Bears are better fishermen...

Josh took off early from work today, and we drove down to the Russian River to try our hand at fishing again. After Josh taught me how to tie on my dark red Russian River fly, we slung our poles over our shoulders and set off walking up the river.

We walked and fished, walked and fished. Josh caught a little Dolly Varden on his line, but overall the bites were few and the action slow. So, we kept sloshing through the river, looking for a salmon hole we’d seen a fellow fisherman enjoy on an earlier trip.

Finally, a mile or two upstream, the hole came into sight. I felt giddy; this was it, I thought. This was the hole from which I would pull my first Alaskan Red.

I walked upstream from Josh and started casting. One cast, two casts, three casts in and I was feeling that telltale drag on my line. The fish were biting.

I flicked the line upstream, watched it sink into the current and float down, down, down. I cast a dorky grin at Josh, who, for some reason, was staring rather intently my direction. I was about to speak, but he spoke first.

“Hannah, walk towards me.”

He said it so quietly and so seriously, I didn’t even question it. I walked, and once I reached him, I turned around.

There, maybe 40 yards upstream and heading our way, was a big brown mama grizzly. I didn’t see her two cubs, but we’d been warned earlier they were there. She plodded down the river step by step, stopping here and there to sniff the air and swipe her paw through the water.

She stopped at our salmon hole. And I imagine she could have easily caught her family some dinner if she had stayed there a bit longer. But she kept plodding toward us as I forced my already cold, numb legs to push through the water -- away from her -- step by step.

I wasn’t terrified, but it did get my heart a racing. We walked, then looked behind, and walked some more. We kept our wits about us, and I found myself wishing I had my camera at hand. Then again, who wants to be that stupid photographer who gets mauled by a bear because she’s trying to get a good shot? Better to carry the bear spray on my hip, I think.

After about 10 minutes of half-jogging through the river, we’d put roughly 200 yards between us and the bear, so Josh stopped to cast his line in another hole. I was on bear lookout. He cast; I watched. He cast; I watched some more. Minutes passed. I saw nothing. I considered pulling out my pole again. And then the ferns 40 yards upstream on the other side of the river quivered. Was it a bird? I waited...

Seconds later, the bear emerged from the ferns and started walking our way again.

“Josh!” I called. I wagged my thumb over my shoulder. “We gotta go.”

So go we did, but this time we were more reluctant. If the bear wanted our fishing holes, they were obviously good, right?

Eventually we neared civilization. And I must admit I readily claimed our bragging rights when we warned fellow fishermen we’d seen a sow and two cubs only four football fields upstream.

“Headed straight for our fishing hole,” we’d say.

“Really? Well, okay, maybe I’ll stay here. Thanks for the warning,” they’d respond.

“No problem,” we’d nod. “Just be careful. Have your bear spray ready.”

“Yeah…” Their voice would fade, and, depending on whether they were tourist or local, their eyes would flicker either fear or knowing. Alaskans know: If you fish, you fish with bears. And if you fish with bears, you know they are the better fishermen…something I witnessed only an hour later.

Josh and I walked downstream to fish a hole known by its cluster of cottonwood trees. After a while, my legs were ice and I had to pee. So, I trekked back upstream to find a private spot off the path. And then I walked back downstream.

On my way, I stopped to shoot the breeze with some other fishermen. They said they’d heard there was a bear upstream. I said I’d seen it. They asked for the tale, so I obliged. But, right in the middle of my tale, I had to interrupt myself to let them have one of their own. I pointed across the river.

There, 30 feet away, was another bear. It slid off the bank into the river, poked its paw into the current, and emerged with a wriggling fish skewered on its claws. Then, dinner caught, it walked back up the hill and out of sight.

It took that bear 10 seconds to do something I’d spent hours trying to accomplish. But it was still one of the coolest sights I’ve ever seen. Maybe next time I’ll carry my bear spray on one hip and my camera on the other. For now, you’ll just have to believe me.

* Check out Josh's post on fishing with bears! He even got a couple photos. I'm a tad jealous.