I am wild

Everybody says when they hear I’m from Australia that they are too afraid to travel there because of the wildlife. Poisonous snakes, deadly spiders, man-eating sharks, alluring crocodiles. Although these venomous and sharp-toothed mammals and insects were not sprawled across my path every day growing up, their presence still demanded respect. But I did not live my life in fear of them, I lived aware. It wasn't until after my second week of living in Canada with my boyfriend that we heard about a camping couple who had been eaten alive by a bear. Living only 2 towns removed from the situation, I thought, “This is some next level shit!”

Walking in the bush had always been a peaceful experience for me. Even deafening cicadas couldn't ruffle my feathers. I knew not to walk in the long grass and do up my tent at night to keep out the snugglers, but I had never experienced sharing nature with big, big animals. I was freaked out. We started gathering horror stories and tools that would equip us for safe journeys. We learnt to nullify every instinct in a cougar or bear encounter that internally screams at you to run. Make yourself big, make yourself small, don't turn your back, protect your neck, move away slowly, given the chance, use the spray. But the crazy thing was, before even making introductions with a moose, cougar, black bear or grizzly, and having the chance to try our new moves, we had to fill the woods with noise as we walked, preparing them for our arrival as if they were around every bend or 5 meters off the path. The outdoors became a scary place. I felt trapped and claustrophobic in my fear, too afraid to walk by myself and enjoy nature. Even urban strolls in our small mountain town had the possibility of running into a matchmaker, although a very small chance. We heard, “There was a bear in our bin last night.” “Someone got chased by a cougar on their bike.” “One of our cats got taken.” “I pulled a bear banger and he didn’t even flinch.” “In this area, if you don't hike in a group of 4, you will receive a $20,000 fine.” Then we met the people who have walked alone in the bush for the last 20 years, seen many bears, but had no problems. We met people who survived attacks. And plenty of people who were unfussed and continued to enjoy the outdoors aware but free of stress. The plethora of voices and recalls of experiences did nothing for my nerves. This should be the part where I tell you how I overcame my fears. I haven't yet.

Slowly over time, with a little distance from stories of attack, I began wandering down forested paved roads by myself again. It helped that winter was on the brink, and little brown bear eyes were battling going to bed. As I walked along, I heard rustlings nearby me in the undergrowth. Once again, I felt the sting of fear spike through my body, like the sharp feeling that shoots through you when you catch yourself from almost falling off a chair. I took a breath, I didn't want to be afraid. I felt so alienated in this environment, my heart longed for the comfort of walls. You hear so often about how we share nature with animals, that this is their home we are walking around in. But it had never hit home for me that I wasn’t the only one who had to share; the bear also had to share with me. I wasn't a foreigner trespassing in the front yard of a furry creature, this is also my home. I perceived them as wild creatures at home on the earth, but I thought of myself as removed from nature, not one who is also wild, one also born of the earth, one welcome here, one who belonged in the woods and in the water. Of course, thinking that doesn't automatically make all animals respect me, not run away or towards me, but it helped me to settle into my step. I live here too. I am a wild being. It’s natural for me to be here; I am not out of place or imposing. I felt a higher respect for my furry neighbours, calmer about the fact for the most part, they're just out doing their thing, or if they follow their nose to our tent, that they're not sniffing me, “they're just looking for sandwiches”, as my partner likes to say. Which oddly helps me cope with the scary, mysterious sniffing situations, even if there are no sandwiches in the tent. Of course, the wild can be dangerous and though without evil intentions can still result in death, but those animals too can be vulnerable and naked and wet and calm and beautiful. There is space for the two of us. Creatures and humans, contempt and wild, wandering along in the bush together.