Bear Medicine

Chantelle Pence - Featured Columnist

A little bear wandered around Chistochina for several days last month. We were hosting our last BnB guests of the season, and he greeted them upon arrival. Too small to pose a threat, he hung around the porch, went between the cabins and the main house, and even hugged the leg of one of the guests. I didn’t advise it, but they told me about it at breakfast.

He was malnourished and alone. A neighbor guessed that he was a runt, already small, and couldn’t keep up with Mama when she crossed Sinona Creek, which ran high this year. The bear was the talk of the town as he let himself into people’s houses, peeked through windows, and went from place to place looking for food and family.

If a full-grown bear starts wandering around the community, showing up on people’s porches, there will be a segment of the population that will say “Somebody needs to do something!” Solutions will be tossed out, with little involvement except an opinion from a place of safety.

“It’s hard to make hard decisions, especially when we’ve become accustomed to other people, or systems, providing solutions.”

Only a few will be equipped, and solid enough in themselves, to make hard decisions and take the necessary action. When a helpless bear cub shows up, it’s the same thing except from a different angle. “Somebody needs to do something!” Save him. Help him. Call the authorities. Mostly we want “somebody” to fix things.

It’s hard to make hard decisions, especially when we’ve become accustomed to other people, or systems, providing solutions. I, and others, were faced with a dilemma. Do we let nature take its course and watch the cub starve? It was too small and malnourished to make it through the winter. Or do we intervene, call the authorities?

There was a general out-cry for someone to do something, and many of us called Fish and Game with the hope that the cub would go to the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center. They did find a home for him, but it is at a zoo in Texas. I felt strongly that I made the wrong decision to call for an intervention. If I ever have grandkids who are faced with the same situation, I will tell them not to interfere with nature. Do we really know better?

I thought about that bear for several days after, and wondered if we had rights to pluck him out of nature and put him in a zoo. Was it really the best thing to do? I thought of the human tendency to not want to deal too much with hard things, and to want quick and easy solutions. But those who face and make hard decisions are better equipped to deal with life’s harsh realities. They tend to have a clear eyed, dispassionate view of things. They don’t often expect others to intervene or provide easy solutions. That’s not a bad thing.

“I wonder if there is ever a place of perfect balance in our relationships with each other, or with nature?”

I shared plenty of pictures of the bear on social media, because he was so darn cute. But, after he was taken away I felt a bit of shame. It had something to do with sharing only one side of reality. The adorable, soft, cuddly side. I felt like a sham for presenting him as a teddy bear, instead of a sovereign natural creature.

Earlier in the spring a bear broke into one of the guest cabins and demonstrated true independence. When I went in and observed the mess he made, it was clear who was the boss of that situation.

I wonder if there is ever a place of perfect balance in our relationships with each other, or with nature? The appropriate response to other living things will vary widely, depending on the situation.

It’s hard to find a one size fits all solution for anything, but I think that more often than not there is value in not interfering. It seems to me that putting the bear in a place of safety, for his own good, may have been an overreach. Is it better to die free or live a life of confinement?

Not everyone shares the same view as me. And though I tend to lean towards my own inner convictions on certain things, I’m too grown to think I’m right about everything. There are plenty of people who applaud the decision for the bear to be in a zoo. He will likely have a happy life swimming in the pool. And children and families will get to see him grow. A neighbor suggested they name him “Chisto.” The Cameron Park Zoo has a Facebook page, and maybe the bear will show up in pictures there.

Our guest services season began with a bear making marks on the walls of one of the cabins. Long scratches can be seen where he tried to gain footing on his way out of an open window. I was not too happy at the mess he made inside, and was determined to “do something” if he were to show up again.

The season ended with a bear making marks on my heart. The little bear evoked a parental kind of feeling. An urge to protect. The beginning and the ending of the season were paradoxical. A great demonstration of life’s complexities and the fact that there is no real simple solution to anything.

“There is value in living in a place that forces you to confront the realities of nature.”

One of the things I’ve noticed while hosting guests is that people who grew up in urban areas are sometimes ill equipped to deal with the forces of nature, and they lean towards ready-made solutions. Whether it’s the weather, mosquitoes, wanting to know exactly where they can go to view a bear safely, or not being able to figure out how to open the latch on the outhouse, I’ve been surprised by how a lack of convenience can throw people.

We had one guest who was miserable for two days, before he calmed down and got in the swing of things. A pincher bug was in his cabin and it about sent him over the edge. We worked hard to make him comfortable, and by the time he left he was thankful and had more confidence in his ability to handle life off the sidewalk. He wrote an excellent review. I can see, though, why people like zoos. You can interact with nature without having to sacrifice comfort or be confronted with difficult realities.

There is value in living in a place that forces you to confront the realities of nature. Realities like our own vulnerabilities when facing extremes. The realities of hunting, trapping or personal protection. The reality of suffering. There is virtue in being able to face difficulty squarely, and make hard decisions ourselves rather than habitually outsourcing to an “authority.”

I wonder about the hidden costs of getting too dependent on outer systems for our own comfort, safety, or happiness. I admire people who are attuned to nature and reality, who can think independently and take action as needed. I know a few upright men and women, sons and daughters of Alaska, who have those qualities. They may be as rare as a wild bear sighting.