The plane flew southwest for an hour or more, passing close by Mt Douglas and the adjacent glaciers, then on along the coast to Hallo Bay, where, we landed on the sandy beach. Our group consisted of my son Colin, his wife Sarah, and two guys from New York City, along with myself and our pilot-guide Tom. Tom was in his thirties, an Alaskan version of Steve Irwin. Tom told us not to go more than ten feet from the plane while he gave us our bear safety briefing. He that we should always stick together in a tight group, do exactly what he said to do, and that in no circumstances should we ever run from a bear - “he’ll take you down like you was a gazelle if you do.” Tom’s only weapon was a marine flair, but he assured us that in seven years none of the guides had ever had to use their flairs. It’s all psychology - bear psychology - making the bear think you are tougher than he (or she) is.
We had spotted a couple of bears from the air, and after walking a couple of hundred yards we found one of them, eating grass in meadow, looking more like a buffalo than a predator. Since the salmon had not yet arrived the bears were eating grass, lots of grass. The bear looked warm and cuddly, so cute, but when he moved they did so with the easy fluid grace of a lion. Mostly he ate grass, then another bear joined the first one, and they started to play. “Foreplay,” Tom said. Sure enough, soon one bear mounted the other one right there in front of us.
We wandered on in search of other, more refined bears, and saw a young two year old cub whose mother had kicked him out of her care a week before, according to
Tom, who had seen it happen. Tom said a big male bear nicknamed ‘Righty’ had killed a five year old cub a couple of weeks before. “The big males kill and eat the little ones” Tom said. So much for the warm cuddly appearance.
These bears were used to having humans around and generally ignored us. But one young male bear sat down in front of another group of five people, scratched his belly, and exposed himself to the whole group. “Oh he’s a such a sweetie,” said Tom. Right. After all, a bear had killed and eaten the “Grizzly Man” and his girlfriend only fifteen miles from where we were.
We ate lunch sitting on some driftwood logs, and I tried to imagine the storm that put them a mile inland from the beach. After lunch we walked through the deep grass looking for more bears when we spotted Righty and kneeled down to take his picture, unfortunately kneeling on the path exactly where he wanted to walk. We slowly moved over to make space for his 1500 pound body, and he ambled by, ignoring us while Tom kept a tight grip on his flare. “He got his name because he lost part of his ear in a fight with another bear,” Tom said.
After Righty had passed Tom said “It’s time to go.” It seemed that we had only been on the ground for ten minutes, but when I looked at my watch it had been more than two hours. Reluctantly we walked back to the Cesna, and after an exciting taxi down the beach we were airborne. It was like being in flying dune buggy, and we had a smooth flight back to Homer over some of the most beautiful scenery on earth.
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