Despite rising bear attacks, Mainers relatively safe

In the last 106 years, black bears have killed at least 52 people in North America, and for those of us who wander in bruin country much, this statistic includes an unsettling trend. Fifty of the fatalities have occurred since 1960, and in that 46-year time frame, deaths have increased each decade.

Black bears killed three people in the 1960s, four in the 1970s, 11 in the 1980s, 13 in the 1990s and 19 (and still counting) in the 2000s. Occasionally, these omnivores ate at least part of the victims. Officially, bears have killed no one in Maine in the last 100 years, which intrigues folks who believe intense hunting makes bears more wary of people.

A sharply escalating death toll should surprise no one, either, because four modern trends ensure increased encounters between people and bears:

n Humans build dwellings further into forested areas that were once the domain of the occasional transient trapper, hunter, angler or hiker -- and of bears. In short, people are encroaching on this critter's habitat, so naturally, meetings between the two species have risen sharply. Worse yet, many homeowners who see a bear in the backyard have little practical woods experience to guide them in a safe manner around a powerful animal.

n In the past, bears in many regions may have spent a lifetime without seeing a single human. In the last three decades, though, technology has made wilderness travel easier because of 4-wheel drives, ATVs and dirt bikes as well as of modern backpacking gear. Out-of-shape riders or skilled hikers with stamina and the right equipment can access deep forest pockets. This ensures bear-people encounters will rise.

n Bears are moving closer to civilization. One recent fatality occurred 50 miles from New York City. Closer to home, a small bear was routinely visiting a dumpster off the Whitten Road in Augusta during the 1990s, and people were harassing it. This road skirts the urban part of the city.

n A popular but debatable theory states that heavy hunting pressure discourages big animals such as bears and cougars from being aggressive around humans, so hunting bans on them can lead to more attacks.

In this state, particularly in the last three decades, bear hunting has turned into a major industry, particularly up north and Down East where most of the herd resides, raising a question: Has this kept our bears at bay?

My late father, an honest man who spent his early childhood in Wytopitlock, always claimed that in the 1920s, bears attacked and killed two people in Aroostook County. He remembered the incidents well.

Apparently, no records of the Aroostook fatalities exist, but media reporters were scarce in that region during the early 20th century. Even in those years, there were two Maines, and life passed quietly in the upper one without much interest from folks in the bottom third of the state. Officially, though, our bears have not killed one human since 1900.

In the 2000s alone, bears have killed two people in British Columbia, one in Ontario, one in Manitoba, one in Alberta, one in New Mexico, two in the Northwest Territories, five in Alaska, one in New York, three in Quebec and two in Tennessee.

Granted, the death toll looks small, considering all the people who take to the woods, but for each victim, the attack is a very big deal for the person about to be killed and maybe eaten and then for family and friends who must deal with the tragedy later.

My most interesting bear encounter occurred, though, while shooting photos at the old dump off the Frenchtown Road near Kokadjo in 1990. Before that facility was closed, bears gathered there, sometimes in good numbers, and a grassy knoll away from the garbage created a pristine backdrop as these animals worked their way from the woods to the dump.

One particular day, my ex-wife sat in our van while I stood 10 yards ahead of the vehicle, crouched behind my camera and tripod while shooting bear images as they emerged from the woods 90 feet away.

While I was staring intently through my camera lens, one of those incidents occurred that gives wildlife photographers nightmares. A soft-stepping, long-legged, rangy boar sneaked up behind me and made a single clicking sound in the gravel, my first indication that a bear was near. My head snapped back and there stood a bear, practically in my back pocket.The hair was standing on its back, so I clutched my tripod and camera to my chest and circled back to my vehicle with the bear glaring at me as if I owed him money.

After reaching the van, I opened the door and hissed, "Why didn't you tell me a bear was behind me, Margie!" With a decided tone of indignation and a look of disbelief, she snapped back, "I didn't want to scare it!"

Allegedly, bears attack people more in open terrain than in dense woods, where they can hide and avoid detection. That may explain the more numerous incidents in Alaska and Canadian provinces.

Here's another unsettling statistic about black bears. This predator kills a higher percentage of its victims than a grizzly or brown bear does. In short, black bears may run away from humans far more often, but if one decides to turn and attack, the odds of being killed are greater than if the aggressor is a grizzly or brown.

In short, a black bear is no animal to get stupid around, so if a black, roly-poly fur ball gets into a suburban birdfeeder, wanders into a campsite or just gets too close on the trail, it's a good idea to retreat slowly, and then, as the old saying goes, "Get the hell out of Dodge."

I once hunted bear with great enthusiasm, usually with a bow and arrow, and have had frightening experiences but never an actual, full-blown attack. Most guides who have ample experience with bears tell great stories about scary moments. I know some of these guys and trust their veracity.

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