Hello Bears!

I used to have stacks and stacks of National Geographic magazines that spilt out bookshelves and became makeshift tables, filling up every space in the bedroom. For many years, I had to give up the magazine subscription. Now, thank goodness for digital options. There're the free articles, but I also want to support National Geographic's writers and photographers. Without them, humans would be poorer when it comes to understanding our fellow inhabitants.

I like bears. No, I don't just mean the tiny cuddly cute stuffies and fluffies. I'm talking about the fierce snarling 3m-tall polar, grizzling and blacks. They're majestic and necessary to the eco-system. Unfortunately, they also need vast grazing space. Their range is enormous, and we have encroached on their homes. 

I don't think I can talk about endangered bears now. It's upsetting. No thanks to hunters. No matter how exhilarating a hunt is, it only serves selfish human desires. Very soon, the next few generations will see the extinction of many many species. On another note, this is about time that Japan's 400-year-old Bear Hunt tradition is undertaken in northern Tōhoku by Matagi hunters. They go after the severely endangered Japanese black bear. Apparently this is a deeply spiritual hunt that doesn't utilize guns. The Matagi hunters use exactly the same weapons used by their ancestors centuries ago. Some traditions can't be upkept in this world today. Because many hunters won't care about the old rituals and the old ways. Commercialization kills. Even killing one bear a year now is one too many.

Published in the December 2019 issue of National Geographic, Corey Arnold's story and photographs are arresting — he wrote about his experience in going along with two seasoned wildlife biologists to change batteries in the radio collar of a supposedly hibernating male black bear in Utah's Bryce Canyon National Park. It was a delightful little story.

The four-man team comprised Wes Larson and Jeff Larson, and Jordan. They set off to the mountains in February when it was miserable and ridiculously cold. It was a harrowing task, to say the least. A groggy bear is still a dangerous bear. And the team didn't want to let the bear out of the cave because they were concerned that half-sedated, it would fall to his death down the snowy canyon. The humans had to physically hold on to the bear's back paws to prevent it from moving fast away. And then, haul the 350-pound deadweight up the snowy embankment and back to its cave, before it woke. #winning

Thirty seconds later, they came flying backward out of the tunnel. The bear they’d collared a year and a half ago now weighed about 350 pounds—and he was awake. Wes had managed to jab him with the syringe, so we waited for the drug to take effect. When black bears hibernate, their breath slows and their body temperature drops by roughly 12 degrees Fahrenheit—low enough to cut their metabolic rate in half, but high enough for them to react to danger. Then, crawling on forearms and knees, I followed Wes, feeling only slightly more secure knowing that he’d be chomped before me if the bear charged. 

..................... 

The bear started crawling toward us until I was forced out of the den. We frantically blocked the exit with backpacks and sticks as Wes jabbed him again—but he powered through our barricade with groggy steps and began to crawl down the snowy slope. Jeff and Jordan lunged for his back paws, straining to hold on to him; Wes jumped on his back and grabbed his collar. 

The bear pulled them down the hillside and came to rest in the lower branches of a pine tree. The tranquilizer had kicked in—he was asleep. Wes and his brother changed out the radio collar and checked his health, but we had one more daunting task: getting a limp 350-pound bear up the snowy embankment and safely back to his den before he awoke. We pushed and pulled with every muscle. Before the sedative wore off, we succeeded. 

When spring came, signals from the bear’s new radio collar showed he’d resumed his everyday life—avoiding any more contact, we hope, with humans.