This Way to Bear Country

This way to Bear Country!
You'll know when you're there!
As soon as you enter,
You'll feel like a bear!

problem bear

The PCT traverses two "bear countries": central-northern California (the Sierra), and northern Washington (the Cascades). We're talking about black bears, for the most part, though in theory you might still see a grizzly. Bears are unpredictable, not to be trifled with, and I kept my eyes and ears open while hiking in Alaska. But to be honest, driving on a six-lane highway frightens me more than a bear encounter. Even in a bold mood, the bear's after my food--he's not going to eat me.

A bear's opportunistic fixation with food isn't really any different than that of any other wild creature (from mice to thru-hikers)--the bear just happens to be big enough to impose on a human for a meal, and smart enough to remember how. No stealth required, just walks around like he owns the place. That's bad news--for the bear.  Any bear so habituated to human presence that he will raid dumpsters, or mosey into camp and casually walk off with a picnic basket of ClifBars while you're washing your socks is euphemistically labeled a "problem bear." Read between the lines. A fed bear is a dead bear. There's a veritable laundry-list of bear-avoidance tactics that probably really do work to keep both bears and people safe if practiced mindfully. Regrettably, that's a very big if, so in the last decade the park service has been obliged to make some new laws.

bear box

Hanging a bag in a tree is no longer permitted as a food-protection technique in Yosemite. That doesn't mean you can't hang your food for your own sake if you want to and know how, but it means that the park service doesn't think that's good enough anymore, because so few people do it correctly, and because bears learn. (They wouldn't think so if the bears hadn't amply proven the point.) Since the early 2000s (?), hikers in the High Sierra are required by federal regulations to store all food and other odiferous, bear-attracting articles (sunscreen, garbage) by one of two methods: camp in an established site with a food locker ("bear box"), or carry an approved bear-resistant portable container ("bear canister") in your pack.

Bear boxes come in handy when they're available, but often, well, they aren't. Doesn't seem like something you can rely on.

bear canister

Right now the answer is bear canisters.* A bear canister is a "hard-sided plastic or carbon fiber cylinder with a removable lid that is designed to protect its contents (namely, food and other scented items) from bears. The canister’s shape, hardness, and lid seal mechanism (which require opposable fingers to open/close) make it extremely difficult, if not impossible, for bears to access the canister’s contents." [Andrew Skurka]

Canisters receive approval through a highly scientific testing process. Somebody fills the vessel in question with a bunch of tasty treats, then they throw it to Fisher, a 580-lb black bear now living in the Folsom City Zoo Sanctuary because he was a "problem bear." If Fisher manages to decorate his enclosure with a rainbow of peanut M&Ms, the designer heads back to his drawing board; if not, the new article is conditionally issued to a three-month round of beta-testers, who obligingly head out into the woods of bear-country for real-world experience. They report back, and a proclamation is issued.

*Evolution never stills. One bear in the Adirondacks of upstate New York has figured out how to open several models of BearVault, and other bears in the vicinity are catching on. For now, the National Park Service has addressed the matter by revoking BearVault's approval for use in that area.

Bear canisters make most hikers want to cry. I do not relish the thought of it myself. Any material strong enough to keep a bear at bay is bound to be heavy, for starters. The canisters bottom out at just under two pounds, and usually weigh more. That makes a bear can heavier than any other single item in my theoretical pack--including the pack. Picking up a bear canister may coincide with picking up a lot of other heavy stuff, like an ice axe, extra warm clothes, and enough food for a long trek, which doesn't help matters. It's a big load. Shlepping water through the desert is a going to be a chore, too, but leaving Kennedy Meadows should be the absolute heaviest your pack ever gets.

Ursack

All of the approved canisters have hard sides and bear-proof lids--with a "catch," in both senses of the phrase. A screwtop is simple until it's frozen solid; quarter-turn fasteners are the easiest thing in the world until you just don't have a fucking coin. (The Ursack, a soft-sided bag made of kevlar, is probably as effective as anything else at keeping bears out, but isn't yet on the approved list. It also doesn't prevent your food from getting crunched.) Skurka wishes aloud that bear canisters had a flat side, but as I understand it, the container must be both round enough and big enough around that a grizzly can't get a jaw-lock on it--think of a dog trying to bite a fully-inflated basketball. That seems to shake out to at least eight inches in diameter. Ultralight hikers, having gone to a great deal of trouble to reduce pack size and weight, might suddenly discover that the canister just doesn't fit. Because of the rounded shape, too, a bear might decide to send your can rolling into a river or over a cliff...so be careful where you put it down for the night. Because of the hard sides, they have a reputation for being spectacularly uncomfortable, jabbing right up against your spine. And just to rub salt in the wound, they're kind of expensive--$75 to $275 for a [necessarily] very well-built, but very limited-use piece of equipment. Three to four weeks. It isn't required through the Cascades.

The funny part of this, to me, is that's the best we can do for a bear. A oversized, child-proof bottle.

As far as I can tell, none of the available bear canisters actually hold enough food to get you from Kennedy Meadows to your next resupply point. You do the best you can. It's not recommended, but most thru-hikers sleep with their bear canisters under their feet, too, for the same primal reasons that dragons sleep on their hoards. Food sitting 200 yards distant proclaims, "FREE," while the message you're trying to convey is, "This is MINE."

Thru-hikers on the PCT seem to encounter bears rarely, possibly because they [the hikers] tend to travel in groups through the Sierras. (See an exception here.) I expect, too, that most hikers already abide by wilderness practices that will minimize the likelihood of a confrontation, like cooking at a water source and then moving on before camping. Sounds like a bear canister is mostly just a pain in the ass. However, everything I have read suggests that hikers have an extraordinarily precious relationship with the people and the environment along this wilderness corridor. As custodians of the backcountry that they evidently enjoy so much they'd want to spend five months walking through it, I think it BEHOOVES THEM to get a goddam bear canister, by whatever means, no different than a fire permit. You probably don't need it, and if you do need it, it probably won't do you any good, but it's a way of saying, "Yes, this trail and all it stands for are important to me."

BearVault 500

Choosing a canister is a matter of personal preference, like anything else, but designs don't vary enough to be as entertaining as shelters. BearVault's BV500, 41oz, costs $80 from REI, but the company has a special deal for PCT thru-hikers, $65 including shipping to Kennedy Meadows. It appears to be the most popular canister, if you can call anything popular when everybody resents its presence. It's a little larger than its rival, and you can see what's in it without having to rummage. The Bearikade Weekender, 31oz,  costs $250, but comes with rental rates for thru-hikers, too; the cost of renting versus buying a heavier model probably comes out just about even, depending on how fast you travel.

You ditch the canister at Sonora Pass, or Tahoe at the latest. Unless I can sell it afterwards, it stands to become the fanciest cat-food container in Christendom.

In case anybody was wondering, bear spray isn't permitted in Yosemite, and bear bells don't work. But did you know you can get a bear bell at Walmart? It's true!