The Perils of Mountain Living

They're So Cute!

Last week was Bear Awareness Week here in Telluride.  A number of events such as a parade, a kid’s movie and seminars were held to help people become more aware of this mountain community’s bear activity and more importantly, how to respond to it.  I didn’t attend a single one, mostly because I’ve been chained to my desk.  Also I guess I felt like I didn’t need to raise my bear awareness any more:  It was already on high alert.  I’ve been increasingly coyote conscious as well, especially since I have two kitties that love to play outside where the bears and coyotes roam.  (What can I say?  They get fat and depressed if I sequester them in my little apartment.)

Even the Little Ones Know How to Dumpster Dive for Dinner

I remarked to myself how odd it looked in New York City on my recent visit when I saw basic trash bags and cans lined up along the street awaiting the next morning’s pick up.  That seemed so foreign to me since I had become accustomed to seeing all forms of garbage in full lockdown mode since I moved to Colorado well over six years ago.  (I was partly wondering why the garbage wasn’t hidden from NYC’s rodent population, I guess.)  A bear could make many tasty meals off of our garbage, so we lock off everything from street-side trash receptacles to big waste bins outside of homes and buildings.  Still, though, the bears know they can find more to feast on in Telluride and the outlying area than in the woods.  (There’s, of course, always a tourist that stupidly plops out a bag of garbage, a virtual ursine offering that greatly comprises all of our community efforts.)  It’s true, you’re more likely to encounter a bear lumbering through the alleyways of T-ride at 3 a.m. than on a camping expedition along the Continental Divide.

It’s easy for me to stay clear of the backstreets, but walks home at night have recently been riddled with fear.  (I rarely drive here since the gondola is my primary form of transportation and I live about a ten-minute walk from the station.  More on the gondola later.)  I’ve seen many bears since I’ve been out here and each sighting has been thrilling, mostly in the happy sense because I’ve been at a safe enough distance from them not to feel any threat.  I’m just a little concerned about coming up against one and having us both—errrrrrrrr—surprise each other.  I read in a Living with Wildlife in Bear Country pamphlet that it’s best to run downhill.  Well, that’s not always an option.  Plus I’d hate to count on me outrunning a bear.  It’s recommended to sing.  So I’ve taken to singing if I come home at dark.  Since I’m such an awful singer, my vocalizations frittered into more of a la-dee-dah-dee-dah.  Then they transgressed into whistling, which I’m thinking might be a little too ear piercing for the bear.  God only knows, maybe my bizarre sounds would throw a bear into some kind of a crazed state.  

To make matters worse, I have to walk past this upturned tree stump on my way home.  It never fails.  Its dark, craggy roots look like a big black bear on its hind legs about to lunge for me.  I shudder and cringe as I scurry by this silhouette and not surprisingly my whistling at this point sounds more like a cockatoo on the verge of hyperventilation. That darn thing gets me every time.

Maybe I’ve become too hypersensitive all around.  I’ve also taken to sniffing the air.  You don’t have to possess an acute olfactory awareness to smell bear.  I’ve smelled bear before and it was at a distance of at least one hundred feet.  It’s strong!  The problem with this mode is that if you happen to get a whiff of let’s say some doggy do, it’s apt to send you into a tailspin.  This very thing happened to me the other day when I was hiking, but I’m still thinking that I was picking up the scent of a bear.

O.K., Maybe He's a Little Young for Me

Bears are most active now since they’re preparing for hibernation.  The females bed down toward the end of October; the males early November.  Lately I’ve been thinking maybe this is not a good time of year to be single.  I’ve envisioned myself walking arm and arm with a handsome man until that dreaded moment when he’s required to fend off our Ursus americanus.  We encounter the beast crouched before us, flashing incisors, paw raised and ready to tear us to shreds.  Then ever so valiantly, my lover forces the bear to cower with nothing but a fierce shout and the bear skulks off into the underbrush.  Oh, my great protector, my ever-so brave, prince charming.

I’m fine once I enter my humble abode.  That is unless one of my kitties is still out.  That one is typically Clara and I’ve had to sneak out many nights and call her, forever fearful that there might be a bear hiding in the shadows.  It was midnight the other night and she still hadn’t come home.  I was worried sick and even after two Tylenol PM, I only half slept.  Then at two-thirty a.m. I was awakened by the howls of coyotes.  Those blood curdling yelps that sound half human, half beast.  I bolted out of bed, desperately searching for my pajamas and glasses and then was finally able to fly out the door.  I quietly and pleadingly called, “Claraaaa, Claraaaa,” so as not to awake the neighbors.  The whole while my heart raced wildly—so much so, in fact, that I was sure I could chase off both a bear and a coyote if such a situation presented itself to me.  Clarie was nowhere to be found.  The coyotes’ wretched sounds finally abated and only the trickling of the nearby ravine could be heard.

My Nemesis

I returned home not knowing if my little cat was dead or alive.  Five minutes later I heard her cry at the door.  She strolled in like she had just spent the afternoon in the park.

I read the following in our local paper the other day under the COP SHOP: MEMO TO MOUNTAIN VILLAGE RESIDENTS:  You live in a place called Mountain Village.  It’s a village in the mountains.  This is why bears and coyotes come near where people live.  (Or, better said, some people build houses near where bears and coyotes live.)  There’s no need to call the cops on every bear, raccoon or coyote you see, is there?

Calling the police about the wildlife would be the last thing I’d do.  In fact, even if a bear entered my Mountain Village apartment (which is possible since the entrance door is on the ground level), I’d do my best to find a way not to call the police.  I’d be afraid the poor thing would be shot.

But that doesn’t mean I’m any less fearful of bumping into one.  Maybe I do need that big strapping guy in my life after all. 

Colorado Division of Wildlife, 303-297-1192, www.wildlife.state.co.us; you’ll find lots of information here about how to live with wildlife.

P.S.  Just days after I initially wrote this, Clara spent an entire night out, I’m convinced I saw a bobcat chase Leo, my other kitty, and my neighbor told me a mountain lion was recently spotted in the vicinity.  Maybe the perils of the concrete jungle are more manageable.  I can’t wait until the cold weather sets in so that most of the critters—especially my own—tuck themselves into their dens for many snow-blanketed days of slumber.

King of the Mountain