Wednesday, May 20, 2015
I am afraid of being eaten by a wild animal. Bears. Sharks. Mountain lions. Alligators. Crocodiles.
This is how the summary of the first hike on a trip I'm about to take to Alaska reads: "View nesting bald eagles, beavers, moose and bears in their natural habitat. The guide, a naturalist, (carries a shotgun) takes you...."
I really think I'll be fine. I don't really think I'll be eaten alive by a bear. I think I'm more likely to keel over with fright if there's an encounter with a bear. And then be eaten. But at least then I won't know I'm being eaten.
I went through a period of dreaming about bears a couple years ago. If you're so inclined, you can read about that HERE, HERE, AND HERE.
When I first moved my mother in with me, she frequently woke me up with her growling/moaning sounds. Until I got used to it, I was convinced there was a wild animal stalking my house.
I took a hike in the back country of Wyoming once. Across a ravine there was a grizzly bear ravaging some berry bushes. We moved on. Rather quickly, singing the Hey bear, ho bear, go away bear song. Just a short way into our long hike back to our cabin, I noticed that the trail was lined with berry bushes. Then we saw bear prints. We'd already studied our wildlife guide and knew how to identify grizzly prints. Yep. There were those long claws. I doubt that I ran the 12 miles down that mountain screaming, but the adrenaline my body generated made me feel like I had. We had dinner that night at Jenny Lake Lodge. Mid-way through dinner, I began running a fever, which somehow contributed to the surreal deliciousness of the meal. I guess if you're going to see a bear on the trail, that's a great way for the story to end.