Attack by a Black Bear in Yellowstone Park!

What did you think was going to happen when you are camping and hiking at 7000 feet in the Bear Tooth Mountains at the entrance to Yellowstone Park?

Each year, since the 1880’s, the Appalachian Mountain Club has organized a wilderness hiking and camping trip. This year it was at the North East entrance to the historic Yellowstone Park in Montana. I was with my New York friend Dave, and part of a group of 50 adventurous campers who arrived in the Wild West town of Billings to enjoy the outdoors for a week.

Soon after the overloaded van left the Billings airport for the scenic three hour drive to the picturesque campsite, there were whispers and rumors of a gruesome bear attack at a nearby campsite to our home base.  We had been warned that we would be guests in the brown and black bears natural habitat and that it would be very likely that we will encounter one during our week long stay.  Each of the hike leaders was equipped with a crippling bear pepper spray which could shoot about twenty five feet. We were warned not to use it accidently or get in the way!

Soon after our arrival, and after we had settled into the army issued tents we were called around the glowing camp fire which had the surrounding snow capped mountains as a background. It was a cool evening, frost was expected and an icy wind was picking up as the glowing sun was being consumed behind the jiggered saw tooth peaks around us.

A burly, but friendly park ranger dressed like Smokey the Bear with his peaked felt hat addressed us. “There has been a vicious bear mauling in the next campsite over and all sites, except this one, have been closed in a 25 mile radius until the human seeking bear can be captured and dealt with.”  There were gasps and “I want out of here NOW” statements.  He went on to describe the nature of the attack. A sleeping camper heard rustling and scratching against his tent and he inquisitively unzipped the opening, which was right near the bears head!  The angry bear bit his hand and would not let go, but the camper’s agonizing screams brought help and scared the huge black bear off. 

The mauled camper was taken to nearest hospital where his hand was repaired during a two hour operation and forensic evidence of the shape and size of the bear teeth marks was taken.  A local tells us during the week that the hospital staff has a betting system as to how many “city folks” will be injured and brought in to be repaired each summer!

The concerned ranger went on to say “make sure that you do not have ANY food, candy, toothpaste, deodorant or items that may attract the bear’s nose to YOUR tent”.  A locked up van was used to place all of these kinds of articles in, and the kitchen tent and stoves were set up a long way from the campers sleeping tents. All of the staff and camper tents were set closer together.  It was a night when every little sound was magnified into an inquisitive bear rustling in the bushes!

The next morning one of our guide leaders took us over to a muddy area of the campsite and pointed out bear tracks. He said bears would definitely come by, it is just a matter of time and hopefully they will not be interested in one of our tents!

We were always thinking about the possibility of a bear encounter, and in fact some of the hikers did startle a bear, but he ran away. I took pictures of one beside the highway when we were on our way to a hike, but he seemed only to be interested in picking colorful berries in the grass. We had experienced Yellowstone guides and I had confidence that they would be able to handle the situation if one arose.

We had arrived on a Saturday morning in the park and on the following Tuesday the bear was found, identified and shot.  We heard this as we were buying groceries in the nearby town of Cook City, which had a claim to fame that Clark Gable and Ernest Hemmingway used to hole up in a motel there to go fly fishing and cause all kinds of drunken hell making!

Even though the outlaw bear had been captured we still remained on high alert for the rest of our outdoor adventure and were pleased that we did not end up as news in the local paper obituary column.

An unexpected evening in historical Milan

My brother Jeff, from Australia, and I had just arrived in Milan in the afternoon from a picturesque train trip through the Swiss Alps and the blissful Lake Como. We were getting settled in our comfortable, handy hotel Metropole near the main train station and were planning how to spend the time in Milan while we wait for my son to arrive from Toronto early the next morning.  It was a beautiful crisp sunny winter afternoon, so we decided to walk to the Duomo square to people watch and soak up the history.  We had both been in the city a few times before, so there was no hurry or excitement, just anticipation for the rich, colorful scenery and interesting architecture around the square and the Galleria shops and gourmet restaurants.

“What do you feel like doing tonight?” asked my brother

“Well, all the times I have been in Milan, I have yet to go to La Scala, the 18^th century opera house which is world famous” was my reply

“We will never get tickets for tonight if there is a performance!”

“I live in New York City, we always have day of performance tickets at the box office, usually returns”

“We will be walking past it, let’s inquire what is on and availability”

A short while later we were looking at the poster on the exterior of the building announcing that Daniel Barenboim will be conducting the La Scala orchestra playing Beethoven no. 1 op 15 and Schoenberg  Op 5.

We enquired at the main box office “Would there be tickets for tonight (in English!)”

“Go to the side entrance and check at the window” was the reply in broken English.

We exited the grand main lobby and headed to the side of the recently renovated stately building under the columned archways. The door was locked but there was a well dressed white bearded man holding a clipboard milling about.

“Could you let us know how to buy tickets for tonight?”

In broken English “Come back tonight at 6 o’clock”

We then turned to leave to wander about the piazza in the late afternoon sun that was reflecting on the buildings, highlighting the burnt orange colors.

“But first, you have to put your name on my list!” he shouted after us, with an amused smile which I think was reserved for American tourists.

We gave him our name which was assigned number 73, and we headed off to have a coffee in the magnificent Galleria which I think was the prototype for the modern American shopping malls.

We returned at five thirty and tried to make sense of the crowd that had gathered around, like pigeons in Trafalgar Square. There did not seem to be any order or logic to how the process would work. We spoke to a couple of Americans who informed us that all tickets would be five Euros on a first come first serve basis. At six sharp the fun began with the crown waiting in anxious anticipation of their number being called. As more and more people, mostly Italians received a voucher they decided they did not have to listen. They proceeded to chat among themselves to await the commencement of the third process where you are called to the ticket window to receive the actual ticket for the performance.

It seemed like forever for us to wait for our name to be called and we would then stand in line to await our number to be called to approach the ticket window. There is one voucher per seat and each individual has to present himself to the window to get the 5 Euro ticket.

We made it! We then went back to the Galleria to a small restaurant to have dinner before the performance.

La Scala was all that I pictured it would be. Almost round, the interior is lush with gold a red velvet circulating up the 5 tiers of boxes facing the stage. In the middle of the hall is a massive dangling crystal chandelier, which one could not help but think of Phantom of the Opera and the stir it would cause if it came crashing down on the stage.

Of course we were in the top balcony to the side, where they provide overhead handrails above the seats, similar to subway cars. Why? Because, if you want to see the whole orchestra, you need to stand up and lean over the person sitting in front. If you did not hang on to the rail above, you would lose your balance, and it is a long way down!

It was a magnificent evening. Daniel Barenboim played a grand piano, with the top off, while conducting the Beethoven piece. The Schoenberg piece was very dramatic with cymbals, four harps and heavy drums. Thoroughly enjoyable!

It was an unexpected and memorable evening!

Chamonix, France

Chamonix, France

“Look into my eyes! You can do this! Don’t look down! (It was a 1000 foot sheer drop from the icy ledge which I was clinging to in my ski boots). Get hold of yourself! I am going to tie you to me with a rope and I will lead you up the cliff” said the strapping young French alpine guide to a terrified frozen deer in the headlights…me! How did I get myself into this horrifying situation?

Each year my elder brother Jeff from Melbourne Australia and I arrange a ski trip together, usually with members of our family who all like to ski. This year family situations did not permit any of our children to join us. Jeff’s son Martin has ski apartment in Chamonix which was not rented for the week, so we decided to stay there. It is a small but comfortable French mountain space which looks out on to the craggy, jagged pristine Aiguille du Midi, 3842 meters straight up from the Chamonix valley. While I was looking up at it shining in the brilliant March ski, it brought back memories to me of the ski trip with friends 12 years earlier.

At the time, I was living in Zurich. A bunch of friends decided we would take the train and meet some running friends from Geneva and have a ski weekend in Chamonix. It was a good plan and we all met up on the Friday night and had a good time telling stories and planning our ski day on Saturday. There was some talk of doing the Vallee Blanche on Sunday, which is a 20 kilometer off piste trail from the top of the Aiguille Du Midi ending up the Mer de Glace. Saturday was a great day and we skied on the Grand Montee glacier which was not too difficult and warmed up our ski legs. I was still not convinced that I would be able to handle the arduous Vallee Blanche on the Sunday as some of the younger, more adventurous members of the group were planning. We were required to sign up the night before and arrange a guide for the trip. I was having a good time socializing and did not bother to register as I could have lots of challenge on the regular slopes.

Sunday morning came, and there was a lot of excitement at the breakfast tables about the upcoming day trip on the glacier. It was infectious, so I handed over a lot of Swiss Francs to the guide and I was signed up, with intrepidation. Could I do this? How steep are the runs? Is it safe on the Glacier as we had not had a lot of snow at that point in January?

10 of us skiers of all ages and abilities met up with the young French guide, who came with extreme alpine gear, crampons, ice axe and ropes tied to his back pack. We took the long, almost vertical cable car up to the summit of the Midi. I was looking out down at the green valley, wondering if there was enough snow on the Mer de Glass for our decent. The guide started to tell us the story of a Japanese skier that he had rescued from a crevasse the past weekend. He said he had been lucky as his skis jackknifed across the crevasse about 50 feet down and he was dangling from them. He was able to climb down and pull him out from the aquamarine endless shaft. What am I doing here? Went through my mind!

We exited the cable car, walked through the ice tunnel and came to the ice steps which led to a catwalk across the top of a sheer drop on both sides of at least 2000 feet. Fortunately they had a temporary guide rope along the way. The guide strapped our skis on our backs and roped us together and we proceeded in our ski boots down the ice steps, and on to the narrow icy slippery two feet wide catwalk for about 100 yards. You had to concentrate on one step at a time. Then the woman in front of me was terrified and slipped. The thought went through my mind “if I had a knife, I would cut her loose and let her go!” Fortunately she recovered and we made it to the safety of the glacier to start our long trek to the bottom, which would take all day.

The skiing was relatively easy, but because of the altitude, it was hard to breathe. We were instructed to diligently follow the tracks of the guide as he was familiar with the crevasses. Still you could hear the glacier cracking and moaning as we glided across the surface. All went well until we came to an ice bridge crossing of a deep blue icy crevasse. The guide insisted we rope each other together and cross the narrow icy bridge made of ice covering the unknown of the crevasse. It came to my turn; I was not particularly concerned and glided across the narrow path with ease, glancing down the aquamarine abyss as I went over it. We continued on our way and then I noticed footprints in the snow. “How could that be? It was 10 kilometers up and 10 kilometers to the bottom?” Then it dawned on me, this is the spot where the tourist fell into the crevasse and he had to walk down from there as his skis were stuck in the hole! The guide confirmed it. Did it make me feel better or worse?

During a delicious lunch in the refuge hut the guide informed us that there was not enough snow to reach the chairlift up to the tourist train where sightseers view the glacier and we would have to climb 4 steel ladders at the end to get the train out. There was no other way. I had seen postcards of the Mer de Glass with hoards of skiers hurtling themselves down, but today very few. It was because it was difficult to get out!

No Option! We were committed and we pressed on. Where the snow gave out at the end of the glacier, it was difficult to negotiate a clear path through the pools of melted snow and ice but we made it to the bottom of the gigantic 4 ladders up the rock cliff face to the train for our way out. I looked up and shook my head. I have difficulty walking in heavy awkward ski boots on a flat road, how would I negotiate these ladders bolted into the side of the vertical icy jiggered rock cliff face with my heavy skies strapped to my back in a crisscross fashion? I also wondered about the petrified woman who had been in front of me on the cat walk at the beginning. What was going through her head?

We started up, the first ladder was fine, but at the top of the ladder it was necessary to pull yourself up onto the icy narrow slippery pathway about 18 inches wide and stand on it before you get to the next ladder. I managed the first crossover but froze solid unable to move when I hoisted myself onto the path after the second ladder. I could not move, I looked down, it was straight down and one slip and I would be gone. I was holding up all the other skiers below as there was only room for one person on the ledge.

Eventually the guide retraced his steps and came up to me and shook some sense into me, shouting into my face, about 3 inches from my eyes “You can do it! Follow the footsteps of the person in front of you, you will be tied together”. Would you believe it was the terrified woman in front of me and she was doing well? “If she can do it, so can I!”

We made it to the top, took the train to the bottom and celebrated our adventure with some Pastis! We gave the guide a special tip!

When Jeff and I were buying the lift ticket for the week ahead he asked “Do you want the ticket which includes the Aiguille de Midi?” I think you know my answer!