[T]he animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with extension of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren; they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth. — Henry Beston, The Outermost House, 1928
Fairytales, children’s books, and even television commercials deal fondly with them, and sports teams and daycare centers are named in their honor. Yet, when one gets disoriented or wanders into territory it has no business being in, things can take a nasty turn for a wild creature incapable of processing abstract human concepts such as public safety.
From the many accounts of bear attacks on humans, a pattern emerges: Bears threaten, harm or kill humans, and humans threaten, harm or kill them, honoring a balance in nature that few might wish to acknowledge. The advantage, once again, lies with the humans who are entitled, supposedly as a result of some hermeneutic confusion concerning the word “dominion,” to hunt these creatures. Yet, when bears honor their own instincts and kill whatever they perceive is a threat to them, these same humans are horrified.
I know better than to pass judgment on the recent bear killing in Portland. I’m not an expert in such things and can only approach them from the point of view of one who is acutely sensitive to the processes I observe playing themselves out around me each day in the woods.
While I’ve never seen a bear here, I have heard reports of sightings nearby, and I have seen other potentially dangerous animals pass perilously close to my front porch, scenarios that might have played out differently had these creatures, in this case a coyote or a fisher, decided to assert their own dominion over what they perceived to be their territory and I in the role of interloper.
Research shows that bears quickly adapt to urban situations and will go wherever the food is if they’re hungry or, as they are this time of year, trying to fatten themselves up for their winter nap. Are they to blame if they end up where they shouldn’t? Absolutely not. Are we? Again, no. It’s simply the way things are. And unless we superior beings are willing to take down our homes, apartment complexes, shopping malls, and skyscrapers, it will continue this way, because wild animals have not yet developed a sense that there are some places they simply do not belong in, and I doubt they ever will.
Some species have adapted and, for the most part, steer clear as much as they can of human activity. Bears are among those that, along with deer, foxes, opossums and raccoons, have unwittingly established a tentative coexistence with humans, not by choice but out of necessity. It is the way of all life, this arbitrary partitioning off of living space, giving one species unspoken dominion over another, and the casualties that result along the way are its inevitable results. Thus, the stories of bears cornered and killed will continue, because given the circumstances, there is often no other solution. As harsh and as primitive as it sounds, it’s kill or be killed at its most primal level. If that bear had gotten into a neighborhood or wandered into a busy thoroughfare, well, there’s just no telling ”¦ and so it goes.
I’ve asked myself since then what I would do if I were faced with a similar situation. In the 12 years I’ve been here, it hasn’t become an issue. But I wonder sometimes just how far I should be venturing into these woods and how I might react if I came upon a wild animal that would give me pause. To date, the only other living things I’ve come across are deer, squirrels, chipmunks, snakes and birds. My fear, and a healthy respect for the coyotes, keeps me from going too far, as I know just about where their yipping is coming from late at night. I always keep to the trail and hope for the best. From here on out, though, it will be hard for me on those jaunts not to call to mind the bear that got lost and confused once too often.
May its end have been swift and sure.
— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Lyman, can be reached via e-mail at rlovejoy84253@roadrunner.com.
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