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Black bears are not so different from Americans. They breed every few years, they are always hungry, and are very protective of their land.
A few times a year, I travel an hour west from D.C. to visit the breathtaking Shenandoah National Park. For camping, hiking, or renting a cabin, I do not take the mountains for granted.
In the summer, the Shenandoah Valley is greeted by rolling blue hills, forever paused in the silent heat hanging above the hazy treetops.
When I go on a summer hike, I bring sunscreen, bug spray, water, protein bars, and a few other essentials. This includes the necessary worn-in hiking shoes, pocket knife, paracord, and either a GPS system or solar battery powered charger.
I don’t go alone, either. I bring a good friend or two, who share my fondness of nature and love of the great outdoor experience. Together, we like to embark on hikes that make our whole bodies ache by the end of the day, conquering peaks along with new muscles and personal bests.
I thought that I had found a decent hiking partner back in 2016.
I had my own pack and they had theirs. I drove the way to the mountain pass, and they paid for gas. I brought my own food. They brought theirs. It was fair all the way, and we seemed to make a good team.
It was the kind of hike that you could only do with someone who is comfortable being very sweaty around you, as you’d both be pouring sweat by the end of the day. Like a pair of camels, our packs were full and heavy on our backs as we retreated into the dense wood.
About an hour into the hike, we both noticed a trail marking on one of the trees: a dark blue streak painted on the bark to signal that we were going the right way.
Feeling relieved and on-track, we took a break and a much-needed drink of water.
I gazed around me. Golden sunbeams peaked through the shamrock-green leaves. One of the beams drew down onto the forest floor, pointed on a swarm of great horse flies. Not a fun surprise.
These horse files hovered above a large pile of feces. My friend had taken notice too, and immediately walked toward it like a fool.
“Damn, who takes a shit in a national park like that?” they asked, disgusted and annoyed.
I got a good look at the specimen, too. It was the largest pile of shit that I have ever seen in my entire life, and it was steaming. I couldn’t tell if it was from the sunlight, or if it was still fresh.
My friend abruptly walked off to the side, and nibbled on their sandwich.
“You’re eating… after seeing this literal shit?” I asked.
“What? I need protein.” they replied.
I was shocked when they’d pulled out a shiny, wet roast beef sandwich and some beef jerky, both loosely wrapped in greasy napkins. The already wet napkins were useless, so they used their hands to wipe away drippings from their chin. It wasn’t a pretty sight, especially after viewing a steaming pile. I turned my attention towards something, anything else.
That’s when I saw the hole in the ground.
Just ahead of us, beneath a fat tree, was a round gap in the forest floor. It looked like it could easily fit a person through the entrance, maybe even two. Around the hole, I spotted some more flies, and more piles of shit.
I know enough about animals to know that when an animal takes multiple shits in one area, they are effectively saying, This is my territory, and you are not welcome.
Looking around, my paranoia only grew when I noticed some large broken branches on the ground around us, too large to have been broken by a leaping deer or a darting fox. You’d have to be one heavy creature to crack these limbs.
I considered the sheer size of the hole, the piles of crap, and the large broken branches. I then considered the amount of meat drippings that my friend had been carrying around for over an hour. And suddenly, it all clicked in my mind.
We were standing in the heart of black bear country as perfect bait.
During the summer, bears are out and about searching for food. I was terrified that we’d just made ourselves a very easy meal for a hungry bear on a sweltering hot day.
Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe the hole was just the result of collapsed roots, and maybe the broken branches were blown to pieces by a storm… And maybe there really were human feces everywhere. Somehow that was more comforting, but I didn’t want to take any risks.
“Hey, I think we need to turn back… like right now.”
Completely invested in their sandwich, they managed to let out a “Huh?” through a mouthful of beef. I pointed to my findings.
“Look… that right there looks like a bear den, there are massive loads of shit everywhere, and you have just marinated yourself in meat juice. Do you understand?”
They turned sharply, looking left and right, then shot me a look of panic and shoved the rest of their food into their gullet whilst mumbling expletives.
“Let’s go.” I started.
We began to walk back on the trail the way you would walk in Manhattan; swiftly and looking directly ahead.
Well, we made it out alive and unfollowed by any bear. I now know to check all parties’ bags before heading into the mountains, as well as bringing along some bear spray, and maybe next time… a seasoned hiking partner, not a marinated one.
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