When my partner and I first moved to Canada, I was afraid of bears. My mind was paralysed by the news of the couple who were camping and eaten alive by a “problem bear”, 2 weeks before our arrival. That horrifying incident thrust me on a trajectory of fearing Canada’s big cuddly’s.

For two years I said, “No, I don’t want to go hiking on my own”, “I don’t want to camp out”, or if we did, I’d barely sleep, because I was worried… what if we see a bear. Or, more specifically, what if we see a grizzly?

To ease my fear, I asked lots of questions about bears. What’s the difference between a Grizzly and a Black Bear? What should I do if I see one? Does bear spray actually work? Does it actually shoot 12m? Eventually I had all the information, but I still felt limited internally by the fear of “what if”.

My friend Isabella runs in the woods solo in the Rockies. She was telling me stories of funny interactions she had with bears on trail runs. How she accidentally spooked a black bear, and the confusion played out like a Looney Tunes scene, with her running this way and the bear running that, not knowing who should do what or run where. Then they met face to face, and the Canadian Black Bear stood up and looked at her, locking eyes with her. She described how round and beautiful and dark they were. She melted me. Her story compelled me: “That’s it, I’m going on a bear hunt.”

Where we parked our caravan in the summer, there was a lot of bear activity in the area, or should I say poop. Poop here. Poop there. Berry poop galore. I had seen a few bears around Canada already, but mostly from windows. The end of our street banked onto forest trails. I thought if I just wander down there, surely I will see a bear. I funnelled my way onto the trail, no bear spray in hand. I walked through the section with the open trees we had walked before, where others also walked, and their dogs usually barked at us. Then I walked up a small bank and onto a trail I had never been on. The bush became dense. I walked silently, feeling calm. Time slowed down, like the resistance from pulling back a slingshot. Distance feels longer walking away from home, but when you turn around, it’s quick as a flash. 20 minutes or so had passed. The deeper I walked, the more my heart started to race. “Hey bear”, I started amplifying the meters ahead of me. “Hey, bear”, don’t say it too much or too often, I thought; keep your cool. “Hey bear”. Suddenly, a rustling, and a big brown body rose tall above the bush, 45 degrees to my right, a meter or two off the trail. I stood still. He turned around and saw me, grunting, like the sounds an old man makes rising from a chair. “Hey bear, I see you”, I said calmly to him, taking in his presence. He let out a big huff and a groan, expressing annoyance that I bothered whatever he was invested in. Back on all fours, he slowly plodded away into the thickness, wanting to be in solitude once more. I let out a breath and walked home.

Then came chapter 2.

We parked our caravan up on a recreation site for a few weeks as we were preparing to leave and start our motorcycle trip south. It first started one day we drove up the winding dirt hill home; I walked to the door, and I noticed the cat crate was missing. Cat litter was sprawled out in a mound. “Babe, I think a bear has taken the crate!” We wandered into the bush and found it toppled over. We had locked the cat food and litter in the cat crate to keep out the raucousness of a skunk. We neglected to think of menacing bears. I removed the food and returned the next day to see the cat crate stolen a second time, nowhere to be found. Then the curious bear, like clockwork, kept coming around. Chewing on plain old cardboard boxes, breaking our taillight, and snuffling up the remaining cat litter that was impossible to clean. We sprayed him. He returned. We sprayed him again. He returned. We yelled and chased him like savages. One time we followed him into the bush and my partner was filming; we couldn’t see him anymore, but then he popped his head back up into shot. The video timing was very funny. He would come and lie at the back of our caravan, and we would stare at him through our rear window, watching the mosquitoes buzz around his face to their hearts' delight. This guy was harmless.

I wish I had met him when we first moved to Canada. Perhaps his silly face and heavy breathing would have freed me to feel more comfortable in the woods. I know there are still protective mama bears, and grizzlies are in a league of their own. But unhealthy fear of an animal vs. respecting and understanding it are two different mindsets. I hope to choose more of the latter.