Bushwhacking Through Grizzly Country

Our three-man expedition party had just endured a long, grueling trek through an Alaskan tar pit, enveloped in a tunnel of twisted branches. My 6’3” frame ached as I took my last step out and stood up straight. For hundreds of yards, we were hunched over like Quasimodo, as the curvature of our spines felt like they were being slowly calcified. With each step, our boots and trekking poles sank into the blackened goo. All this to reach a backcountry valley to hunt ptarmigan.

After regaining our postmodern man posture, we encountered a new obstacle. Grass. Tall grass. Very tall grass. Towering over seven feet, it encroached us. There was zero visibility as we waded through. Our trekking poles became tools to push out and away the blades that hid the narrow trail. It revealed that humans weren’t the only ones using the overgrown footpath. We were in the heart of bear country. Our shotguns were packed away on our backs in scabbards and useless. Lucky for us, we all had sidearms. We also had two bird dogs who scurried about. Surely, they would provide some type of early warning system if a bear ventured too close. 

After a mile or so, it transitioned into bushwhacking our way past bushes, and overgrown thickets. Factor in the constant change in weather that was comparable to a moody teenager, and it made our march more difficult. The sun would peek out behind the clouds only to hide a few minutes later. Its absence brought heavy rain showers and clouds of mist that started and stopped at random. The dampness made for a wet and slippery journey. Another persistent obstacle was the damn flies. Their vibrating wings caused a never-ending irritation. They found their way into any exposed facial orifice. I used my handkerchief as a sort of African flywhisk to keep them at bay. It was only a temporary solution.

The only comfort I found was in the handful of blueberries that lined our path. The tasty on-the-go treats were sweet and provided much needed fuel. But images crept into my mind of gorging bears feeding on the same bushes. What I thought was a good distraction soon turned into “What ifs?” An encounter was inevitable in mind. 

We continued moving at a steady pace through various terrain features, negotiating several streams with caution. Each crossing brought scenic strolls amongst conifer trees atop a carpeted floor of dried needles. I strained my eyes to catch a glimpse of a perched spruce grouse, but the shadows played games with my eyes. There was lots of evidence of destruction through the foliage of moose bulldozing their way through, along with piles of dung left by Bullwinkle. Just another creature to worry about. The path led us along rugged edges with barely enough room to maneuver across the uneven ground. Our trekking poles gave us confidence and stability in those precarious spots. They were a lifeline that kept us from falling to our deaths. 

Shrubs of Devils Club was the other constant foe. The large understory plant is covered with brittle spines that are easily broken off. If handled or disturbed, they can cause skin irritation or a rash. They grabbed and scratched at every opportunity. I felt patches of heat on my hands and face. 

The voyage was proving to be as wild as I had imagined Alaska to be. I was constantly scanning for wildlife that was bigger than me. Contending with our hike was the copious amounts of bear scat (black and grizzly), that littered the ground. At any given time, I thought I would come face to face with Ursus or arctos americanus. My new friend and host, Jay, had mentioned finding bears on the trail before. He told of shooting a “griz” with an arrow as he climbed a tree to getaway not far from our location. It’s poised on its hindlegs in his log cabin. My nerves were on edge. Thoughts raced around in my head of being mauled before I could shoot my first Alaskan ptarmigan. I wanted to get out of the “bush” and into the open. Walking into a curtain of vegetation without the ability to see but a few feet was nerve wracking. 

It was common for Jay to signal a halt while he ventured off to locate colored ribbons of fabric. Fluorescent trail markers tied at key points steered hikers in the right direction Throughout the walkabout, I hardly saw Jay or Rich, the other gent on the adventure, as we only came together at rest stops. As soon as we started trudging along, we each became lost in the flora. I would hear and see grass moving only to brace myself for a face-to-face encounter with a grizzly, only to be relieved to see Jay. 

After seven hours of traversing through the mountain valley, Jay stopped and pointed to a rocky ledge. “There.” Finally. A mile later we set up bird camp and immediately started hunting. I found myself back in thick willow habitat that could easily hide bears as well as scores of ptarmy’s. The dogs did their job in finding birds, and we did ours by connecting on a lot of birds. As for the bears. They were there. We watched a momma griz and two cubs feed on a mountainside about a mile from our tents. I came across large bear tracks that weren’t there previously when I crossed a stream an hour prior. 

On the third day, we packed up and started our descent to the trailhead and civilization. Jay vanished ahead of me into the greenery and Rich was invisible too, somewhere behind me. I followed and that uneasiness I felt before, returned. An hour in, Jay’s brown pudelpointer barreled through the tall grass giving me a jolt of adrenaline and fear, as I thought it was a charging bruin. Not gonna lie, I may have peed myself a bit. “Stupid dog!” I exclaimed. Here we were, back to bushwhacking our way through grizzly country. “Damn.”