The Sighting
Day One of the Adventure Art Club for the month of September did not disappoint. The following experience just goes to show you that when you set an intention, sometimes the world rises up to meet you in immense and unexpected ways…
ADVENTURE ART CLUB | DAY 1 | 9.1
MOOSE CAN GULLY TRAIL
SOUTH HILLS NEIGHBORHOOD
MISSOULA, MT
I’m walking along a steep and rocky incline on a small trail in my neighborhood, placing my feet carefully on the loose gravel on a steep slope covered in dry grasses, and trying not to be distracted by the multicolored rocks strewn about at my feet. I’m a rock-hound at heart (something I learned from my dad as a kid), but I don’t want to slide all the way to the bottom of this hill. Some caution is wise here. Up ahead, my half pit bull rescue dog, Scout, trots along loosely tethered to my wrist by a weathered blue lead. This line has linked us on countless adventures.
Moose Can Gully, the particular trail that I’ve chosen for the start of my September Adventure Art Club journey, begins in the hills near my home and runs for a short while between two steep hillsides with fairly average looking homes strewn along the top. These homes enjoy unobstructed views of the forested gully, dry hills, and valley beyond, and the trail is shared among any and all locals who find it. It is fairly unremarkable, by Montana standards, densely populated with trees and shrubs, and is a great connector trail for dog walking street to street or for going on quick morning runs in the neighborhood. The enticing points for choosing this trail is the ease of accessibility and how cool it stays on hot Summer days like this one
In Missoula, we’re lucky enough to have these pockets of wildness interwoven into the fabric of the valley, and therefore, our daily lives. The river runs through the heart of our town, and wildlife teems within the local waterways and among our city trails. Because I engage with these spaces almost every day, I sometimes forget how close we Montanans actually are to nature, in BIG ways. On this day, I’ll receive the gift of a quick and thorough shot of adrenaline that reminds me just how wild our wild really is…
Pausing for a moment to bend down and closely examine an interesting piece of slate colored rock that is perfectly flat and odd for this location, I notice that Scout is staying quite close to me. This isn’t out of the ordinary for a heart-led dog who loves me completely. His adoring eyes often smile up at me from a few feet away, perfectly happy exactly wherever he happens to be.
He is a perfect hiking companion and pauses obligingly when I stop our adventures to take pictures of scenes big and small. He always stays fairly close and when trotting ahead often looks back to meet my gaze, checking in along the way, or simply to say “hurry up already!”.
In this particular moment, though, Scout seems hesitant and unsure. I step past him and urge him on, and he obliges, taking the lead again, only to stop and point his head down the hill toward the creekbed below us, nestled within a dense mix of tree species. I scan the area, wondering what he is seeing, but I don’t find anything out of the ordinary. We travel on for a few steps, before I notice once more Scout’s head turning almost fully around to look behind us, nose pointed upward. He’s air scenting. I stay still now and watch him.
I learned a little bit about trailing and how scent works in years prior, when my much loved Treeing Walker Coonhound, Jax, (before he tragically passed away unexpectedly) would bound and howl through thick brush to find my husband hiding in the woods somewhere. I know to listen to my dog and let them lead when it comes to scent pictures. We don’t know exactly what they are picking up on (we have an inkling of the process), but if you pay attention, work closely with your dog, and your bond with them is strong, you will know when something is different in the way they scent the land and air.
My biggest takeaway from that training was this: Learn to trust your dog and let them lead. Your only job is to observe, closely. At this moment, I can tell that Scout is pensive and questioning. He’s taking in the breeze at our back and blowing out tiny puffs of air through his snout simultaneously. His eyes almost close completely, as if he’s trying to figure out what exactly he’s perceiving. This scent is something new. It’s different. I think….deer? Definitely animal. Maybe an unexpected person down below us? He doesn’t seem alarmed or fearful….just….questioning. So I adopt his stance.
I look around me. I slowly pan my vision from one end of the gully down to where we came from. Nothing in the dense underbrush. I don’t see someone on the trail across the creek. Nothing seems out of the ordinary…. Then I look up slightly. What’s that odd brown shape up there……? It’s moving. Too slowly, my mind wraps itself around to the realization of what I’m seeing. In the upper branches of a large pine tree that Scout and I had just walked beneath moments prior, perhaps ten yards behind us, is a fully grown black bear.
Fuck.
Was my first reaction.
Now, I walk on this trail almost every day, and I never carry bear spray with me. This trail feels like my back yard, practically. I walk in shorts and sandals, traipsing along half the time. I’ve listened to podcasts while walking briskly. I’ve walked with friends and their babies in carriers. Sure, I’ve seen bear signs in Autumns prior (a paw print perhaps, maybe some dried scat), but that hypervigilance of “there may be a bear here” and the knowledge that this gully “connects directly to the mountains above us” fades with time. This is what’s known as “risk tolerance” - the idea that if you take the same risk over and over, you get comfortable with it and let your guard down, forgetting that risk even exists.
It just so happens that today, of all days, on my way out the door (and because this is “Adventure Art Club!”), I grabbed my bear spray and backpack, throwing in my drawing supplies, a bottle of water, a camp chair, and my binoculars (just in case). I had planned to relax for a while in a mindful moment of calm, so I overpacked, to be comfortable. Standing mere feet away from this adult bear in a tree, I remember the bear spray.
Calmly and decisively, without hesitation and without even really thinking, consciously, I remember to stay calm. The bear is nestled high up in the tree. It looks calm, but I can’t be sure there were no cubs or other bears on the ground near me. I look around to make sure I don’t see any before fixing my eyes on the bear in the tree. It rolls its head down from the branch it was resting on, trying to get a closer look at Scout and me. Without running, I turn slightly and walk swiftly up the hill, calmly beckoning Scout along with me. “That is a….bear. Okay. Come on Scout….Let’s go.” I hear myself saying, as I loose one strap of my backpack to access the bear spray in the side pocket. Now I have it at the ready, just in case. Is the bear following? I keep my eyes fixed on its slow movements.
This sweet bear looks lazily at us, peering from its perch… If you’ve ever been fortunate enough to see a bear from a distance (without surprising it), you may already know that they scent the air to figure out if you’re a danger to them. They don’t see very well, but their nose is impeccable, and if you’re standing upwind from them, they will often know you are there and saunter off into the woods before you even see them. Or perhaps they will stay for a while and lean into the wind to get the measure of you. This bear seems to be curious…but lethargic. Not too curious, I hope…
Having quickly reached the top of the ridgeline, where the wild dry grasses abruptly end and the green golf course manicured lawn of the nearby condos begins, I begin to back away slowly, watching the bear which had not moved from its (seemingly) comfortable perch in the tree canopy for any sign of downward movement. A strong breeze is blowing our scent back toward the trees at this point, and this bear has decided that we aren’t worth investigating further. My heart is pounding in my chest as I stand further back now, observing.
I notice the bear has returned to a more comfortable position, most likely where it was before our presence disturbed it. It’s not moving at all, other than to get more comfortable, so I know, at this point, I am most likely safe here. I take a few hasty photos (blurry) before noticing an older woman in grey with arms crossed standing on the cement patio behind her condo and slowly, silently beckoning me closer with a languid arm wave. As I step over to her, one hand still holding the bear spray, the other on Scout’s leash, she speaks to me in a soft voice. She tells me the bear loves this tree (and the one next to it). She has seen it come down from the mountains above us in the evenings for the last few weeks, most likely gathering berries off the dense bushes near the creek. Stocking up for Winter hibernation. I remember in this instance that it’s been a hot, dry Summer, and bears are coming down further in the valleys to find food sources.
Adrenaline from the surprise of this encounter is still rushing through my veins, humming in contrast to her calm tone and my own cheerful voice meeting hers. I laugh as I retell the surprise I just experienced. She asks if I want to look through her binoculars which reminds me I have a pair of my own in my bag. I tell her I have some and would like to get a closer look. Our interaction seems finished, so I step away and closer to the bear again (but still at a safe distance). I look through my binoculars, take a few pictures, and then quickly pull out my sketchbook. I sink down to my knees in the green grass beneath a perfectly pruned tree just beyond signs that say “no dogs on our grass please” and take some trespass time to sketch the scene with Scout beside me.
My fingers fly across the page as I capture the bear, tangled up high in the pine tree, one foot braced against a branch, head lolling over to the side, asleep (probably snoring). Scout lays next to me, watching the people behind us, guarding me and whining occasionally. He’s got my six. To him, these strangers who emerge from their condos have more cause to make us nervous than the bear we walked under, and….he may be right about that. As I draw quickly, dark clouds gathering in the distance, a few errant rain drops fall on my arms. I know I need to be quick here, and somehow everything flows. The drawing pours out of my hand as if it always existed, and the gesture of this moment is captured in quick movements. No excess. I love this little sketch!
I notice I’m buzzing at this point. (Relief?) This scene, this moment, is the best possible outcome. Getting to watch a wild bear from a safe, close distance mere steps from my home... How is this possible? As I feel this wonder and awe at this unbelievable sighting filling my heart with childlike glee, I glimpse a huge golden eagle fly into the valley just behind the bear’s tree, landing in a pine on the other side of the creek, just out of sight. This, too, feels like a gift.
A storm is coming. The wind is insistent now. I’m listening, heeding the warning, so I know I must move on very soon or get caught in the downpour.
Finishing my sketch, I pack up my bag and stand to leave. It is at this point that another, different older woman appears. She asks if I’m sketching and states she “didn’t want to interrupt me” but wants to talk about the bear. I’m struck by the smell of liquor on her breath in the cool evening. Odd detail. We chat for a bit, and she is perfectly nice, but I notice the addition of a few nosy questions. “So….where are you from….?” and “Do you hike this trail?... I’ve never seen you.” “Oh, I live just down the trail” I respond. “I meander around here all the time.” What I can’t help but infer from her questions is this: do you belong here? I wonder how pointed her questions might be if I wasn’t a young white woman, and this thought makes me sad.
There’s a difference between feeling tied to the land and ownership of land, I believe. Which of us has any “right” to be here on private land may be up for debate depending on your perspective, but on treasured public land like this shared trail, the idea of belonging leans more on experience. Do you love the land? Do you traipse along its trails with wonder in your heart? Do you listen when your soul dog scents the air with questions in their eyes? Do you respect the danger of the unknown risk and (sometimes) come prepared to meet it? Do you watch the changing seasons play in colors, sights and sounds? Are you a truly wild one, at home in the sky in a Summer squall? What does it mean, to belong….anywhere….
My interaction with this second woman was perfectly amiable, but I was beginning to feel watched at this point. A man stepped outside to stare at me before turning around quickly. I notice a face in the windows above us. I have had enough of standing on this lawn by the wild.
I’m ready to rejoin the trail and bring this adventure to close. I say goodbye and start walking on, with eager Scout so ready to lead again. But before I fully leave, I pause just beyond the reach of people and bring my knee back down to the earth, placing one hand on the land. I bow my head slightly in the direction of the bear, now dozing happily in the same position, and I whisper the words “Thank you” before turning back down the trail.
Transitions are important. As is gratitude. I’m grateful for the thrill - this experience and surprise that I never saw coming! I’m grateful for the bear’s kindness to us, for its knowing that we weren’t a danger to it. I’m grateful for the trail - this streak of wildness in the heart of the mundane and repeatable. I’m grateful even for the older women and the lessons of experience. I’m grateful for Scout. I’m grateful for my listening, my attention to him. I’m grateful to have slipped into this extraordinary experience, as if into another dimension completely. How incredible!
This thrill….that uptick of the heart. The light that shines from deep wells within to fill every nook and cranny of your skin, radiating. THAT feeling of awe, wonder, amusement, inspiration…..THAT is the heart of adventure. And this feeling can be found in the tiniest of moments, the smallest of noticings, AND in the grandest of life’s surprises.
This month, I set “Adventure Art Club” as an intention, and WOW has a benevolent universe absolutely delivered! If this is “Day One”..what does this month have in store for us??
Love & Gratitude, Always
Christina
