Huckleberries, Bears, and Typing with Thumbs

Sometimes a narrow focus is better

"Oh, wow. I need to write this down," I thought as I hiked along the Flower Loop Trail atop Big Mountain near Whitefish, Montana. Positioned at an elevation of 6,817 feet, this four-mile forest path typically offers majestic views of Glacier National Park and the Northern Rockies. However, on this day, storm clouds and thick smoke from wildfires obscured the breathtaking landscapes.

Initially disappointed, I did what I always suggest to other nature enthusiasts and photographers facing similar situations:

"Think small." "Look more closely." "Narrow your focus."

In other words, enjoy the smaller wonders around you.

Following my own advice, I turned my attention from the distant, hazy mountain peaks to the immediate world around me. I began to enjoy the feel of my boots on the densely wooded trail. I inhaled the scent of pine, noticed woodpecker holes marking ancient trees, and listened to the chirps and twitters of tiny birds and the squeaks of startled chipmunks. In other words, I did what I don’t often do enough—joyfully melted into my surroundings.

Alone on the mountain, I enjoyed tranquility for at least an hour before a thought crept into my mind that that took me to another place, two days earlier, when my son Travis and I encountered a mountain goat near the Hidden Lake overlook in Glacier.

“That experience deserves a story” I thought, and even though it seemed like an inconvenient time to receive a touch of inspiration, experience had taught me that I must write ideas down immediately or risk losing them altogether. And since my only writing tool on top of the mountain was an iPhone, that meant preserving the ideas, one letter at a time, with thumbs turned slightly inward from arthritis and using a keyboard smaller than a credit card.

Finding a suitable rock along the trail, I sat and began to peck out the words. However, typing on a cell phone is challenging, even for brief texts and emails, and this seems especially true for those of us who didn't develop the remarkable hand-eye coordination of younger generations accustomed to modern technology that includes sophisticated video games.

When the granddaddy of video games was introduced in my senior year of high school, Pong seemed like cutting-edge technology with two tiny rectangles representing “paddles” and a dot on the screen representing a “ball” -- all controlled with a single knob. When more advanced games like Asteroids, Missile Command, and Pac-Man introduced joysticks and buttons, I was already in law school and had little time or interest in such things. But In today’s world of complex game controllers, thumb dexterity plays a critical role in managing the array of buttons, triggers, sticks, D-Pads, and touchpads with haptic feedback.

But here on the mountain, bereft of a lifetime of thumb gymnastics, typing an idea for a story into my phone was excruciatingly slow, and it quickly became clear that this was consuming precious daylight. So, instead of finishing my thoughts, the rest of that story resumed the following day on a plane, but only after receiving the welcome news that I could retrieve my "large electronic device" from under the seat. At that point, all eight fingers and two opposable thumbs tapped away as fast as my brain retrieved the story. The rest of that later.

Back on the mountain, having abandoned the story idea for the moment, I happily returned to my hike and shortly began to notice small purple deposits along the trail which I immediately recognized as recycled huckleberries, rich with seeds. Although I had been trekking along the trail for some time, it was the sight of these purple piles that drew my attention to a mountainside blanketed with huckleberry bushes bursting with tiny clusters of juicy, purple fruit.

As I considered this happy situation, my mind drifted back to childhood days when trips to gather huckleberries were a family tradition. Because of their small size, gathering a bucketful of huckleberries took a very long time, especially when a significant number of berries ended up in my mouth instead of the bucket. But in the end, the rewards were always sweet with delicious huckleberry pies, cobblers, muffins, pancakes, syrups, jams and ice cream to enjoy.

Now, decades later, on Flower Loop Trail, a mountainside of huckleberries represented both a tasty snack and a warning of potential danger.

Although the size of the purple droppings suggested that the huckleberries had traveled through the intestinal tracts of smaller creatures, I immediately recognized the likelihood that bears were in the area, gorging themselves on this high-calorie food source in order to build up fat reserves for winter hibernation. I had walked into the bear equivalent of Chuck-A-Rama.

In my own peculiar way, the small size of the huckleberry deposits was disappointing since they did not indicate consumption by bears. In contrast, a pile of recycled berries through a bear would present a formidable obstacle along the trail. If bears were not eating berries here, there would be no cool pictures of bears doing so, and that could be the highlight of the trip. But I also knew that coming upon a bear suddenly would not be a good thing, so extra caution was essential and my mind began to rehearse all of the bear survival skills I had accumulated since childhood.

For most people, mastering bear survival skills amounts to one golden rule: DO NOT GO TO ANY PLACE WHERE BEARS CAN EAT YOU. Of course, observing bears from the safety of a car in Yellowstone feels perfectly secure while hiking through their natural habitat carries inherent risks.

But taking pictures of bears through a car window does not appeal to me. I like to see bears and other beautiful creatures in the wild, and successful wildlife photography requires that you do that safely. Otherwise, your cool pictures will only be seen after your camera is retrieved from a very large pile of purple.

So, in order to safely photograph bears, I have attended lectures on bear safety, watched documentaries about humans eaten by bears, and read many excellent books and articles on the subject. Yet despite this comprehensive education, I am often confused about bear safety rules when I am in the forest, especially since the guidelines vary depending on the type of bear encountered. Strategies for interacting with black bears for example, do not necessarily work for grizzlies, and knowing the difference is important.

Surprisingly, I have never learned safety precautions involving sloth bears, but the name suggests less danger for some reason.

So, as I trekked across the top of Big Mountain, my mind raced with these questions.

If confronted by a bear in its dining place, should I:

Run away?

Climb a tree?

Toss a salmon?

Talk in a soothing voice, perhaps complimenting the bear: “That’s a very nice coat you’re wearing. Is it fur?” or, “Perhaps you’d prefer some tasty huckleberries. May I pick you some?”

Shoot pepper spray into my eyes so that I don’t notice the bear munching on my thigh?

Or simply pray?

Regrettably, unlike other skills you can develop to perfection, opportunities to rehearse bear survival tactics are limited, preventing them from becoming fixed in mental or muscle memory.

Although some rules concerning bear encounters remain murky, I am clear on the basics: experts generally recommend backing away slowly while facing the bear and making yourself appear larger. If the bear continues to approach, you must “stay calm” and “avoid sudden movements.” If the bear responds by chomping its jaw or slapping the ground with its paw, this suggests that the bear feels threatened, or perhaps just in a bad mood. If the bear actually charges you, experts claim that it is often a "bluff" meant to test your resolve; and that standing your ground might prevent escalation of tensions.

NOTE TO SELF: research the number of people who have survived this “bluff” theory.

Experts also caution against making eye contact with bears, a guideline that I also apply to street musicians, winos, and those cute little Girl Scouts selling cookies. Apparently, eye contact is deemed threatening to a 700-pound carnivore with massive jaws and nonretractable claws.

If you think that climbing a tree is a good idea, consider the following: 1) black bears like to climb trees, and 2) grizzlies like to knock them down. Either way, you're a bear snack.

More than any other rule, it is extremely clear that running away from a bear is always a bad idea because it triggers something the experts call a "chase response", otherwise known as ATTACK! And since bears can reach speeds up to 35 miles per hour (and you can't) any attempt on your part to run away will only result in a two-second delay before your insides are ripped out.

I once read a scholarly article that provided this nugget of wisdom for surviving an actual bear attack, and I quote: “The best thing to do is curl up in a fetal position with your hands over the back of your neck and your legs tucked up into your chest to protect your vital organs and neck. If you remain still and are perceived as ‘dead’ by the bear, you are not a threat and the bear will simply leave."

While this guidance might sound logical from the comfort of National Geographic’s headquarters, I question how practical it would be when faced with the hot, malodorous breath of a bear on my neck as I lie there curled up, protecting my vital organs, while Ursus arctos horribilis stares at me like I am a bucket of KFC. Would I really have the nerve to remain motionless while a bear licked the top of my head, nibbled my ear, or tested my ‘deadness’ by nipping off a finger? More likely, I'd scream like a child and run hopelessly through the forest until put out of my misery—ah, the sweet relief death would bring.

And this same questionable article on bear survival ended with this oddly cheerful claim:

“Bears have an underserved reputation for attacking humans since you are 180 times more likely to be killed by a bee, 67 times more likely to be killed by a dog, and 160,000 times more likely to die in an automobile accident."

Despite this positive spin on bear fatalities, I am quite certain that the name 'horribilis' does not apply to any subspecies of bee.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to put any of these bear safety tips to the test during my hike. As a result, my remains are not mixed with berries somewhere on the top of Big Mountain. Instead, I was able to shift my focus to the less perilous activity of berry picking and berry eating. Before long, my fingers, hands, and face bore the deep purple stains of ripe huckleberries as I savored their sweet tartness one by one, and then by the handful. Although completely oblivious at this point to the perils of bear companions, the fear of gastrointestinal distress was what finally ended my feast and I headed down the mountain.

So, what about the story idea that stopped me in my tracks? It involves Logan Pass, a mountain goat, and a very interesting guy named “Deaje” who I met on an overpass in Whitefish. Although I questioned Deaje’s credibility after he claimed he could see the ocean from that spot in Montana, his advice later led me to a wonderful place where baby deer were in abundance.

Beauty, fun, wonder, joy, tasty berries, and new friends can be found in abundance when you look closely and truly see what is around you.

If you have never been to Glacier National Park, it should be on your bucket list. Of all the places I have been in my life, Glacier is one of my favorite places on earth.