EDITOR’S LETTER By Pat Hoglund
Scooter stops to investigate.
MY FRIEND SCOOTER
T
YLER ALERTED EVERYONE IN CAMP that Scooter was
back. Scooter is a brown bear we nicknamed that was
always “around” whether we were fishing, or just relaxing.
I’m not a great judge of brown bears, but he appeared to be
a younger bear that was out on his own for either the first or second
year. He was curious enough that our group was vigilant whenever
he appeared.
He’d drop by almost every day, and had a curious demeanor that
bordered on being annoyed, which was enough for me to always be on
the lookout. From his perspective, we were trespassing on his home
turf and he’d like nothing more than for us to leave. Problem with that
was we were there for seven days. And the steelhead fishing was too
good to leave. So, we did our best to respect his personal space, and go
about our business of swinging flies for unmolested Alaska steelhead.
These are the tradeoffs one makes when presented with a river full of
ocean-fresh steelhead that would grab a fly without much thought or
provocation.
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Throughout my travels I’ve been around enough bears
that I’m fairly comfortable around them. Admittedly,
most of my experience has come from fishing trips in
Bristol Bay and within close proximity to Katmai National
Park. I can remember one float trip on Moraine Creek,
which is one of Alaska’s most popular rivers to fish for
rainbows, I decided to count how many bears I saw that
day. Mid-way through the float I stopped at 51 bears.
There were so many bears it seemed pointless. Another
time I accidently found myself between three cubs and
a sow on the Brooks River. A loud grunt from the sow,
and the three cubs went running. Had it not been in a
national park where bears see humans daily, I suspect
it would’ve been an entirely different outcome. But like
most of the bears I’ve seen, they were habituated to
people in waders waving a stick in the air.
Scooter, meanwhile, has not been habituated. He was
clearly annoyed that we were fishing in his river.
One evening with about two hours of daylight left
Jason and I left camp to fish a run nearby. We had to
climb a tall bluff, and walk down toward the river. When
we reached the bottom, Scooter was waiting for us about
50 yards away. He lowered his head, and sauntered
toward us. We, of course, stopped. Scooter stopped, too.
Jason and I looked at each other, then looked at the bear.
We raised our arms in the air and yelled a couple obscen-
ities. Scooter sat down on his haunches. And stared at us.
It was the proverbial Alaskan standoff. This time Jason
and I took a couple more steps trying to intimidate our
500-pound friend. That’s when he laid down on his belly.
Not sure what to make of this, we took a couple more
steps toward him. This time Scooter got up, sauntered to
the river and crossed disappearing into the tundra behind
us. As he was fading away into the sea of tall grass, he’d
look over his shoulder every three or four steps, clearly
agitated. Jason and I did what most people in our situa-
tion. We crossed the river and started to fish. Jason took
the lower end of the pool and I stepped into the top end.
I’ll admit, after each cast I would look over my shoulder
waiting to get blindsided by a charging bear. It’s an un-
nerving feeling when the hair on the back of your neck
stays on high alert for 45 minutes straight.
I couldn’t help but think of the different scenarios
running through my head. If Scooter charges me, do I
stand my ground? Do I swim? Do I curl up in a ball and
cover my head and stomach? I couldn’t help but think he
was hidden in the tall grass watching my every move.
Light was fading fast about the time I convinced
myself that he was long gone. That’s when three sea
ducks flew 10 feet past me following the path of the river.
The beating of their wings was like a bass drum getting
pounded in a chamber. I let out an expletive and checked
my waders to see if I actually wet myself. I also decided
it was time to string up my fly rod and head for the barn.
I put my headlamp on and walked down toward Jason.
He asked what was all the commotion about? He laughed
when I told him.
After we climbed back up the hill and made our way
back toward camp, I was relaxed knowing that Scooter
was nowhere to be found. About that time, Tyler jumped
out from behind a clump of grass and screamed. This
time I actually peed myself.