Grizzly bears rarely prey on people; most "attacks" are defensive in nature-the bear is reacting to an intruder. "Bear-Inflicted Human Injuries in Yellowstone, 1980-1994," a report published in the Yellowstone Science journal (Winter, 1996), showed that eighteen of twenty-one injuries resulted from people surprising a grizzly at close quarters. Given these statistics, any story about a grizzly bear-inflicted human injury that speculates about the cause of the incident but fails to discuss the significance of encroaching on a grizzly bear's "personal space" will probably lead you astray.

I've read entire books about bear attacks and bear safety that fail to provide readers with a meaningful discussion about personal space. I've read hundreds of newspaper and magazine articles about grizzly bear attacks, and only one mentioned the term personal space. There's no way--absolutely no way--you can understand the fundamental cause of most grizzly bear-inflicted human injuries unless you truly understand the concept of personal space.

The textbook definition of personal space is: "The distance that, if entered, will cause an animal to flee or attack."

You have a basic understanding of personal space if you've ever been at a party and found yourself leaning away from a stranger who wants to chat, but gets about six inches too close to you. You feel uncomfortable because the stranger is encroaching on your personal space.

Why are grizzlies more likely than black bears to charge a person who encroaches on their personal space? Black bears evolved in forests, so in response to a threat they've always had the option of slipping into the underbrush and hiding, or climbing a tree. When threatened, black bears flee. Grizzlies evolved in more open terrain. At times, there wasn't enough cover for a female and her cubs to hide from other predators. There were no trees to climb. Her cubs couldn't outrun predators such as the Dire Wolf or North American lion. When threatened, a female grizzly charged intruders to defend her cubs.

How close can you get to a grizzly before you encroach on its personal space? The distance will vary depending on circumstances. A female grizzly with spring cubs at her side might perceive you as a threat when you're 90 yards away. Three summers later, when she's just run her cubs off and is on her own, you might be able to approach within 60 yards before encroaching on her personal space. A mature male grizzly we'll call Big Bob might consistently flee when people approach within 110 yards. A female with cubs named Queen Maureen will consistently allow people to approach within about 50 yards-and then she'll charge every time.

When people say grizzlies are unpredictable, they mean, 1) It's difficult to predict exactly how close you can get to a bear before encroaching on it's personal space, and 2) Once you encroach on a grizzly bear's personal space, it's difficult to predict whether the bear will flee or attack. The difficulty often stems from a person's lack of knowledge about bear's in general, and individual bears in particular. Most people wouldn't know if they bumped into Big Bob or Queen Maureen. Instead of admitting, "I'm not familiar with those particular bears," people say, "bears are unpredictable."

Ph.D. wildlife biologist Stephen Herrero's Bear Attacks: Their Causes and Avoidance, provides us with important facts about the distance at which you can predict you've encroached on a grizzly bear's personal space. "In injurious encounters preceded by hiking," states Herrero, "the persons injured were seldom aware of the bear until within fifty-five yards or less (83 percent, or 29 out of 35 incidents in which data exist regarding the distance at which a person first became aware of the bear that injured them)."

If a bear is aware you're approaching for a long time before you encroach on it's personal space, the odds are good it will "flee" from you by simply ambling away as if it was interested in a berry patch somewhere else. If the bear does not become aware of you until you're within it's personal space, the bear is still more likely to flee than attack, but the odds it will charge begin climbing.

Now that you're armed with a solid understanding about grizzly bears and their personal space, let's review a few bear attack stories.

Our first tale comes from Scott McMillion's, Mark Of The Grizzly: True Stories Of Recent Bear Attacks and the Hard Lessons Learned. Guide Joe Heimer and client Sonja Crowley were hunting elk on a ranch just outside Yellowstone National Park on November 8, 1996. McMillion describes Heimer as a tough cowboy with thirty years of backwoods experience. He "knows animals," McMillion says.

Heimer and Crowley spot a grizzly with three cubs "about 60 feet away."

The female grizzly Heimer and Crowley encountered was well known to biologists. Bear Number 79 had been captured and released a number of times because when food was scarce in unsettled parts of her home range, she would search for food near towns, ranches and other developed areas. McMillion says that in the past bear Number 79 "had never been aggressive around people . . . She had always shunned people and committed no greater sin than swiping a few apples."

Bear Number 79, however, "showed a whole new attitude" on the day she encountered Heimer and Crowley.
When Crowley and Heimer first noticed bear Number 79 and her cubs, the bears were not aware of the people. Crowley and Heimer wisely moved 50 feet away from the bear family and stepped behind a juniper bush. "Then something happened," writes McMillion. "Maybe a twig snapped or the wind shifted a little carrying their scent; maybe on of the cubs spotted the people and let out a squeak.

Whatever it was, something excited the bear and she charged."

As bear Number 79 raced toward Heimer, he "shouted at her, trying to make her look at him and back off."
The bear kept charging. It didn't look at Heimer.

"I've never been around any animal that never picked its head up to acknowledge me," said Heimer.
Heimer shot and killed the bear, but not before it injured him and Crowley.

"I never had any trouble with grizzlies before," said Heimer.

"The cause of the attack remains unknown" states McMillion. "The hunters never came between her and the cubs, and the immediate area contained no gut piles or other food sources she was trying to protect."
Heimer and Crowley's husband both speculate that the bear had a "vendetta" because she had been trapped, drugged, and handled so frequently that her "natural fear of humans had been replaced with a seething anger."
McMillion asked Yellowstone Park bear specialist Kerry Gunther about the vendetta theory. Gunther didn't give it any credence. If bear Number 79 "was on a vendetta," asked Gunther, "why did she never attack other people?"

The most plausible answer to this question is: Bear Number 79 didn't attack other people because they didn't encroach on her personal space.

There's no question in my mind about what caused bear Number 79 to attack Heimer and Crowley-they encroached on her personal space. You don't have to come between a female grizzly and her cubs to encroach on her personal space. Even when there's no food in the immediate vicinity, a grizzly will protect itself when someone encroaches on its personal space.

McMillion's comment that bear Number 79 had never been "aggressive" around people before is troubling; the suggestion is that Number 79 behaved in an unnaturally aggressive manner when she defended herself and her cubs from Heimer and Crowley. Under the circumstances, I don't think it was a "sin" for Number 79 to charge Heimer and Crowley.

I do believe humans have a double standard for grizzly bears and other animals. If a spruce grouse with chicks flew into the face of a nearby person, we'd applaud her courageous defense of her offspring. When a bear that behaves the same way in defense of her cubs, we label her as too "aggressive."

McMillion tells us that Heimer knows animals and never had trouble with grizzlies, however, one could also argue that bear Number 79 knew humans and never had trouble with people before. We seem to be operating on a double standard again, and the purpose is to blame the bear for this incident or imply that something might be wrong with Number 79. It's doubtful bear Number 79 woke up on the morning of November 8th and told her cubs, "Kids, I've got a vendetta against humans and I'm going to thrash someone today. I don't care if I have to go a quarter-mile out of my way to run someone down, I'm going to maul a few people."
It's far more likely bear Number 79 was attending to some bearish business when Heimer and Crowley inadvertently encroached on her personal space.

I wouldn't expect bear Number 79 to look up from her charge when Heimer shouted at her. During a serious charge, a bear will come at you with its ears pinned back, head held low, and mouth open. You're not likely to distract it with a shout or gunfire, nor by throwing a pack or some other object on the ground.

We have no way of knowing if Number 79's "attitude" on the day of this incident was different than her attitude on any other day. It's more probable that, in the past, she sensed people before they encroached on her personal space, and left before she got shot.

If this abbreviated account of bear Number 79's demise gives you the impression McMillion is anti-grizzly, he's not. He's a conscientious writer, and his book is meant to help people understand and appreciate grizzlies. I selected the preceding incident from Mark Of The Grizzly because it demonstrates that, despite good intentions, every time McMillion gets away from the fact Heimer and Crowley encroached on the personal space of bear Number 79, he leads us astray.

In the March, 1996 issue of Outdoor Photographer, prominent wildlife photographer Erwin Bauer leads novice bear photographers into trouble. In an article titled, "Big Bears!," Bauer says, "I never approach bears quickly and directly."

What will happen if you make a slow, indirect approach toward a grizzly bear feeding on berries? You'll encroach on the bear's personal space. If you're lucky, the bear will flee you can congratulate yourself on forcing a bear to abandon a rich source of food it needs to survive. There's also the possibility you'll trigger a charge.

In The Path Of The Grizzly, photographer/author Alan Carey says his first few mishaps with grizzlies taught him to always observe "a bear at a distance to determine its mood and personality before approaching within camera range. However, the best-laid plans of men and photographers do not seem applicable to the grizzly."
It takes biologists working at places like Alaska's McNeil River State Game Sanctuary for brown bears years to recognize the most obvious behavioral patterns ("personality traits") of individual bears. Can Carey actually watch a bear he's never seen before eat soapberries for five minutes and determine its personality? "Look at the way that bear strips those berries from the branches. Definitely a Type A personality."

Once Carey is familiar with the personality of an individual bear such as Jealous Judy, can he watch her graze on sedge for 10 minutes, and accurately say, "Judy is in a foul mood today. I'd better be careful."

As you might guess, In the Path Of The Grizzly includes quite a few stories in which Carey is charged by bears. I don't think the bears that charged Carey did it because they were in a bad mood or had a nasty personality. I think they charged him because he approached them and unwittingly encroached on their personal space.

Photographers who understand bear behavior and conduct themselves in an ethical manner by not harassing wildlife follow one simple rule for grizzlies: Don't approach bears.

Our final analysis of a grizzly bear-related human injury comes from Anchorage Daily News outdoors editor Craig Medred. In Playing Back A Bear Attack, (We Alaskans, 10/4/92) Medred tells how he was hunting moose on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula when he startled three grizzly bears less than 100 feet away. He says "they registered not as a threat, but as a surprise."

He claims he didn't feel threatened because in previous encounters with bears, they usually fled. Those that didn't flee immediately "bluff-charged" before departing. This time things turned out different. Medred heard a woof and the sound of thundering feet. Then he "turned to meet face to face with what I already knew was a charging bear, fully expecting this to be a bluff charge . . . only that wasn't the picture that materialized."
"FREEZE FRAME," wrote Medred. "The bear was at a distance of two feet."

Not until this point of the encounter did Medred tell himself to "Get the gun up. And then it was too late."
He was chagrined the bear charged him instead of fleeing. "It is aggravating," he wrote, "that the bear made such a stupid decision. All she had to do was ignore me . . . I don't know that there was much I could have done differently."

Instead of asking a biologist or bear expert what went wrong, Medred concluded, "the only thing predictable about bears is that they are unpredictable."

How smart is it to insist bears are unpredictable, yet assume a nearby grizzly will flee rather than charge? If grizzlies are unpredictable, is it intelligent to gamble that a charging bear is bluffing? Medred's logic is perplexing, and his lack of knowledge about grizzly bears and their personal space is alarming.
When Medred first spotted the bears 100 feet away, he should have assumed he had encroached on their personal space. He should have known the bears couldn't ignore him; he forced them to either flee or attack. What could Medred have done differently? If I thought I had encroached on the personal space of a grizzly and I was carrying a loaded weapon, I'd get ready to fire immediately. Medred waited until the charging bear was two feet away before he attempted to get the gun up.

The Anchorage Daily News continues to foist Medred on its readers as a bear expert, often with humorous, though unintentional results. In an opinion column titled Making Book On Bears, (5/25/97) Medred said, "A smart bear and a smart human can usually interact without a problem, but stupidity on either side of the equation can turn things messy fast."

Smart people begin their analysis of any story about a grizzly bear attack by asking, "Did the person who was injured encroach on the bear's personal space?"


Kerry Gunther and Hopi Hoekstra, "Bear-Inflicted Human Injuries in Yellowstone, 1980-1994," Yellowstone Science 4, no.1 (Winter, 1996): 2-9
Stephen Herrero, Bear Attacks; Their Causes and Avoidance (New York, Lyons & Burford, 1985), 22
Scott McMillion, Mark Of The Grizzly: True Stories of Recent Bear Attacks and the Hard Lessons Learned (Helena, Falcon Press, 1998). P.141-153
Erwin Bauer, "Big Bears," Outdoor Photographer, March 1996, 40-43, 104-5.
Alan Carey, In the Path of the Grizzly, Northland Publishing, 1986. P.7-21, with quote on P. 12 & 14
Craig Medred, "Playing Back A Bear Attack," We Alaskans, October 4, 1992
Craig Medred, "Making Book On Bears," Anchorage Daily News, May 25, 1997