As she had walked up the street toward the entrance to the woods, she noted in the distance a large animal on the road. She realized it could be nothing but a deer, standing alongside the group mailbox where the ravine entrance is located. The deer, from her description a yearling doe, made no movement as she steadily closed the distance between them. It was only when she was very close to approaching the animal that it turned decisively and fled back into the forest.
And then, when Suzanne, tingling with a sense of privilege and awe, entered the woods to access the trail leading down into the ravine she saw to her added astonishment that the deer still stood there, unmoving, watching her progress, until finally it leaped away. Lucky Suzanne. We could never share such an experience, not with two noisy, aggressive little dogs. But we could hope to. On the other hand, perhaps not, since both of our dogs on coming across another animal would instinctively bark and race toward it, frightening the poor thing. A dangerous scenario for all involved. We'll satisfy our curiosity by listening to the experience of others unexpectedly coming across deer.
For years after we first moved to this area, we would on occasion see red foxes where Suzanne had seen the deer. And grouse as well. And countless times, of course, in the forest itself. The foxes were unafraid, would just stand or sit on the trail, watching us watching them. Now, there are no grouse remaining that we are aware of, though on occasion wild turkeys are seen, and if we're lucky now and again we'll catch a fleeting glimpse of a fox racing through the woods.
I've just finished reading a book about a peculiar individual who was fascinated with Grizzly bears and imagined himself to have an especial bond with them, taking on a self-imposed role as their 'protector'. This man, a Californian, conceived of befriending these powerful giants and living among them. Accordingly, for thirteen years he travelled from California to Alaska to spend the spring and summer months actually camping out in bear country. The National Forestry Service did their best to dissuade him,while never invoking the full authority of the law.
He made himself incessantly unnecessarily vulnerable to danger. Wildlife biologists and particularly those specializing in the study of Grizzlies deplored the man and his antics. He continually approached bears in a manner forbidden by Alaska wildlife preserve rules, both for the safety of tourists and of the bears. He set up his tent in isolated places approachable only by seaplane, in the very midst of crowded Brown and Grizzly bear populations, at junctions where bear pathways led to feeding areas. He named bears and claimed to love them and respect them. He filmed countless encounters, some potentially dangerous, others surprisingly mundane, and went into schools to speak to elementary school students about bears.
And then, one October day, at a season when denning preparations and food scarcity, alongside deteriorating weather conditions prevailed, just before a scheduled seaplane pickup, this man Timothy Treadwell, and his female companion were confronted by an old, ill-tempered Grizzly. They were both summarily killed and eaten.
Evidently Grizzlies are known to be reasonably tolerant of the presence of humans, for the most part. They would prefer to go the other way rather than confronting people. But no animal appreciates being crowded, or cornered, or its territory invaded by those challenging them. Despite which the National Park Service in Alaska very rarely records fatal encounters between bears and humans. Those who might inflict harm on people tend to be inexperienced juveniles experimenting with erratic and unusual behaviour; sows protecting their young, or old, ill-tempered, sick/injured or bullying-personality bears, unrepresentative of the majority.
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