The Bear Is Just to the Left, I Swear

As I may have mentioned previously, Glacier National Park is Grizzly Country. If Grizzly Country had a capital, Glacier would be a strong candidate. Or if not the capital, then the runner-up. Like how many foreigners may incorrectly assume that Hollywood is the capital of the United States, Arnold Schwarzenegger is our President, and Bush is the equivalent of a powerless monarch figurehead that waves and smiles and is possibly inbred.

I can't say that the possibility of coming into contact with grizzly bears is really what drew me to Glacier. I actually considered it a detraction. Apparently, I was the only one.

"Have you seen a bear yet?" Tourists ask each other, breathless with anticipation of another bear-sighting tale. The lodges are abuzz with vicarious harrowment and fear. You can almost smell it (a potent combination of burgers and huckleberry pie). Upon arrival at the Swiftcurrent Inn, we saw flocks of tourists armed with cameras and binoculars, peering anxiously at a hillside where a bear had been spotted at some point earlier in the day.

When we took the boat to the Grinnell Glacier trail, the ranger asked who'd seen a bear. Nearly everyone except our group raised their hands. Then the ranger quipped, "So the rest of you just got in last night." And everyone laughed (some more bear humor). We'd actually been there about 3 full days, and Keith's parents for even longer.

What was wrong with us? Why didn't we even catch a hint of a bear? If everyone else could see one, why didn't we? Are we unobservant? Slow-witted? Or just unlucky?

Keith's cousin Anna tried to console us by suggesting that, even if we didn't see a bear, plenty of bears probably saw us and we could have been eaten at any moment. Strangely, I didn't find that comforting.

p.s. Before anyone bothers to say what a great picture that is, Keith took it. So I don't want to get in trouble for taking the credit.