Punching a Bear In the Nose: Thoughts on Courage
Listen: “Dare You to Move” by Switchfoot
In a previous blog Count it All Joy, I ended with a cliff hanger: “By the way, on that backpacking trip into the Wind River Range, Randy and I did have an encounter with a grizzly bear, and I did punch the bear in the nose. (No lie. Ask Randy.) But that’s a story for another time.”
This is the time. Here’s the story. After Randy and I read all the instructions on what to do if you have a grizzly bear encounter, we backpacked up into the high lakes of the Wind River Range. We set up our base camp at Willow Lake (if memory serves me well). From Willow Lake we would do day hikes for fishing and rock climbing trips.
When we set up the base camp, we took all the appropriate precautions to protect ourselves from a grizzly bear invasion into our base camp. The standard practices for lightweight backpackers are: (1) we picked a base camp about fifty yards away from the lake; (2) we set the fire pit about fifty yards away from the tent; and (3) we stored our food and the clothes in which we cooked and ate in a hanging bear bag (hanging the bag in a tree 200 feet away from the tent and 15 feet above the ground on a sturdy branch).
The first night we cooked some trout we caught in the lake over the fire. We would put a single trout in foil with a few onions, potatoes, carrots, lemon pepper, and butter and throw it on the coals—a true high mountain feast. After eating and an evening fire chat, we changed into fresh smelling sleeping clothes (the sent of the fish, fire and food absorbs into the clothes and attracts bears) and retired into the two-man backpacking tent for sleep. I didn’t think about how the fish and food smells might absorb into my hair.
I did have some forewarning, however. As Randy and I were standing around the campfire after eating fish, an owl swooped down and tried to grab my head. We were both surprised by the owl’s behavior. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I must have rubbed my hair with fishy hands during mealtime.
After we retired into the tent, we both fell asleep quickly and at some point in the middle of the night, I was half-awakened by the sound of something sniffing my head on the outside of the tent. I was half-asleep, and I immediately thought it was a raccoon or some small creature smelling my hair. I doubled up my fist and in a sleepy haze I swung my fist backwards to hit the little creature in the nose and scare it away. My fist landed on a soft but heavy surface. The creature didn’t move. My fist landed a punch to the nose of a grizzly bear.
My adrenaline immediately spiked and I was wide awake realizing I had hit a bear in the nose. I didn’t scream. I didn’t jump up. I laid in my sleeping bag as still as possible, my adrenaline pumping full blast. I thought the bear might rip through the tent and attack us. I had a buck knife by my side: no bear spray, no gun. I knew the knife wouldn’t help, but it was all I had.
The bear didn’t move either. It remained completely still and silent. After a few moments, I reached over and nudged Randy. I woke him up, and I whispered—probably should have shouted, but I was scared and in way over my head—“Randy, there’s a bear!” I whispered with as much force and fear as I could convey in a whisper. I got the point across. Randy was now wide awake, and he remained silent as well. After I woke Randy up, the bear decided to move away from the tent instead of attacking us. We were sleeping on the ground. As the bear moved away, we could feel the earth vibrate underneath us.
A few years later, when I was watching the Jurassic Park scene where the water in the cup vibrates in the Ford Explorer dashboard, I thought—that’s the vibration of a huge animal like the grizzly, but bigger. The ground vibrated! With each step the bear took away from the tent, the ground vibrated. We remained in silence. Finally, after what felt like eternity, the bear moved far enough away for us to relax. Next morning, we checked the prints on the ground, and it definitely fit the size and shape of a grizzly footprint.
After the bear left, I told Randy what happened. He was the one that said, “You punched a grizzly bear in the nose.” I’m the one that changed my underwear and pants. Not so courageous and brave after all.
And yet, courage is a lot like that. Courage doesn’t always feel like we think it should feel. Courage can look and feel incredibly weak. Courage can be:
(1) Admitting we are powerless over a destructive habit or relationship and surrendering to our Higher Power;
(2) Pursuing a dream even though we fear failure;
(3) Showing up in the world as our true self—darkness and light, flaws and strengths, failures and successes;
(4) Making amends to those we have harmed;
(5) Learning and growing after an enormous setback or failure;
(6) Forgiving and loving again in the aftermath of great hurt;
(7) Embracing vulnerability as a pathway towards healing shame;
(8) Working for justice and a better world in the face of criticism;
(9) Building bridges when most people want to construct walls.
Ask heroes what courage feels like and you usually get a surprising answer. Brené Brown borrowed a phrase from a speech given by Theodore Roosevelt for her best selling book, Daring Greatly. I love her book on vulnerability and shame, and I love the quote from Roosevelt. I often quoted it in messages:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly….” (“Citizenship in a Republic” April 23, 1910)
Shalom
©realfredherron, 2022
