Soon after I moved to Canada, a close friend and I headed into the wilderness with two quad bikes, a can of bear spray, and a shotgun. What could possibly go wrong?
It was supposed to be a gentle if unremarkable day out in the Selkirk Mountains, the older cousins of the Canadian Rockies that rise on the eastern marches of British Columbia.
Two comrades-in-arms, who had forged a friendship on the muddy battlefields of Kosovo, a couple of small but capable quad bikes, and a bright spring day.
Ahead were many miles of ascending forest trail that zig-zagged its way through western red cedar, mountain hemlock and Engelmann spruce before arriving in the sub-alpine where it gave out onto one of the loveliest views in the West.
Winter sits hard on this hardbitten land and in the spring nature is in a furious rush to make up for lost time.
The leaves on the trees grow fast, wildflowers – lupin, arneca and ox-eyed daisy - bloom, and water rushes off the mountains from icefields far above in violent torrents.
It was my very first year at the remote wilderness ranch I had recently moved into with Kristin, my Estonian-born girlfriend and later wife, and I was definitely what the locals call a tenderfoot.
Nevertheless my friend Vaughan – owner of the Frontline Club in west London of which I have recently written – was visiting and I was to keen to show off my new backyard, and my wilderness skills.
“What about bears?” he asked, as we gathered helmets, boots and gloves.
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” I answered. “They’ll be way back in the bush. No bears today.”
But just in case Vaughan took my shotgun – he had, after all, been one of the leading shots in the British Army - and I strapped on a can of bear-spray, a high-octane variant of the pepper-spray that police carry.
Then we set off. For a while we put-putted up the trail on the quad bikes, enjoying the spring weather. The sun was shining at an angle through the trees and the birds were chattering. I was in front and Vaughan about 40 yard behind.
And then, rounding a corner, suddenly, there was a bear. If I am honest, it wasn't close - and it certainly wasn't big. In fact, knowing what I know now, I’d say it was a rather small bear, and definitely a black not a grizzly.
But to our Home County eyes it appeared huge, menacing and almost upon us.
I skidded my quad bike to a stop, grabbed for my bear spray, ripped off the safety catch and held it out, trigger hand trembling slightly.
Vaughan raised the shotgun to his shoulder, slid a bullet into the breach, and aimed.
"Shall I shoot?" I heard the calm, clipped voice of the former Grenadier Guards officer from behind me.
I was breathing heavily.
"Not yet,” I said. “Wait till it actually attacks."
For a moment we waited, pulses racing.
And then the little bear suddenly became aware of us. He took in the two armed and agitated Englishmen. And with barely a second’s hesitation he turned and charged off into the bush as fast as his little legs could carry him.
"Close call," I muttered. Vaughan shouldered his weapon.
*
For a while we collected ourselves, allowing our heart rates to return to normal. Then we slipped the quad bikes into gear and began to head up the mountain once again.
For a while I wondered if the bear might sneak up on us from behind. I had heard such tales. But he was nowhere to be seen.
A quarter of an hour later we came to the snow line and stopped the quads. The little machines could plough through a light dusting of snow but they couldn’t deal with inches of the stuff.
We parked up, removed our helmets, and began to walk. The trail was steep and soon I was panting. After a few hundred yards I stopped to take a breather.
And then, still unnerved by the encounter with the bear, I heard a hissing sound below me. I looked down and where I was standing the snow was beginning to turn red.
Oh no! The red was surely my blood!? What had happened?
My mind laboured. And then it came to me. After the bear encounter I had forgotten to replace the safety clip on the trigger of my bear spray canister.
And now, as I leaned back, I was pushing on the unguarded trigger and the red-hot contents were shooting all over my trousers and onto the snow.
Vaughan was standing behind me with a silly smirk on his face.
"Very professional Mr Wilderness Guide,” he said. “You've just covered yourself in pepper spray."
I swore. The can of spray was on my hip but slightly behind me and the whole area was now covered in a thin film of oil ten times stronger than Tabasco.
“Well don’t just stand there,” I said irritably. “Help me!”
Vaughan came over, pulled the spray out of its holster and we carefully washed it in the snow, put the safety clip back on, and replaced it.
Then, still chuckling to himself, he headed off into the woods for a pee.
For a while there was silence. And then I heard a small whimper from his direction. Then a yelp. Then he began to swear and holler. And finally he howled.
I was wondering what on earth was going on when Vaughan suddenly came bounding out of the bush, alternately clutching his crotch and waving his hands in the air.
"Ah, ah, ah!" he cried.
For a moment I was mystified. Vaughan was calm under fire, I knew that much, and it would take a lot to rattle him. Perhaps the bear was back.
And then I realised what had happened. Vaughan had just used his hands, coated in oily pepper hot enough to stop a charging grizzly bear, to manipulate his most tender parts.
I tried to appear concerned. But this was too funny for sympathy. I began to giggle. And then laugh. I laughed so much that tears began to come.
And as he hopped and hollered, I lay down in the snow and guffawed until it hurt. And the more he cursed and shouted at me, the funnier it became.
*
We finally got back to the ranch a couple of hours later. Vaughan was still in some pain and discomfort.
Meanwhile the bear spray had got into and onto just about everything. My face was red and sore, my lips were slightly swollen and my eyes were itching.
As we stepped out of the pick-up truck and into the yard, Kristin was waiting. At first she smiled and then she began to take in my agitated visage.
She looked at Vaughan who was still pawing his crotch.
And her eyes widened. And with that she abandoned her legendary Estonian insouciance.
"What the hell have you two been up to?" she cried.
“I can explain,” I mumbled through my swollen lips.
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I am relieved that this bear survived:)
I have heard many tales of mishaps with bear spray. When tourists come to visit BC they are not properly trained on how to use Bear Spray when they purchase it from a store. There have been incidents where Bear Spray has been used like mosquito spray. Your friend's experience sounds very unpleasant. It's good to know how to administer first aid when this happens.
Flush exposed skin with cold water and soap. Mild, non-oil-based soaps such as baby soaps are best. Do not rub exposed areas. Pat dry with a towel.