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Up close and personal
Wilderness and Environmental Medicine. 9, 48 (1998)
WILDERNESS
Up close and personal "It's a bear! Get your pepper spray!" Mark's sudden cry interrupted our hike down Eldridge Trail in south-central Montana, where the two of us had been bowhunting. The sight of his crouched form backing toward me confirmed that this was no joke. The source of his alarm was readily apparent; not one grizzly but four, a sow with three cubs. In the instant it took to remove my can of aerosol bear repellent from its holster, the sow was on top of Mark, leaving her jaws firmly clenched about his head. "She's killing me!" my friend cried as I scurried across the 15 feet that separated us. I bellowed an inarticulate cry to distract her, and when she released Mark and started toward me, I discharged a blast of pepper spray in her face. The sound of the bear's charge filled my ears, and then she ran over me, knocking the pepper spray and my glasses to the ground. By the time I picked myself up again, the bear was back on top of Mark. As soon as I relocated the spray can, I advanced again, but when I discharged the aerosol a second time, it produced nothing but an ineffectual drizzle. Again, I fen to the ground as the sow charged me. As I raised my arms to protect my head and neck, I felt a vise-like pain as her jaws clamped into the ribs beneath my right arm. Inexplicably, she released her grip and ran away from us with her three cubs in tow. The whole violent encounter was over in less than half a minute. Mark was understandably concerned about his wounds, but a quick assessment confirmed that they weren't life-threatening. Neither of us had any injuries that would prevent our own evacuation. My principal concern was for the possibility of another encounter with the bears, as grizzlies frequently return after an initial attack and we had no means of self-defense at our disposal. I reassured Mark as well as possible, applied pressure to his bleeding facial wounds as best I could under the circumstances, and began to lead the way back down the trail toward our vehicle. As the realization of what we had survived dawned on us, the sound of our voices praising God began to fill the woods. The feeling of gratitude was indescribable. By the time we reached the trailhead a mile down the ridge, Mark amazingly felt well enough to ask me to take a picture of his injuries, which I did. The photos I
took aren't what one usually sees in the outdoor magazines, but they still remind me of the threat we so barely survived in the mountains that day. Finally, we began the hour-long drive to Bozeman Deaconess Hospital, where I worked as an ear, nose, and throat physician. My own injuries were surprisingly minor, but it took me over 4 hours to put Mark's face, neck, and scalp back together. A computed tomographic scan showed that one of the bear's teeth had punctured the outer table of the skull, although there was no evidence of intracranial injury. Postoperative management included rabies prophylaxis, since the bear remained at large, and broad-spectrum antibiotics, out of respect for the complex microbiology of the ursine mouth and our own memory of the bear's fetid breath. The scars from the bear's attack eventually faded; the memory of the experience remains indelible. Fred Bahnson, MD, FACS Winston-Salem, NC. USA
WILDERNESS
Up close and personal "It's a bear! Get your pepper spray!" Mark's sudden cry interrupted our hike down Eldridge Trail in south-central Montana, where the two of us had been bowhunting. The sight of his crouched form backing toward me confirmed that this was no joke. The source of his alarm was readily apparent; not one grizzly but four, a sow with three cubs. In the instant it took to remove my can of aerosol bear repellent from its holster, the sow was on top of Mark, leaving her jaws firmly clenched about his head. "She's killing me!" my friend cried as I scurried across the 15 feet that separated us. I bellowed an inarticulate cry to distract her, and when she released Mark and started toward me, I discharged a blast of pepper spray in her face. The sound of the bear's charge filled my ears, and then she ran over me, knocking the pepper spray and my glasses to the ground. By the time I picked myself up again, the bear was back on top of Mark. As soon as I relocated the spray can, I advanced again, but when I discharged the aerosol a second time, it produced nothing but an ineffectual drizzle. Again, I fen to the ground as the sow charged me. As I raised my arms to protect my head and neck, I felt a vise-like pain as her jaws clamped into the ribs beneath my right arm. Inexplicably, she released her grip and ran away from us with her three cubs in tow. The whole violent encounter was over in less than half a minute. Mark was understandably concerned about his wounds, but a quick assessment confirmed that they weren't life-threatening. Neither of us had any injuries that would prevent our own evacuation. My principal concern was for the possibility of another encounter with the bears, as grizzlies frequently return after an initial attack and we had no means of self-defense at our disposal. I reassured Mark as well as possible, applied pressure to his bleeding facial wounds as best I could under the circumstances, and began to lead the way back down the trail toward our vehicle. As the realization of what we had survived dawned on us, the sound of our voices praising God began to fill the woods. The feeling of gratitude was indescribable. By the time we reached the trailhead a mile down the ridge, Mark amazingly felt well enough to ask me to take a picture of his injuries, which I did. The photos I
took aren't what one usually sees in the outdoor magazines, but they still remind me of the threat we so barely survived in the mountains that day. Finally, we began the hour-long drive to Bozeman Deaconess Hospital, where I worked as an ear, nose, and throat physician. My own injuries were surprisingly minor, but it took me over 4 hours to put Mark's face, neck, and scalp back together. A computed tomographic scan showed that one of the bear's teeth had punctured the outer table of the skull, although there was no evidence of intracranial injury. Postoperative management included rabies prophylaxis, since the bear remained at large, and broad-spectrum antibiotics, out of respect for the complex microbiology of the ursine mouth and our own memory of the bear's fetid breath. The scars from the bear's attack eventually faded; the memory of the experience remains indelible. Fred Bahnson, MD, FACS Winston-Salem, NC. USA