Sharonita

      By the beginning of July the mothers with their first year cubs (often called “spring cubs”) had appeared.  The mother’s had deemed these little cubs finally old enough to go into the meadows and frequent the mud flats to clam.  We were delighted, of course, since we hadn’t seen any first year cubs during the month of June. 

2007 proved to be cub mania in Hallo Bay!   It seemed that everywhere we looked there were mothers with spring cubs.  And much to our delight, many of them preferred to hang out near our camp, which was situated at the far end of the meadows where there was a smaller concentration of bears grazing – and hence it was a bit safer for the cubs.  It was also next to the bluff, a nice, steep escape zone for the mothers and cubs if a male bear was to ever become threatening.  The bluff also provides the mothers with a bird’s eye view of the entire beach, the mud flats, and the meadows.  All in all the bluff is a really smart, safe place for moms to hang out during the time that their cubs are the most vulnerable to predation by males or by wolves (although both are fairly rare). 

In the beginning of July we spotted three mothers with three spring cubs, and four mothers with two spring cubs each.  Every where we walked there seemed to be pudgy, pot bellied, balls of joy bounding around the meadows or the beach.  It was just amazing!  I really don’t think there is anything cuter in the world than a grizzly bear cub, except perhaps a polar bear cub.  Could nature design anything more adorable?  Their fuzzy coats of kinky, grizzled hair, black shiny noses, round ears, detailed paws that always remind me of a primate, or human hand.  Being so short, they are constantly standing on two hind legs to get a view over the grass that towers over them.  Their curiosity is universal, and they never hesitate to pause, rear up on their back legs, and stare at the strange two legged creatures gawking at them and madly clicking cameras. 

One afternoon John and I walked through the meadow near where the river winds its way from the glacier.  It was high tide so the bears had retreated from the beach and the flats back into the meadows.  We were searching for some bears as I suffered through an allergy attack, my nose convulsing and rebelling at being surrounded by waist high grass.  Barely able to see through my watering eyes I hoped my sneezing attacks would subside by the time we found a bear.  I had begun to notice that when I blew my nose near the bears they looked my way, since it resembled a snorting sound of the bears.  I didn’t want to unintentional tell them that I was annoyed (bear for “snorting” loudly through the nose) but couldn’t avoid my body’s rebellion against fields full of pollen.  After ten years of living in the desert, I was getting a harsh reminder of what spring and summer used to be like for me living in places that have grass. 

We spotted a mom with two cubs off in the grass, and we headed that way.  Kneeling down off to the side, we watched the three of them grazing quietly.  Soon, we started to hear the loud grumblings of a little bear that wants some milk.  The cubs started waling in that characteristic I want milk tone, a low pitched yet piercing series of cries.  Mom sat back on her butt, and slowly rolled her back to the ground.  The cries turned to purring as the little cubs climbed onto mom’s belly and attached themselves to a nipple.  Kneading her breasts with their paws to stimulate the milk, the cubs continued to purr.  This purring sound is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.  It kind of has the quality of a cat purring.  It is a noise that seems to come from inside the throat rather than being emitted from the mouth.  However, it sounds more like loud fluttering, like the beating of millions of fast wings, than the gravely, grumble of a cat purr.  The cubs’ paws patted and kneaded at mom’s chest, until they would switch to a different nipple moving in what always seemed like fast motion – as if they are frantic not to miss one second of nursing. 

Soon, mom began to look very, very sleepy.  She was reclined on her back, but kept her head raised so that she could scan around checking for possible danger.  But it became increasingly difficult for her to keep her eyes open.  While the cubs nursed away, mom’s eyes began to droop closed, and her chin began to fall lower and lower until it landed on her upper chest jolting her back to attention.  Shaking herself back to attention she scanned left and right.  Confident that there were no other bears around, her eyes began to droop and her head began to fall, until her chin would hit her chest waking her up once again.  Jerking back to attention she would turn her head around to scan the meadows in vigilance.  Eventually the cubs nursing slowed down and with white, foaming milk all over their lips they too began to nod off to sleep.  Sliding off her massive belly, they nestled in to the folds of her body. 

 Mom’s eyes once again drifted closed but this time, when nodded off, she released her neck and her whole head plunked to the ground, leaving her sprawled out completely on her back, reluctantly asleep.  Every minute or so she would struggle to lift her head off the ground, scan left and right with half opened eyes, and then bam – her neck would give out and her head would crash back to the ground as if she had been knocked suddenly unconscious.  We couldn’t help but laugh out loud as she continued to scan in vigilance every one or two minutes, and then once satisfied things were safe, she would immediately pass out without the energy to even lay her head back to the ground, instead letting it crash into the grass like she was passing out.  What a funny, sleepy bear, and she reminded us so much of a human nodding off to sleep during boring meeting, or while trying to read a late night book.  Yet despite her overwhelming need for some Z’s, mom continued to snap to attention and scan around the meadow every one or two minutes.  She was a vigilant, albeit half asleep, mother. 

The cubs were nestled against mom’s sprawling limbs and tucked into her fur in a full bellied nap.  All three were fast asleep in a bear pile of fuzzy fur.  We thanked them for letting us watch, told them we loved them, and slipped away silently.  We decided to name this mother Sharonita, after my mother Sharon who has a propensity for drifting off to sleep whenever she “reads”.   

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© 2008 Jessica Teel