I wrote this short story after hearing about a man who died in a bear encounter while we were visiting Denali National Park. It piqued my interest and I wanted to explore what might have come before the headline.
Jeremy looked out the bus window as they arrived at the front gate of Denali National Park. He reached overhead, slipped his arms through the straps of his pack and stepped from the vehicle.
His pack was a mere fifty liters and housed his tent, clothing and food for the fourteen day trip he planned. His camera, a Canon EOS 6D with a second lens, nestled in the pouch wrapped around his middle. The trip had been planned to the last calorie and Jeremy was pleased to note he carried six fewer items than Phil Radcliff had listed in his memoir, “My Life as a NatGeo Photographer”.
Jeremy sat to watch the mandatory public service movie before submitting the paperwork for his permit. The ranger at the back country registration desk took Jeremy’s information, signed and dated the permit, and reminded him of park rules – do not approach or come within one hundred yards of the bears, leave no trace – and recommendations – camp in wide open spaces, carry bear bells (and use them), take the bus if you are getting low on food.
Jeremy nodded politely; as a regular submitter of proposals he had done his homework for this assignment and was itching to begin. He spent the night at the lodge, ate dinner and breakfast at the restaurant to preserve his supplies and caught the first bus out to Wonder Lake, eighty-five miles into the park.
Six hours later, he alighted to the well wishes of the driver and the passengers with whom he had shared his mission.
Despite his confident demeanor, Jeremy was nervous; at forty-seven he had failed more times than he had succeeded. He had chosen to take his annual vacation in order to write the article and capture photographs that would break him into the world he most sought. He had fourteen days to hike the park, take notes, shoot hundreds of photos, travel home and show up for work in the call center on Monday morning. After submitting sixty-four times to National Geographic, Smithsonian, Audubon and others he was desperate; he wanted acceptance after all the rejection.
He walked five miles or more before sitting down to enjoy the last fresh meal he would enjoy in the park: a large sandwich he had carried with him from the convenience store, an apple and a bar of chocolate. Between bites, he scanned the first shots he had captured; plenty of room left on the Pro 64GB SD card. He allowed the chocolate to melt on his tongue, scrunched the napkin with the wrappings and pushed the waste into a Ziploc he had brought for this express purpose, then slipped the bag into the bear-proof box. He patted his jacket pockets, found his notebook, jotted a few thoughts, threaded his arms into the backpack straps, stood up and resumed walking, checking his compass against the angle of the sun.
After a time, he sat down and listened to the silence, eyes closed as though he were a monk about to commence a meditation. His breath slowed, his mind calmed and he began to feel the familiar draw of a new project.
He blinked his eyes in the fading sunlight, cupping his hand to shade the view as he scanned the scene. He spotted the perfect location for his first night’s campsite in the distance, perhaps a mile, slightly north of McKinley River and turned the camera on video mode to capture the scene as it grew.
He sat near the door of the tent in the diminishing light, eating lentils directly from the Trader Joe’s package, the sound of the river improving his meal. He observed five bears grazing on the slope beyond the water and captured shots of them with his second lens, the sun and shadows playing gently with each other among the purple and reds of the tundra grass.
The following three days Jeremy walked thirty-one miles, wrote copious notes and took more than seven hundred shots. He counted forty-seven bears, two herds of caribou, countless moose, foxes, eagles and sheep. He wrote and rewrote (in his head) the articles he planned to submit, jotting down any phrases that struck him as excellent. His mind constantly seeking ways to increase his chances of a positive response from the editors.
I have to shift gears, Jeremy thought as he looked at the stars through the window of his tent ceiling. I need better shots; the story won’t sell without close-ups. His heart thumped a little harder. Tomorrow, I get closer.
The mornings developed a routine – pack tent, walk and capture shots till hunger called, eat, walk and click some more. Today was no different until the sun shone high in the sky and Jeremy sat at the crest of a hill, the park spread before him in all directions. He absently chewed on jerky and squinted as he moved his gaze slowly across each frame in his view, finally noting dark smudges on a distant field of yellow and green. He pulled out the compass and map, noted the direction, ate a protein bar, stuffing the wrapper in his slightly bulging baggie and walked. Down one gentle slope, across the wide expanse of a dried up river bed, upward again until he stood at the top and scanned across the valley.
The view left him breathless, adrenaline flooding every cell, he mind racing. Across a much smaller valley a sloth of bears grazed. Seven bears, this is it, Jeremy, this is it. He lifted the view finder to his right eye, checked the meter, adjusted the f-stop and snapped.
Down the hill to the valley between him and these glorious creatures, blood pounding in his ears, video camera capturing the shrinking distance. The bears paid no attention, focused as they were on filling their bellies for the coming hibernation. He nudged a few paces up their slope, switching to photo mode, click, click, click. Moving to the left, he captured a mother bear scan over her cub’s back and unimpressed, return to her own meal. He moved a little closer, encroaching on the hundred yards rule and filled the remaining space on his card with what he felt were the best shots of the trip. Eyes staring directly at the lens, he captured a cub needing a dose of affection, one large male lifting his nose to identify the unfamiliar scent.
Jeremy faced the bears as he inched backwards down the hill, gave the bears wide berth and wandered in search of a campsite. He cupped the camera in his hand, caressing it absently, reminding himself of his daring.
He pitched his tent, ate his dinner and scribbled every thought he could remember into his notebook, writing longer than in previous days, determined to remember each moment of the encounter for his article. Shutting the book for the night, he spontaneously roared his delight, the noise ricocheted against the dark sky and soothed him as he clambered into the tent.
Years ago, his father would call him to the kitchen table, the envelope of photographs placed on its otherwise empty surface.
Each time Jeremy was certain that these photos would be better, good enough to earn a compliment or at least a nod of approval. He would sit tall under his father’s scrutiny, shoulders back, eyes forward, trying not to show fear. His father would slide his hand across the table and slowly pry the packet open, slip his hand inside and remove the pile of prints. Sometimes he would laugh as he flicked through them, other times he would fling one print after another, aiming at Jeremy’s forehead as he described each one: deplorable, worthless, pathetic. He would shake his head, push his chair from the table and leave the room, muttering about the type of son a man would want.
Jeremy would quickly collect the photos, slip them back inside their packing and add this envelope to his growing collection, a concrete reminder both of the pocket-money he had spent and of his lack of talent throughout the years.
He shouted again, screaming loudly against the flimsy walls, hoping someone might hear and acknowledge him.
The next two days he walked seventeen miles, reaching Igloo Creek campground where he enjoyed an evening with other campers around the fire. He shared the sightings of moose and eagles, told of the family of foxes who had played away an afternoon in the sunshine-filled field. He mentioned seeing a few bears.
He set off early the next morning, avoiding conversation. The sun had barely risen when he stumbled upon the remains of a moose calf. Click, click, click. He wished he had been here when the bear was ripping the flesh from the bones. He pulled the compass and his map from his pocket and decided to push east, the sun warm on his right arm as he crossed the shallow water of Sanctuary River shortly after lunch.
He spent the afternoon on the crest of a hill west of the river, watching the sun bleed across the horizon. He was not particularly interested in landscape photography but he could not resist capturing the colors and the fading light; you never knew what an editor might want. He had filled three large cards which meant more than three thousand raw images. He slipped the fourth card into the slot on the side of the camera before walking a little further and pitching his tent for the night.
In the morning, he stuck his head out of the tent and saw three bears on the slope near him, close enough to get decent shots. He waited more than an hour as the bears enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before ambling over the hill and disappearing from view.
The sky was darker than he had seen in days and he pulled on his rain gear and shrouded his pack with the rain cover. He checked his bearings and started out, the air damp and cool against his cheeks.
He was chewing the last bite of a protein bar as he jumped into a dry river bed. He stuffed the wrapper into the pocket of his raincoat and kept on walking. The raindrops were large and cold, obscuring the narrow view from under his hat. The camera nestled against his chest, protected from the rain, straining the zip of his jacket.
As he turns a corner in the river, Jeremy sees a solitary bear on the southern slope ahead of him and pulls the camera from beneath his coat. The bear is likely a recently deposed alpha male. His back humps prominently between the shoulders, head swinging from side to side as he searches for food. Jeremy narrates the film. Let’s take a closer look at this magnificent beast. He moves closer, unable to gauge distance through the rain.
The bear lifts his nose to the air, eyes coldly scanning. Jeremy switches to photo mode. Click, click, click. I could hardly believe my luck; you know how it is, right place, right time. Closer. Click, click, click. The bear’s ears lift, his eyes sharp. He lifts onto his back paws.
Jeremy remains still, the bear drops to the ground, nothing of interest, and grazes some more. Closer, click, click, click. The bear lifts his head, looks directly at Jeremy, eyes wild in the viewfinder, moves one paw, then another, bares his teeth, a low rumble.
Million dollar shot, right here. Click, step, click, step, click, step.
The bear stands tall before Jeremy drops the camera, the front paw swinging at the encroaching threat, his head waving angrily, eyes betraying his fear. Jeremy turns to run. The bear now on all fours, moving towards him, growling ferociously, he does not see the attack that forces him to the gravel, a single paw pressing into his thigh preventing him from moving.
The bear eats his fill in preparation for the coming hibernation.
The skies above the muddy river bed fill with dark clouds, four rangers with binoculars reluctantly raised search the terrain for the bear in the photo; all privately hoping not to be the one. Her back and heart ache when Sylvia draws the short straw, she closes her eyes to beg forgiveness, takes aim, the shot rings out, loud and clear. She watches the bear fall, slings the rifle across her back and walks back to the convoy of jeeps, head bowed, eyes dark, hearing the biologists mumbling as they begin their task.