!)

Nathaniel's cake

Matt's cake

Three birthdays, three cakes, all on one day. Baking these was the most delicious way to procrastinate studying for my midterms.

Vandal

Nestled in the folds of the mountains,

I walk through a place reclaimed.

I am taken in by the sweeping curves of crude oil tanks,

and dilapidated walls of industry before me -

Riveting and soul-swelling as the snowy peaks that rise up behind them.

Graffiti is scrawled on every surface.

There are layers of images,

Paint on top of paint -

Thick extrusions from a concrete surface.

I can imagine the pilgrimage to this place.

A procession of figures,

carrying aluminum cans like sacrifices at the altar.

The crisp clear air filled with the reek of aerosol.

This place has a sense of sacredness, an ache of reverence.

If the human mind was tangible,

A place that could be wandered through,

it would be like this.

Our hopes, concerns, and experiences

imprinted and overlaid on walls that are crumbling down.

The relentless mind-chatter of the quotidian,

scrawled over our greatest insights,

obscuring them from remembrance.

A cartoon bear with his mouth wide open,

exclaiming “Set out and konquer!”

First Snow

Em had never seen snow before, and so as we exited our Anthropology into a morning that was thick with the stuff, her eyes grew wide with a child-like amazement. I couldn't stop laughing. Raised in the Midwest, it's difficult for me to remember that harsh winters are not entirely part of the common human experience. I was reminded of the student who'd moved from Brazil in sixth grade and how he stood up in the middle of class and walked over to the window at first snow. He'd had that same look of awe on his face.

'You've never seen snow before?'

'Nope. Southern California isn't really the place for it' she replied, voice dripping in sarcasm.

'So, you've never gone sledding before?'

'Nope.'

'Or had a snowball fight?'

She shook her head

'And never built a snowman....' Now I was the one in shock...

The amazement in Em's eyes had been replaced with an expression that strongly communicated duh. But I was too caught up in how many activities we had to fit in this winter.

First Snowman! Built right then and there outside of Anthropology lecture.

Our attempt pales in comparison to this Michelangelic piece I saw in front of the Brittany apartments. 

Nächstenliebe

When I heard about his accident, my heart dropped. I was waking up groggily to what I thought was just-another-day, when my sister asked if I'd heard the news. I prayed in earnest: Dear God, if anyone deserves a miracle, it's that boy.

I thought of trampolines, soccer games and him catching grapes in his mouth as his mother tossed them from across the kitchen. I thought of his comfortable, crowded dining room table, and of each one of his sisters. I thought of sledding, and last winter when we laid down, limbs spread wide, like starfish on cool thin ice.

And then I imagined dark pavement and blood, the lifeline flight and his body in a coma at the hospital.

I felt sick. I felt paralyzed. And it was just-another day.

I want to tell him about that day. As I walked to class, I loved every person I saw with more love than I knew I had inside of me. My concern was magnified into empathy by a single, simple realization. Every one of the people on this earth has an intricate web of relationships. Every person has a mother, a father, and friends, and they are so important, if not to me, than to someone else. I could feel only gratitude that all these people around me were laughing, walking and whole. And if that wholeness was stripped from them at that moment, I knew that it would create as much heart wrench as this boy’s accident did for those who loved him.

I care fiercely for my friend’s life and the gift of his accident to me was that I felt that same fierce care for each and every life on that day. Regardless of anything else, a heartbeat, a breath and an awareness of the world seems enough to be happy for wherever it's found.

The overwhelming sense of that love has faded, but the memory of it is still there. It's a feeling that I can reach back to and pinpoint when I'm being mindful. And when I do, gratitude swells up in me again.

Bicycles & Wonder

I stood out on the drive way of my brother's house, watching his two kids. They had their little bikes out, spinning up and down that concrete strip.

My nephew just turned three. He doesn't really ride his bike, he just pushes with his feet along the ground while sitting on the seat. It's more of a shuffling approach.

A Younger Lijah

"Hey, Lijah, put your feet on the pedals bud." I told him.

Lifting his feet he put them on the pedals and pushed down hard on both at once - a look of fierce determination on his face. He didn't move.

I reached down and pushed on one foot, then told him to press down the other. He altered his pressure painfully slow from his left to his right, creeping forward. After about three minutes, he went back to happily shuffling again.

There are some things that we do so often that we don't even realize that they were once unknown and had to be learned. I was too young to remember my first steps and I don't recall learning to pedal clearly either. But I do remember my big sister teaching me to pump my legs, propelling myself back and forth on the swing set. I remember learning how to ride without training wheels. My first attempt was downhill at a park by our house. It ended disastrously as I veered off the path, headlong into a cherry tree. It took time.

One of the greatest joys of being an Aunt is re-experiencing a discovery of the world. I have a Ray Bradbury quote tacked up on a cork board at home - the first line reads "stuff your eyes with wonder." I can see that's what my little nephews and niece are doing when I watch them. The little breakthroughs are huge milestones of progression in their lives.

When I see Lijah bike, or my baby nephews start to take their first steps; I see in their smiles that they are saying 'Look at me, look at all that I am capable of!'

I hope they never lose that sense of wonder about themselves.

Bird-bones

I remember when I was all
Wire and feathers
Bird-boned and spry.

Hunger hollowed out my belly,
Sunk my in my cheeks,
Set deep brown eyes.

There was a grinding on my mind
From the time I woke up
Running hands down my
Horizontal frame
To the time I slipped back
Into the only sweet
Release I had,
Asleep.

Brittle hair
Swirling toward the drain.
so thin,
The wind could blow
Right through me,
Shivers.

Lifting up each spoonful
Leaden. Heavy.