campfire tales

One of those cubs tore apart the tent of the guitarists living in the camp with its claws, swiped their backpack of food, and ran off. The rangers chased after it, took what was left of the backpack, but the cub was long gone. And then I realized how lucky I was — I wouldn't even have to specially run around the mountains to find the beast — it would come to me on its own…

Campfire tales

The clock showed 19:00, it was already getting dark, tourists were drying their soaked boots, rubber boots, socks, and other clothes by the fire. The group, though quiet, turned out to be cozy and familiar. They treated me to tea, and I told them about recent adventures, how every night bears come into this camp looking for food. According to their stories, the she-bear usually comes out from the direction of the toilets, and you should expect the cubs from the direction of the mountain…

We saw the first cub that evening at 21:30. It was a small adolescent, maybe a meter tall. Big-eared and rather cute. All the men sitting in the gazebo suddenly perked up; we moved closer to it and took a few pictures. My phone, unfortunately, had gotten soaked on the hike, so I couldn't take photos. I should have brought a camera just in case... The cub quickly retreated as soon as we got within about ten meters of it, and disappeared deep into the bushes from our curious gaze. It did cross my mind, of course, that if a youngster is roaming around here, the mother must be somewhere nearby too. But in a group, fears somehow get dulled…