Life Lessons from The Grizzly Bear Picnic

By: Wyatt Mashkuri

“Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.”
- Robert Hastings

At the base of the two mountain bases was an extensive forest where evergreen trees and
mountain streams covered the valley floor. Beyond the trees, a glacier ridden peak, illuminated
by the afternoon light. From the south, a subtle breeze rolled through the valley, freeing the trees
of the recent snowfall. It was a quiet afternoon. The cold temperatures sent a tingle through my
hands as I reached for my camera to capture the moment. The shutter clicked three times and
then I returned the camera to my jacket
pocket.

This view was something special

because vistas of this nature were
nonexistent back at home. As I looked
onward before turning back and
returning to camp when I noticed it.
There was movement in the distance. It
was rather close, possibly 140 to 150
yards from me. I was sure there was
something out there. Hidden in the sea
of boulders, something big and dark
was walking in my direction. I
questioned myself various times, was that it? I had lost it. I gazed forward, searching through a
field of misleading boulders in search of some form of life. I thought surely no one in my group
would have ventured that far beyond me. I asked myself over and over what could it be? Then
there was movement again.

From around the rock came a paw, then a shape resembling a head. I could tell this dark animal
was nothing small. I began seeing more of its body. With the sun shining down the valley and
towards my eyes I could not tell exactly what it was. I had hoped it would only be a small deer
like creature, but judging from the size of its legs, I knew it was something much larger. I looked
closer, this time piecing together the parts of the body I had seen until I realized it, this was a
grizzly bear.
While it was still some distance away, I denied my own thoughts, surely I could not see it
clearly, there was no way this could be a grizzly. Time passed. I contemplated what I was seeing
as I tried to assure myself this was some other less terrifying animal. But from the swaying walk,
low hanging head and the large hump behind its shoulders I became certain a grizzly was
walking in my direction.

All of a sudden the peaceful sunset seemed to have gone. My calm expression retracted to one of
fear and anxiety. I shouldn’t run, I knew that, but watching the bear approach it was almost
instinctive to do so. Time was passing, the bear continued in my direction. Every slight
movement was instinctive. My actions were immediate reactions. I had never felt so in tune to
my surroundings until that point. I slowly began to step back without making any sudden
movement to startle the bear. The uneven ground of shale and half frozen mud made stepping
backwards a difficult task, but I had no other choice.

As I slowly stepped back the metal ice axe in my hand grazed the top of a nearby rock. As if a
fork had hit a dinner glass to make a toast, the bear looked up. It seemed everything in that
moment froze.

My hands were motionless and my eyes transfixed by the grizzly. I was in shock. Among the
constant stream of bad words coming to my head I continued to ask myself, what now? The
muscular anatomy of the bear made it look especially daunting in the afternoon light. I could tell
it was hungry because why else would it venture above the cover of the treeline. It must have
been looking for an afternoon snack, and that I guess was me. Maybe that’s why our pilot had
referred to this rural region of British Columbia as “the Grizzly Bear Picnic,” but that’s beside
the point. A bear was
approaching and at this point it
could see me as well as I could
see it.

I could hear faint sounds of

people talking at my camp
directly behind me. It was still a
ways back. I continued walking
backwards. My eyes were
locked on to the movements of
the bear. It’s pace and step
placement seemed to nearly
match mine. I had to be near
camp I thought. My heart began racing more and more as sweat left through the palms of my
hands. Through my peripheral vision, I could see a small hill only feet behind me. I knew if I
managed to step around it I could make the sprint back to camp. I became consumed by making
the final steps around each of the boulders. When I could see the small hill in front and beside of
me my heart rate slowed as I assured myself I would safely make it away from the grizzly.

When I glanced back the grizzly was still approaching but at a less alarming pace. So, like any
person would do, I ran. With an adequate amount of cover behind me I navigated through the
maze of assorted boulders towards our circle of tents. With my heart pounding from a mixture of
fear and adrenaline I entered the sleepy camp. As I approached the tents I alerted everyone a bear
was near by. In a frantic craze my friends jumped from our tents with bear spray in hand ready to
confront the grizzly. Judging by trembling hands and shaky voices I knew I wasn’t the only one
nervous from the approaching bear.

Over the next half hour we grouped up and confronted the grizzly with loud voices and bear
spay. For a while the bear stood its ground. Then, at one point in the standstill it charged in our
direction before getting a clearer view of the size of our group. When it chose to approach no
further there was a shared respect between us and the bear. For a second the fear was gone, and
we could both experience this unusual encounter in the shadow of the peaks around us. After a
few minutes the bear had lost any and all interest with our group. It began a brisk jog up and over
the edge of the valley, looking back only once before disappearing into the distance. Then it was
over. The bear was gone, taking the thrill and fear of the experience with it.

When I returned to my tent less than one hour after first seeing the grizzly I struggled to make
sense of what happened. I stayed awake tossing and turning, trying to wrap my head around the
encounter. In the moment it was difficult to fully open my eyes and to see the experience for
what it was. As I have reflected further on the incident, the grizzly encounter marks a significant
moment in my life where I became deeply in tune to my surroundings. There wasn’t a moment
where I had thoughts about past experiences or future obligations, for once, physically and
mentally, I was there.

***

“The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly out distances us.”
-Robert Hastings

A few days ago, back in Vermont, I made the familiar drive from Sugarbush resort in Waitsfield
back to my home in Middlesex. After a long day of skiing in the elements, I gazed aimlessly
down the road, passing by snow covered farm fields and icy stretches of the Mad River. There
was little significance to this drive home. What awaited me back at my house was only a physics
packet and a list of homework assignments I had yet to start.
As I continued driving light snow began to fall, obstructing my view of what was ahead. For a
second I smiled at the simplicity of the snow falling on my windshield. I had forgotten about
what I had waiting for me at home and for a split second I was there, in the moment. As the snow
began to cover the majority of the window I pushed the windshield wipers, clearing my view of
the road ahead. The snowflakes were gone and the moment was lost in the train of thoughts
which followed.

Since returning from my trip I have noticed a regular disconnect between myself and the world
around me. With our lives focused on reaching the next destination, sometimes it is difficult to
pause, and enjoy the moment. Recently, people have attributed this problem to our excessive use
of smartphones and other material possessions which limit us from interacting with our
surroundings. But often times I find it isn’t our possessions which account for this disconnect.
Instead, it is us. On a daily basis we are confronted by mental barriers which inhibit us from
living each day to the greatest extent. That is the core of the problem.

***

On a sunny afternoon days after grizzly encounter I sat in the comfort of my tent and read a
poem by Robert Hastings named “The Station”. Throughout the poem Hastings refers to the
Station as a metaphoric place were we always want to be but can never get to. He sees the station
as a burden in our lives which distracts us from being present. At the end of his piece Hasting
writes, “It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. Rather, it is regret over yesterday or
fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.”

The structure of our modern lives makes it nearly impossible to be truly present in our day to day
life. Mentally, we are greatly disconnected to the world around us. Until we are confronted with
an experience where this disconnect can be seen, we go blind to it. In my case, needed a 400
pound grizzly bear to clumsily walk into my life to make this realization. But that is not a
realistic experience for everyone.

So to you, the reader. I encourage you to take a moment, step outside, and walk into the open air
of the wilderness where life is pure. Maybe the solution to this problem is rather simple. Maybe
all it takes is a walk, a hike, or a camping trip into a place where natural beauty overpowers the
distractions of everyday life.

And while you're out there, if you happen to see a bear, you better hope its not hungry.