Recently, a hypothetical question was posed to women on social media: Would you rather be alone in the woods with a man or a bear? Although there was no unanimous answer, most of the women on sites like TikTok, Instagram and X responded they’d prefer to be alone with a bear. In fact, in one TikTok video, with more than 16.7 million views, seven out of eight women unhesitatingly responded that they’d prefer to be alone with a bear.
When I first heard this question discussed on a talk radio show about a month ago, I immediately thought about my first trip to Montana several years ago. Planning to hike in Glacier National Park, I was asked by the owner of the B&B where I was staying if I had bought bear spray. “Bear spray?” I had asked, my words coming out shakily. “Yes,” he’d said, “it’s mandatory.” Having never thought about the possibility of encountering a bear in the wild, I graciously accepted the bear spray he offered, promising to keep it within easy reach, strapped to my fanny pack.
The thought of coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear terrified me so much that I made sure I stayed close to other hikers—who also had their bear sprays attached to their belts or backpacks—on Glacier’s moderate trails. Where I live in Southern California, humans share the natural environment with coyotes, bobcats, rattlesnakes and mountain lions. But the probability of encountering a large predator like a mountain lion on hiking trails in SoCal is negligible. One is more likely to be struck by lightning than attacked by the large feline. Still, warning signs about these predators and other wild creatures are typically posted at California trailheads, warning hikers and cyclists of possible dangers.
Respect for Four-Legged Predators
Thankfully, I never had to use bear spray on that trip to Montana, though I now have a residual fear of encountering a bear in the wild should I return to that area of the country. They’re unpredictable omnivores and as such, always hungry. I’d rather see them thriving happily at West Yellowstone’s Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center, just outside of Yellowstone’s west entrance in Montana. There, they appear content and even docile, frolicking in the water and eating large carcasses of elk while tourists snap pictures of them.
So, having a healthy respect for four-legged predators like bears and mountain lions, I return to the hypothetical question posed to women on social media. For me, knowing the unpredictability of wild creatures, I would choose to be alone in the forest (or on the hiking trails) with a man. I’m apparently in the minority among most women who overwhelmingly chose the bear. These women substantiated their responses with comments like, “You know what to expect from a bear,” and “Absolutely a bear; humans are capable of so much worse.” My favorite response was, “Bear, because If I got attacked by a bear people would believe me.”
Close Encounters
Last Saturday, I drove nearly an hour and a half to hike in northern San Diego County at a preserve called Hellhole Canyon. Despite its odd name, it has beautiful mountain vistas, mature sycamore and oak trees as well as numerous low shrubs like chamise and colorful wildflowers. I hadn’t been to the 1,907-acre preserve in a year, but I recall its 13.5 miles of trails afford hikers and horseback riders more privacy than other, more popular trails. Confirming that fact was the lone vehicle I spotted parked in the preserve’s lot. I thought I’d likely not even run into that person (or persons) with all the areas one could explore. Turns out I was wrong.
Half an hour in, after descending into the canyon and crossing the creek—a 1,600-foot drop in elevation—and entering a more level trail, I heard a human voice say, “Hi” before I noticed a man sitting on a makeshift stool in the brush to my right. His presence startled me, and I tried not to stare at him to determine what he was doing in that position (his lower body was mostly hidden by the low scrub). I greeted him in passing, noticing only his shirtless, thin upper body and a tattoo on his left shoulder. Was he homeless? Did he have nefarious intentions? If he did, it was a strange locale for that.
As I hurried along the trail, not knowing how far I wanted to go into the depths of the canyon, I hoped he would be gone by the time I turned around to head back to the parking lot (one way in and one way out). When I passed the area in which I first saw him, I was thankful he had gone. He could have been up to no good or he could have been simply enjoying the outdoors, like I was. Ironically, the hypothetical question of “Would you rather be alone in the woods with a man or a bear?” popped into my mind. I giggled to myself as I retraced my footsteps, passing a majestic oak tree, ducking under its low branches.
When the sound of the creek’s flowing water became louder, I knew I was about 30 minutes from the trailhead, and I mentally prepared myself for the steep hike up in the blazing sun. It was then I saw the same man, now standing on the creek’s bank, fully naked, cleaning himself with the icy water. Well now this is a first, I thought, trying not to look at him. He nervously greeted me—again—apologizing for what he was doing (“Sorry, Miss.”). While he didn’t try to cover himself with his towel—he continued drying off with it—he felt compelled to explain to me why he was bathing in the freezing water. He got lost, he said and then got too hot walking on the trail, so the only thing he could do was jump into the creek before he headed back to his car. Okay, too much information, I thought as I carefully stepped on the small rocks to cross the creek to reach the trail on the other side.
“Take care,” I said, hustling up the trail. “Have a nice day,” he replied.
Vulnerability vs. Vigilance
He could have been homeless or a vagrant, but he didn’t strike me as threatening in any way. He seemed happy to have found some pleasure in the wild. But who knows? I’d never encountered anything like this in my life, especially out in nature. But in that moment, I had to admit that while it was awkward, I would rather have encountered a two-legged man like him than a four-legged predator like a bear or mountain lion. In that instant, he seemed more vulnerable than I was. This is not to say I am reckless and naïve about the evil humans can do to one another. I am always vigilant. This situation didn’t get my hackles up.
Hiking alone has never stopped me from getting out on the trails, and this incident hasn’t deterred me from continuing to do so. While I prefer hiking in solitude—it’s my spiritual connection to nature and precludes engaging in small talk—I have begun to rethink this the older I get. It may behoove me to hike with a friend for safety reasons, in case I fall or succumb to the heat. It may have served me well last Saturday when I came upon that naked man, or, it may not have. One of my female hiking buddies would have probably laughed hysterically at the sight of him. Or, she would have berated him for not showing more modesty. Either way, I think we all would have had a good laugh. All three of us.