I Just Encountered a Bear in the City, and I Have a Lot of Feelings
The first thing I noticed was a large furry body coming right towards me. The next thing I saw was the claws.
On September 24, while walking alone around Burnaby Lake, a popular recreation area near Vancouver, BC, I came face-to-face with a black bear.
That morning, I slipped my bear spray into the front chest pocket of my backpack. I spotted signs on the trail warning that bears were in the area, but the notices looked quite old. I didn’t really think I would encounter a bear, but I felt safer with my bear spray accessible.
About five kilometres in, nearly halfway around the lake, my mind was wandering. I was thinking about coffee, wondering if there might be a cafe at the end of the trail for me to grab a latte from.
Suddenly, I saw a low, dark shadow moving towards me, splintering my caffeinated daydreams. For a second, I couldn’t tell what it was. Then I recognized the shape.
“Holy f**ing shit,” I gasped. A black bear was walking towards me, less than five metres away.
My survival instincts kicked in. I paused my audiobook, cutting off Elizabeth Gilbert’s chattering in my ears. I slid the bear spray out of my chest holster, removed the safety and held the canister at arm’s length, all in one fluid motion. “Hey Bear!” I called in a firm voice.
The bear didn’t even look at me.
Instead, it continued nonchalantly sauntering towards me on the trail. I backed away slowly, continuing to call out, “Hey Bear!” I hoped my voice would warn others in the area and get the bear’s attention to avoid startling it, but it didn’t seem to care—with giant paws and a long snout, it continued its lazy, heavy stroll down the trail, sniffing the ground.
Headed right in my direction.
Continuing backwards, I nearly stumbled off the trail. I risked a glance behind me to avoid falling into the bushes. “Hey Bear!” I called again, at least 10 times in total. For a fleeting second, I wondered if I should take a video. I shook away the thought. As cool as it would be to capture this encounter, I wasn’t willing to avert my eyes for even a second from the wildlife in front of me.
The trail curved; trees obscured the bear from my view. When it seemed far enough away, I turned on my heel and briskly walked away from the bear’s trajectory, breathing hard.
A few minutes later, my heart still pounding, the unsheathed bear spray still clutched in my sweaty palm, I ran into an ambling photographer. “There’s a bear back there,” I warned him.
“Coming this way?” he asked with enthusiasm, pausing on the trail.
“Be careful,” I said.
“Just don’t run,” he replied, uncovering his camera lens.
I walked in the opposite direction, feeling a swell of emotions overtake me to the point that I needed to call my boyfriend on the phone to talk to and to put me at ease. Soon after, I alerted two other people about the bear ahead; one trail runner turned around, one walker shrugged and continued on.
Unfortunately, not long after, I saw another trail user sprinkling bird seed along the trail. Signs in the area warn against feeding birds due to the food attracting bears. I wanted to say something, but the words died in my throat—wanting to avoid confrontation, I chose not to play the role of enforcer.
Upon arriving back at Phillips Point, a small tail of the trail that leads to the lake, I sat on a rock to breathe, feeling my eyes burn.
I was overwhelmed with emotions.
First, relief that there was no conflict and that I walked away unscathed.
Second, regret that I didn’t take a photo or video. It would’ve made a great Instagram post; I would’ve liked to share it with my friends and rewatch the bear’s movements. It was a silly feeling, but I still felt it.
Third, pride that I did the right thing. I had my bear spray within reach, I took it out, spoke authoritatively to the bear as I walked backwards slowly, turned around at a safe distance and warned others on the trail.
And finally, some sadness that the bear lives here, in the city, and has to deal with other people, some of whom might not give it the respect or space it deserves.
The day I encountered the bear was my late father’s birthday. For a moment, I wondered, had my dad sent me the bear as a sign? Had I missed a special moment because I’d let fear overtake me?
No, I decided. My dad might send me a hummingbird, but not a bear.
I felt in awe of being so close to an intimidating wild animal and amazed that, in such a public space, a bear can sometimes go undetected, but I also knew it was wildlife, and I didn’t want for it or anyone else to get hurt, especially being just off the highway, near traffic and a train track.
For many people, seeing a black bear in their backyard or from the safety of a vehicle might be just another Wednesday afternoon. But on my solo walk, I had no door to close, no glass window to roll up and no one else to consult (or hide behind). I felt exposed and intimately alone with the bear. Fear welled in my chest, but luckily, my training kicked in. Working for Explore Magazine, I’ve extensively researched how to respond to a bear encounter. I always wondered if, in the moment, I would scream or run. But I didn’t do either of those, despite my nerves.
Afterwards, I almost felt embarrassed that I regarded the bear as an enemy when it wasn’t; not really. We are all animals sharing this land. Realistically, it was a lumbering black bear that likely wouldn’t have hurt me. The key word being likely. Why tempt it? I don’t want to be the influencer or tourist taking a selfie instead of doing the safe thing.
After my emotions settled, I reported my encounter. Later, I spoke with Marcel LaBreche, a park operations supervisor with Metro Vancouver Regional Parks about how we as trail users can be better neighbours to ensure the bears’ health and survival—and our own safety, too.
LaBreche told me that it’s been an especially active year for bears, with White Pine Beach in Belcarra Regional Park being closed for one week to dissuade a bear that had come to the crowded beach and begun joining picnics. The bear I’d encountered was likely one of four currently living in the Burnaby Lake area.
“This year, I have heard lots of stories of bear encounters, but we haven’t had any serious conflicts. It’s just mostly been like you described: a bear that’s starting to lose its fear of humans; it’s used to humans now, because there are so many people walking the trails,” LaBreche says.
“It’s carrying on its way, probably going from point A to B, and you just happen to be in the way. The easiest way to walk is the trail. This time of year, it’s probably not going after berries anymore, but skunk cabbage and other food sources.”
LaBreche says it’s important not to feed the birds in these areas because bears will go after any food source.
Food-conditioned bears begin to find picnicking areas as a food source. Then, they stop looking for their own food and associate people with a food source. “That’s not good when that happens,” says LaBreche. “For the bear, and for people.”
Habituated bears are used to people on the trails. These bears usually don’t bluff charge, stand up or act aggressive or curious about having humans in their space.
As bears get more comfortable around people, their behaviour changes, leading to more encounters. “Unfortunately, when there are too many conflicts or the conflicts get too aggressive, then the [conservation officers] have to follow their protocols. Sometimes, they have to destroy a bear or try to relocate it, but most times, they end up destroying the bear. Our goal is always trying to keep the bears wild, keep the public safe, try to minimize the conflicts and try to break those habits of behaviours,” LaBreche says.
“Conservation officers don’t want to have to shoot a bear. That’s the last thing they want to do. It’s their job, when they have to, but they want to promote awareness and manage the attractants and do whatever they can to keep the bears alive. But when they do that, you end up with a larger population of bears, right? So you’ve got to learn to live with them.”
“There were a few bluff charges reported this year. That’s when you startle a bear and it runs at you, then stops,” he explains. “People think that it’s charging as an aggressive action, but in bear behaviour, that’s a defensive action and is actually a really good sign because it shows the bear doesn’t like you. It’s just showing, ‘Hey, get away from me.’ Though it’d be pretty nerve-wracking.”
If you are going to take a photograph, LaBreche says it’s still recommended to stay 100 metres away from the bear. He also suggests keeping dogs on leash, removing headphones (especially if you’re running), hiking in groups, making plenty of noise, looking carefully around blind corners and going midday, as bears are typically less active then. Picnickers should quickly clean up their trash and put garbage in bear-proof waste bins.
He adds that if there’s an area where you know bears have been spotted recently, you can consider going elsewhere for now. This is a small sacrifice we as trail users can make that could help ensure the wellness and safety of bears.
“Since COVID, parks have gotten really busy. People are seeing the value in hiking trails, being active outside, breathing the fresh air and connecting to nature, but more people coming to the parks also means there’s more frequent conflicts, and it becomes more common,” LaBreche says. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It just means there’s going to be more of those encounters, but you’ve probably got a good memory now from your experience. You’ll remember it for a long time now.”
More resources:
Report a bear encounter to your area’s RAPP line and/or Conservation Officer service.
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