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The mist rolled down from the mountaintop, swirling through the Douglas fir, cedar and hemlock. The road unfolded before us in serpent-like twists, blending into the mist not far ahead.
We'd been warned at our campground, over and over, about the black bears. Signs warned against leaving anything out, even tablecloths. The manager gave us a stiff warning. Park rangers "dropped by" campsites four times a day to check for tiny scraps of anything that could be classified as Bear Attractant. If they hadn't been carrying clipboards used to hand out Bear Attractant warnings, these two fresh-faced park rangers on mountain bikes could have been mistaken for surfers. Rather, they were anti-bear enforcers, poised to fight those to dared to defy the anti-bear rules. "We write you out a warning slip first," the taller of the two said, in an effort to soften his Enforcer image. And so we obeyed the rules. But now, driving east on our way out of Pacific Rim National Park on Canada's Vancouver Island, there it was: a full-grown black bear. The poor guy looked lost, standing in the road and swinging his large nose in the air, trying to catch a whiff of a berry patch. Or, perhaps two young American tourists in a Toyota Corolla. My boyfriend Andy slowed the car as we approached the bear. "Get the camera!" he shouted as I fumbled through the mass of camping gear in the back seat. But it was too late by the time I turned around with it and Andy had stopped the car. The animal had seen us and was on its way into the rainforest on the other side of the road. He pulled his magnificent 700-pound body up through some bushes next to my passenger-door window, then turned around to watch us. Only his eyes and nose were visible through the thick underbrush. Was he sniffing us out? "If it rushes us, shut the window and I'll step on the gas," Andy said. I think we both suddenly realized the danger we had put ourselves in by pulling up to a bear in a car full of leftover weenies, potato chips and candy bars. But then the great black bear was gone, turned away from civilization and into the uninhabited Pacific rainforest that covers most of Vancouver Island. Our bear encounter was gone as quickly as it had materialized. Native Americans view sightings of such wild animals as spirit guides presenting themselves. Was this bear our spirit guide?
The copyright of the article The Rugged West Coast of Vancouver Island, Canada in Alternative Travel is owned by Colleen Kaleda. Permission to republish The Rugged West Coast of Vancouver Island, Canada in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.
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