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Sun 20 Jul, 2003 07:55 pm
Warning ~ ~~"":::Medically Discriptive: ""~~~
It was a clear Friday morning, August 30, 1991. My husband, Deane, and I
were enjoying a long-planned camping vacation in Montana's scenic
Glacier National Park, our first trip since his retirement earlier that
year. The previous week, we'd driven from our home in Holland, Michigan,
and had explored various areas of the park. Today, we were about to
start our eighth hiking trip. "Do you have your camera?" I asked Deane
as we stepped from our small pop-up camper. "And what about the crackers
for lunch?"
Deane nodded, grinning. "Yes, dear," he said teasingly, patting his
small backpack. "We're ready to go." We started off slowly, enjoying the
crisp coolness of the air as we followed a narrow trail up the steep
wooded slope. Occasionally we'd wave to other campers on the trail or
study a distant mountaintop through my binoculars. By 12:30 p.m. we had
covered almost three miles and decided to stop for lunch. After sharing
a simple meal of cheese and crackers, we were about to start back down
toward camp when another couple appeared from the trail above us. "You
shouldn't stop now," the woman called. "At least see Iceberg Lake - it's
only another couple of miles up the trail." We decided to continue
upward as she suggested.
It was almost 3 p.m. when we reached Iceberg Lake - placid,
crystal-clear, surrounded by a dizzying array of brightly colored
wildflowers. In keeping with its name, small icebergs floated on its
calm surface.
"Oh, Deane, isn't this beautiful!" I exclaimed. We stood hand in hand,
drinking in the peaceful scene.
After forty-three years of marriage Deane was my best friend as well as
my husband. We'd both grown up in the same small South Dakota town.
Deane was sixteen and I was just eight months younger when we met in
Sunday school. We started dating and were married within three years.
Now, five kids and fifteen grandchildren later, we were looking forward
to spending our "golden years" together while we were young enough to
enjoy getting out and doing things. At age sixty-two, I felt hardly
older than I had at thirty-five. Although we had some health problems -
Deane was a borderline diabetic, and I was on daily heart medication -
staying active had kept us both in good shape. Leaving Iceberg Lake,
Deane and I started retracing our steps back down the mountain. We'd
walked several hundred feet when we came to a bend in the trail. As we
rounded the corner, I heard Deane gasp and felt his warning squeeze on
my arm. I immediately saw why: just ahead of us, a mother grizzly and
her two half-grown cubs were whirling around, startled, to face us. They
were less than forty feet away. The mother bear's ears were pointed
sharply forward, her eyes fastened on us. Without moving, she emitted a
gruff "Woof!" sending her cubs scampering.
"My God," whispered Deane. "Lorraine, I think we're in trouble." Just
two nights before, we had attended a park ranger's lecture about bears
in the wild. "Let's get down in a fetal position like they told us," I
breathed. "We're supposed to play dead." Lowering myself to my knees, I
tucked my head down, clasping my hands behind my neck. Beside me, I felt
Deane doing the same.
But it was too late. I peeked up past my elbows, to see the bear charge.
She sprang forward with a low, rumbling growl, her fangs bared. Muscles
rippling beneath her thick brown coat, she covered the distance between
us in three powerful leaps, her jaws working in an angry chomping
motion. Beside me, Deane drew a sharp breath; then, in horror, I heard
his agonized scream. The grizzly had pounced on him, sinking her teeth
into his back and stomach. Gripping him in her jaws, she shook him
violently from side to side, then savagely tossed him in the air like a
rag doll. He'd barely hit the ground before she was on him again,
growling and biting. I could hear her teeth puncturing his skin, making
small popping noises as he shrieked in pain. Still huddled on my knees,
I was unable to believe what was happening. From the corner of my eye, I
saw the huge animal toss him again; then clamping down on his right
hand, she began to drag him away into the brush. "Oh, dear God, not like
this!" he was sobbing. "Please, not like this!" Somehow, his despairing
plea mobilized me. With a silent prayer I stood up and reached toward
him. I had nothing to fight with, not even a stick. But as I looked down
at my heavy binoculars, I suddenly remembered advice my father had once
given me years before when I'd worked on our farm, which was often
plagued by wolves and coyotes. "If you're ever cornered by a wild
animal," Daddy told me, "go for its nose, where it's the most
sensitive." I determined to use the binoculars as a weapon and "go for
it" now.
I wrapped the thick plastic strap firmly around my right hand. Then,
swinging the binoculars high in the air, I charged at the bear. My first
blow landed squarely on her broad black nose. As I felt the binoculars
hit, I jerked them downward, deliberately scraping them along her snout.
She flinched but didn't release Deane. Lord help me, I prayed, then
raised the binoculars and swung again. Although I could hear my husband
moaning at my feet, I didn't dare look down at him. I kept my attention
on the bear's nose, using all my aiming skills from playing golf and
horseshoes to make each blow count.
Finally, after the fourth blow, the bear dropped Deane's hand and rose,
enraged, to her full seven-foot height. I faced the animal across my
husband's bloody body, my eyes level with her chest. Her yellow-black
claws, long and curved, were poised in the air just inches from my face.
I resisted the impulse to make eye contact, thinking that would further
enrage her. Taking a breath, I swung the binoculars again. This time she
seemed to see the blow coming. With another muffled "Woof!" she abruptly
dropped to all fours and retreated into the brush. I hesitated for a
moment, certain she'd return to attack me. But as she noisily crackled
her way through the thick brush, I realized she was really gone. I
finally looked down at Deane. He was lying on his back, his face turned
away from me, his right arm still extended above his head. He was
moaning softly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. As I saw for the
first time the full extent of his injuries, I went cold with fear. His
clothes were shredded, his chest torn open, the gaping wound revealing
corded muscles and fatty tissues. His right shoulder, bitten almost
completely away, was bleeding profusely; blood vessels and nerves
dangled from his right wrist. His right leg, back and stomach were also
badly gashed. I bent over him, trying to get his attention. "Deane!" I
said. "Deane, it's me!" He didn't respond until my third call, then he
turned his head toward me. Eyes glazed with pain, he hardly seemed aware
of who I was. "It's okay now. The bear is gone," I said. He slowly
focused on my face. "No, it's not," he murmured. Tears streaming, I
assured him it was true.
"I've got to stop your bleeding," I told him. "Just lie still. You'll be
okay."
Fortunately, I was familiar with basic first-aid techniques; Deane had
been a part-time volunteer fireman for more than twenty-eight years, and
we had often studied his rescue manuals together. Now I tried to fight
off panic and make myself think clearly. His right shoulder and wrist
were both spurting blood, which might mean an artery had been cut. I
needed to apply some kind of tourniquet.
My bra! I thought. Without hesitation I peeled off my top and unhooked
my bra, then pulled the stretchy elastic around his upper arm, making
sure it was snug. If the blood didn't start to clot within a few
minutes, I'd use a stick to wind it even tighter. Better for him to lose
an arm than to bleed to death, I thought desperately. Then I turned my
attention to his chest. I had some tissues in my waist-purse, and I
quickly dropped them into the gaping wound. But it wasn't enough to stop
the bleeding; I needed more bandages. I was reaching for my discarded
top when Deane said weakly, "Use my shirt. Just help me get it off." I
eased him up, pulling his shirt off over his head, then ripped the
fabric into four-inch strips. After binding up his chest and leg, I
checked his right arm again. The blood was starting to clot. Thank God,
I thought, easing the tourniquet a bit. I finally took time to pull my
top back on.
Now that the immediate danger had passed, I felt my determined calm
starting to crack. What if the bear decided to return after all? Deane
couldn't walk, and we were over four miles from our campsite. I decided
my best bet was to start shouting; eventually, other hikers would surely
hear me. "Help!" I shouted repeatedly. "Somebody help us!" It seemed
like an eternity when finally two young men appeared from around the
bend. They immediately ran over. "My husband's been attacked by a bear,"
I told them. "Can you run for help?"
"I can do it," one of the men said.
Deane spoke briefly, "Tell the rangers to send a helicopter." The young
man nodded, then headed off down the trail at a fast trot. It was only
after he left that I remembered more advice from the park ranger about
traveling in bear country. "Don't ever run. It's an open invitation to
attack." Worriedly, I bit my lip. Oh Lord, I prayed, please keep him
safe.
Over the next hour, eleven more people came down the trail; they
included three nurses, a doctor and a ski patrol paramedic. One nurse
gave Deane some pills for pain while the others dressed his wounds with
clean bandages. It seemed an amazing coincidence to have that many
medical professionals show up on this remote mountainside. Deane was
taken to the hospital in an air ambulance, and since there was not
enough room for me and the medics, I followed in a smaller helicopter.
By the time I got to the hospital, Deane was already in surgery. It was
almost 3 a.m. when his surgeon wearily emerged from the operating room
and pulled me aside.
"Your husband is one lucky man," he said, shaking his head. "That bear
just missed several major arteries and nerves. He had a very close
call." He also told me Deane's deep wounds would require over two
hundred stitches.
Nine days later, Deane was discharged from the hospital, and we returned
home.
Now, back in Michigan, I'm sometimes still astonished about what
happened to us. When I think about how close I came to losing Deane,
tears spring to my eyes. But thanks to the mercy of God - and a sturdy
pair of binoculars - my husband is still alive today.
I don't know what to say, except, I am really glad you did not lose your head and make all the wrong moves. Your vivid account had me in your shoes, all but the bra part. I assume your husband kept his arm -?
Sorry; I don't know any better. I'll believe just about anything, given the right circumstance.
so, your story was NOT about you? Id use quotes or add some citation notes. I read it and was amazed at how you (or whoever) kept their head.
About 10 years ago My wife and I were on a boat that was too small(and fast) for the water we were on. I headed into the wake of a very large container ship and got caught in the trailing foam. Well, as any jerk knows (but I didnt) the wake of a ship has almost no bouyancy. Our boat began sinking very quickly. We were in a deep shipping lane into the Bay of Fundy (where the water is so cold you will last about 10 minutes). The boat sunk up to the cuddy cab and I had no way of piloting out. My wife closed all the compartments and started to zip up my lifejacket . I was panicking. My wife coolly went through the motions of battening and buttoning and she dug out our survival covers and flares . We were going down fast.
. The boat was underwater to the top of the gunwales and only the top of the cuddy was above water. SHe sent up one flare and hit the VHF Channel. Suddenly the b oat popped up like a cork in the water. We were shedding water by the buckets, the ass end of the boat was riding deep and heavy as the water settled to the bilge and the engine was sputtering. We managed to get out and blew the boat wide open to bail the water.
However, my point was my wife, who went through a mental checklist in preparation for plummeting to the bottom, saved our asses by being cool and methodically focusing on her tasks. When it was all over we had great post disaster sex and I was asking her how she got us through. She said that keeping the checklist in her mind from boating school actually displaced the terror and kept her working doing the things that saved our lives.
I suppose its the same thing that pilots feel as they are madly driving a plane that is falling from the sky. They displace the terror with thier training and the reflex actions take over.
Fascinating story of preservation and guts!
Bears, I've had a few run in with grizzlies too.
When I was very young, about 6, I think, My family was camping in Jasper, AB. I got up in the middle of the night to use the facilities - a large outhouse, with one main entrance and four separate stalls inside. It was after midnight and I carried a flash light and I wore my floor length, flannel nighty to keep me warm as I ran across the camp ground. As I pushed the outhouse door, I heard a strange sound. Within seconds the huge hairy beast rushed the door and stood towering over me. I screamed, dropped the torch and ran for it, back towards my family sleeping soundly in a tent.
The bears growled and thankfully took off in the opposite direction.
The next day we found the park warden and explained what had happened. She said they'd had a report of a bear in the park that evening but when they'd investigated the sighting, no bear had been found. It must have pushed it's way into the outhouse and was unable to escape.
Even though the creature was stuck in the smelly outhouse, I'll never forget the stink of the monsters breath, I'm still not sure what stank worse.
Thanks,
Ceili
Whew! And that's the reason we didn't hike much when we were in Glacier. The day we got to Many Glacier Lodge, two of the college students working there had been attacked by a bear. They got off lightly, but that attack was less than a mile from the lodge, just across the lake. We had just left the Tetons where a black bear, normally a kind of bear not so feisty as a Grizzly, ripped the backpack off some kid and sent him to the hospital.
On that same trip we saw a grizzly from close up while we were in Yellowstone. We'd learned that whenever there was a traffic jam on one of the main roads, there was probably an animal to be seen. We were slowed down by this traffic jam on the northwest side and kept muddling along. The country was too rough for a bison, I was hoping for a moose. As we got closer there was a ranger with a walkie-talkie in the middle of the road. He said there was a grizzly just ahead and asked if we'd like to park the car and take the kids out for "a closer look" as a lot of other people were doing. I'm sure I looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. NO, that's not what we wanted. So we kept going and there was the bear... huge & totally oblivious to all the cars and people and rangers. It was doing just what it wanted and acted as though we weren't even there. It was digging up a big stump as we drove up but then had a notion and passed within ten feet of our car -- looked the same size, but I'm sure that's an exaggeration -- and kept going across the road. If something has occurred to it, like, they've got food in that car... there is nothing that anybody could have done. So even in the car, I was scared. I had been reading every book available on bear attacks and what to do... kiss your ass goodbye, was the general consensus. All bears, but particularly Grizzlies, are unpredictable. One will attack, another will back away.
I applaud the efforts to save the Grizzly but it is very, very scary to think that they could be coming into our woods. (They're trying to reintroduce them in the North Cascades, northeast of Seattle.) As a friend said, and I take heart in this, if I have to die, at least if it is from a bear attack, it would be a flamboyant way to go. Still, I am very, very careful when I hike. I've got the bells, I sing out, I even take my dogs. Funny how we want our wilderness, but we also want it safe.
EB quote: Well, as any jerk knows (but I didnt) the wake of a ship has almost no bouyancy
I 
didn't know! why?????
I think that Farmerman was talking about the trailing foam within the wake being dangerous. It has to do with too much air mixed up with the turbulent water. They say that if you jump off a ship into the white water directly behind it, you'll fall much futher than you'd think, for the same reason. That water is full of air for ten feet or more. You'll be trying to float and swim in mostly air.
Y'all have me confused with farmerman.
Awwww. Gee whiz. <digging toe into ground> Thanks, Misti!
I wish Farmerman had come on to say that was what he meant. I could be wrong. I just remember hanging over the back end of the ferry when I was a kid and talking with somebody about the wake that follows the boat.
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